high fever

Over the next few days, Fang Chi lived like a robot trying to operate with precision. He strictly planned his interactions with Xing Jiayan in real life—limiting them to necessary academic discussions and class affairs, keeping eye contact to within three seconds, and avoiding any one-on-one time that might trigger any associations.

He devoted more of his energy to his nighttime conversations with "Yan." It was safe and pure there, without Xing Jiayan's eyes that seemed to see right through him, without those close encounters that made his heart race and those pointed words.

However, physical exhaustion and high mental tension are not a long-term solution.

On Thursday afternoon, a sudden downpour swept through the city. Although Fang Chi used his backpack to shield his head as he ran back to his apartment, he was still soaked to the bone by the time he got home. He quickly dried himself off, feeling a bit heavy-headed, but didn't pay much attention, assuming it was just lack of sleep. As usual, he turned on his computer and immersed himself in the world of physics, trying to dispel his physical discomfort with the stimulation of his mind.

Chaos: Regarding the quantum tunneling model you mentioned last time, I recalculated the probability amplitude and found that when the barrier thickness approaches zero, the conclusion seems to have a subtle continuity with the classical case...

He typed the message, sent it, and waited. His head grew heavier and heavier, as if filled with lead, and his vision began to blur.

Yan: (Replying slightly slower than usual) Your line of thinking is correct. But it's important to note that when the barrier thickness approaches zero, the essence of the system's Hamiltonian changes...

Fang Chi tried to focus his vision, trying to see the words on the screen, but the familiar formulas seemed to be jumping around. He shook his head, trying to dispel the dizziness, and his fingers landed on the keyboard, but his fingertips felt a little cold.

Chaos: Hamiltonian...change...I...

The sentences he typed began to break down, becoming illogical. Finally, he couldn't hold on any longer, slamming his forehead heavily against the cold laptop keyboard, emitting a string of meaningless gibberish.

Before his consciousness sank into darkness, his last vague thought was: Tomorrow... I can't be late... There's still the group discussion...

---

Almost at the same moment Fang Chi's profile picture turned gray and the conversation ended, Xing Jiayan stood up from in front of the computer.

Something's not right.

Something is very wrong.

Fang Chi's logic and rigor are ingrained in his bones. It is absolutely impossible for him to suddenly go offline after sending such a vague message, which even contained typos, when the discussion reached a crucial point.

Thinking back to the torrential rain that evening, and Fang Chi's frail figure that was utterly unable to withstand the wind and rain, a bad premonition quickly gripped Xing Jiayan's heart.

He barely hesitated, grabbing his phone and keys and rushing out the door, not even bothering to change out of his pajamas, just hastily slipping on a pair of sneakers at the door. The pain in his injured ribs throbbed as he ran, but he paid no heed.

Rain swept obliquely in the night wind, wetting his hair and shoulders. He ran to the apartment building where Fang Chi rented, and relying on his memory and the information he had noticed when he brought Fang Chi back earlier, he found the corresponding unit and pounded on the door.

"Fang Chi! Fang Chi! Open the door!"

There was no response from inside.

Xing Jiayan's heart sank. He tried turning the doorknob and found that the door was not locked—this was even more abnormal, as Fang Chi was a person who valued privacy and boundaries extremely highly.

He flung open the door, and a wave of sweltering heat hit him. The apartment was dark, with only the faint light from the laptop screen illuminating his motionless figure slumped over the table.

"Fang Chi!"

Xing Jiayan rushed over and touched Fang Chi's exposed neck skin. The scalding temperature made him shudder.

I have a fever. And it's quite high.

He tried to wake him: "Fang Chi? Wake up!"

Fang Chi showed no reaction, his breathing was rapid and hot, and his cheeks were flushed abnormally.

Xing Jiayan made a decisive move, shutting down the computer and scooping Fang Chi up horizontally from the chair. Fang Chi was lighter than he had imagined. Holding him in his arms, the excessively high body temperature and the completely dependent (unconsciously) posture made Xing Jiayan's heart feel as if it had been violently clenched.

"Hang in there, I'll take you to the hospital," he whispered, as if making a promise or encouraging himself. He carried her quickly out of the apartment and into the still pouring rain.

On the way to the hospital, Fang Chi remained in a daze. Occasionally, he would utter a few indistinct murmurs due to the jolting. Xing Jiayan leaned closer to listen, only managing to catch a few fragmented words:

"The data... is incorrect..."

"Yan...wait..."

"Xing... Jiayan... goodbye..."

Hearing his own name escape from his parched lips, mixed with fragments of "Yan" and data, Xing Jiayan unconsciously tightened her grip on his arm, a complex and indescribable emotion surging within her.

In the emergency room, the doctor diagnosed him with a high fever caused by a severe cold and said he needed an IV drip immediately. When the nurse was inserting the needle, Fang Chi frowned slightly in pain and struggled unconsciously. Xing Jiayan immediately reached out and firmly held his wrist, gently patting his back with his other hand, a movement so gentle that he himself didn't even realize it.

"It's alright, go to sleep," he whispered reassuringly.

Perhaps it was the sound that had an effect, but Fang Chi gradually calmed down and fell into a deep sleep.

Xing Jiayan sat on a chair beside the hospital bed, watching over him. Outside the window, the rain pattered softly, and inside the ward, only the faint sound of the IV dripping medicine and Fang Chi's slightly heavy breathing could be heard.

He looked at Fang Chi's sleeping face, which, due to the high fever, had lost its usual coldness and defensiveness, appearing unusually quiet, even somewhat vulnerable. Long eyelashes cast faint shadows under his eyes, and his lips were slightly chapped from dehydration.

At this moment, competition, winning or losing, and the mystery of identity between the internet and reality all seem to become unimportant.

He reached out and gently brushed away the stray hairs damp with sweat from Fang Chi's forehead with his fingertips, his movements as careful as if he were handling a rare treasure.

"Idiot," he sighed softly, his tone filled with helpless tenderness, "you've made yourself into this state."

As if sensing something in his sleep, Fang Chi gently rubbed against his still-unretracted fingertips, like a little animal seeking comfort.

Xing Jiayan's fingers froze in mid-air, then slowly closed, tightly holding the subtle touch in his palm.

He looked at the spot where the two had touched, then looked up at the deep night outside the window, his gaze gradually hardening.

Some boundaries have already been crossed without our knowledge.

It's time for some answers to become clear.

He took out his phone, logged into the "Observatory" forum, and found his private message interface with "Chaos". His finger hovered over the screen for a moment, then he deleted the explanations and preparations he had prepared, leaving only the simplest and most direct sentence, and sent it.

Then, he turned off his phone and turned his attention back to the person in the hospital bed.

He is waiting.

Waiting for dawn.

After the fever subsides.

Wait for his fool to solve this riddle himself, a riddle he already knows the answer to.