Chapter 11

“Jiajia, quickly get the tools—we need to perform gastric lavage!”

The doctor had no time to waste and immediately ordered the procedure; after all, this was just a minor incident, no need to punish the child—just give him a warning later.

“Yes!”

The subsequent events were already clear: the one who got sick from bad food was Zhenlin’s fellow patient; the reason was simple—he ate too much, ate too fast, and kept forcing himself to eat more; he was lucky just to be alive.

Since then, his diet had been regulated, but instead of losing weight, he gained more—and ended up looking like this.

Bringing up old matters was boring; let’s return to the present—what will Yizhen do now?

……

“Relax, I know what I’m doing!”

Yizhen, having received two portions of hand-pulled pancake, remained calm, not even turning his head—whether from unwillingness or renewed weakness, his voice still carried that unmistakable frailty, audible and clear; what he needed now might not just be four or five thousand yuan—it could be water, or his phone; everything depended on someone breaking the silence, and Zhenlin was clearly not suited to play the good cop.

“OK, take your time eating—I’ll help you find your phone.”

Zhenlin remained his usual kind-hearted self; though he’d initially intended to use Yizhen, now he was simply helping his roommate—Mingyang was useless, still silent, no idea what he was up to.

Just as he was thinking this, he turned his head and saw someone standing with his back turned, idly posing, clearly acting out “I don’t want to see this, this is inappropriate to look at”—this slight dip in Zhenlin’s mood flared into irrational anger; he lifted his foot, ready to kick, then had to pull it back—damn, can’t afford to provoke him, better just find the phone.

Zhenlin silently played the tool, ignoring Mingyang’s bizarre behavior—Yizhen’s situation was clearly more important.

He just didn’t feel like dealing with him for now; if Mingyang decided to settle scores later, he’d be stuck anyway—better to selectively ignore him and avoid getting shafted.

As for Yizhen, he was still too weak to rely on—hoping he’d stand up for himself was pure fantasy; unless a miracle happened, judging by his half-dead state, he wouldn’t be able to even sit up anytime soon—no chance of resistance or pleading; Mingyang didn’t understand medicine anyway, and even his tiny bit of knowledge was the limit—ah, he’d overestimated him; who knew what torture he’d face next, or whether someone would crawl into bed? Better stay alert—he had no interest in men.

“Mm.”

Yizhen’s reply was faint, almost inaudible; Zhenlin, not paying attention, didn’t catch it and didn’t bother—he crouched down, planning to start searching under the bed and work upward, forgetting the simplest method entirely; calling him dim wasn’t wrong—how such a brain could be linked to a top student was beyond him; must be dumb luck.

“Cough cough, let me say two things—Zhenlin, you can step aside. My Thousand-Year Kill technique has been starving for too long; today, I must settle this score or I won’t calm down.”

Mingyang, who had been lost in his own world, spun around the instant Zhenlin finished speaking—no more of his earlier weirdness; now he revealed himself clearly as a flamboyant sissy.

His mouth twisted into a wild grin, his orchid-colored fingers still outstretched, his feet moving in perfect ba zi steps; any woman who saw him would feel inferior; his voice was hoarse—deliberately modulated—and carried a faint feminine lilt, yet he was undeniably male, a monstrous student who made people scream “freak,” and no one knew what his future held, but right now, Yizhen was clearly at a disadvantage.

“Mingyang, stop messing around—look at how Yizhen is right now, he can barely move, and you’re still tormenting him? Do you think I won’t beat you? Don’t try to use your role as dorm leader or dorm supervisor to pressure me—I’m standing in your way today, and no one’s words will change that!”

Zhenlin had finally snapped; he didn’t want to sever ties, but Mingyang had reverted to his old self so quickly—he was still tormenting Yizhen, and that was unbearable. Hadn’t they agreed not to bully Yizhen? How could the older brother be the first to break the rule? Did he want to drag Lao San into it too? It made him furious—couldn’t they just get along? As dorm mates, even if you didn’t help each other, you shouldn’t abuse power. There had to be some rules. Today, he’d draw the line—at least he had to curb Mingyang’s nonsense.

Sometimes he seriously doubted Mingyang had ever been this unreasonable and flamboyant—maybe trauma had made him shut down. Look, at first, he was perfectly normal in conversation; but the moment someone touched his body, his fingers involuntarily turned into orchid fingers.

But even when he was excited, he acted this way—it was clearly normal for him, so where exactly had things gone wrong? No one knew—he didn’t talk, who could guess? Could anyone read minds? Impossible. Even if he believed in the end of the world, he wouldn’t believe in such irrational nonsense—it wasn’t scientific. This was a scientific age—stick to facts.

Right now, stopping him was more urgent. Human energy was limited—he couldn’t keep fighting Zhenlin forever, and there was plenty of time to waste. But just then, he remembered a quick way to find the phone—he blocked Mingyang’s path while pulling his own phone from his pocket, ready to call it directly. Ah, why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? He really was a fool—but it wasn’t too late—the task was done.

“Yizhen, answer me—you’re so heartless! Who just pulled you out of your nightmare? Who sacrificed precious hair for you? Just let me pluck your back hair, I promise I won’t ruin your appearance, or I won’t be able to live with myself.”

Mingyang had no choice—if he forced his way through, he’d fail and ruin his relationship with his roommate. If he hadn’t been so obsessed with revenge, he’d have just turned away long ago—it would’ve been cleaner, and he wouldn’t be stuck here, suffocating with frustration.

Sigh, back in my day, I settled scores on the spot—why am I now blocked from even plucking a single hair? No chance given at all, and you’re acting like you’re about to explode? Waaah, I’m so scared…

Sigh, back in my day, I’d settle grudges right then and there—how could I ever end up now, blocked from even plucking a single hair, given not a shred of chance, and on top of it all, looking like I’m about to fly into a rage, ying ying ying, so scary…

Yizhen replied simply—he figured if he got his phone, he’d recover naturally and agree. He didn’t expect to win anyway; though malnourished and weak, after sleeping, he’d noticed his strength had increased significantly—more than several times what it was before, though he hadn’t tested it. But all of this depended on his recovery—if he couldn’t even move without effort, how could he exert force? It was exhausting, damn it.

“Hey hey hey, don’t just think about your phone—it’s just a few hairs, light as a feather, don’t you trust me? After I pluck them, I’ll help you find it too—Zhenlin’s too dumb to rely on.”

Mingyang didn’t understand why Yizhen kept fixating on his phone, but he didn’t care—he was negotiating with Yizhen now. The phone could wait; it wouldn’t disappear anyway. His hair was right there—he couldn’t leave without taking it, or he’d feel miserable. Better satisfy himself first, then help.

Such a simple division of labor—why cling to the phone? I know you’re a net addict, but you can’t possibly live without it, right? He muttered inwardly, clearly not backing down, still acting like an unreasonable jerk—deserved a punch.

Zhenlin nearly stopped dialing, ready to throw a punch—he was that infuriating. Maybe they really weren’t the same kind of people—otherwise, why would things have gotten this unpleasant?

Zhen Lin nearly stopped dialing his phone and wanted to punch him—this was just too infuriating; perhaps they really weren’t cut from the same cloth, otherwise they wouldn’t have ended up so bitterly at odds.