fever
On Monday morning, the classroom was filled with a muggy atmosphere, as if an impending downpour was about to begin.
When Xu Ying pushed open the back door of Class 7, Grade 11, she habitually glanced at the seat next to her—it was empty.
The table was spotless, not even a textbook was left behind, as if no one had ever sat there.
She lowered her eyes, walked to her seat, took out her English notebook from her bag, and unconsciously ran her fingertips along the edge of the page. There was a faint crease there, left by Zongheng when he casually flipped through it last Friday.
"Hey, Xu Ying."
The girl in the front row suddenly turned around and lowered her voice: "Have you heard? Zong Heng got into a fight in Blue Alley over the weekend and got stabbed."
Xu Ying's pen stopped, and the ink spread a small shadow on the paper.
"Really?" The boy next to him immediately leaned over. "I knew it! That's why he suddenly stopped coming to school."
"Who knows? Anyway, the kind of person he is..." The girl shrugged, giving Xu Ying a meaningful look, "You're his deskmate, didn't he tell you?"
Xu Ying closed her notebook and said softly, "No."
She turned her head; the sky outside the window was gloomy, and the distant rumble of thunder could be heard.
During the first break, the homeroom teacher tapped on the podium.
"Quiet down." He pushed up his glasses. "Zong Heng is taking three days off. Xu Ying, you're his deskmate. Remember to organize the review materials for these days and deliver them to his house after school."
A commotion immediately erupted in the classroom.
"Oh, you're delivering it yourself?"
"Zong Heng really has a lot of influence—"
Xu Ying pursed her lips and didn't say anything. She just lowered her head and wrote down the address that Lao Chen had given her on a sticky note: Building 17, Linjiang Mansion, top floor.
His handwriting was so illegible that it was almost unrecognizable, much like Zong Heng himself—arrogant, impatient, yet impossible to ignore.
As school let out, the torrential rain finally poured down.
Xu Ying stood at the entrance of the teaching building, looking at the campus blurred by the rain, and gripped her backpack strap tightly.
She didn't bring an umbrella.
Or perhaps she brought it, but after seeing the weather forecast at noon, she inexplicably put the umbrella back in the drawer.
"Xu Ying".
A gentle voice came from behind. Zhou Yu, a senior student from the student council, walked over with a black umbrella, his smile warm: "Didn't bring an umbrella? Let me take you to the bus stop."
She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head: "No need, I'm waiting for someone."
Zhou Yu seemed to want to say something, but in the end he just nodded and left.
Xu Ying watched his figure disappear into the rain, took a deep breath, put her schoolbag on her head, and rushed into the rain.
The cold rain pounded on my face, and my school uniform was quickly soaked through, sticking stickily to my skin.
She ran across the playground, through the school gate, and finally stopped at the bus stop, completely soaked to the bone. Her bangs were wet and stuck to her forehead, water droplets clung to her eyelashes, and even her breath smelled of rain.
Her pale face and slightly reddened eyes were reflected in the glass of the billboard on the platform.
—What exactly is she doing?
Just because Zong Heng hadn't come to school for three days, just because of those inexplicable rumors, just because...
She bit her lower lip and pulled the note out of her bag.
The address was partially soaked by the rain, but the bold handwriting was still legible.
Linjiang Mansion, Building 17, Top Floor.
The bus slowly pulled into the station. Xu Ying clutched the note and boarded the bus.
Linjiang Mansion is a well-known luxury residential area in the city with strict security.
As Xu Ying stood in front of the ornate iron gate, the security guard looked at her soaked school uniform and dripping backpack suspiciously: "Who are you looking for?"
“Building 17, Zong Heng.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I’m his classmate, here to deliver his review materials.”
The security guard picked up the walkie-talkie and said a few words, then frowned a moment later: "The homeowner said he didn't ask his classmates to deliver anything."
Xu Ying was taken aback.
—Does he not remember? Or…does he simply not want to see her?
Rain dripped down her hair, forming a small puddle at her feet.
"Can I borrow your phone?" she asked softly. "I want to talk to him directly."
The security guard hesitated for a moment, but still pushed the landline over.
Xu Ying dialed a number she had never called before, but which she had memorized by heart.
"Beep—beep—"
Every sound of waiting felt like a tap on her heart.
On the fifth ring, the phone was finally answered.
"who?"
The hoarse male voice carried a heavy nasal tone and undisguised impatience.
Xu Ying's fingertips trembled slightly.
"It's me."
There was a sudden silence on the other end of the phone.
Two seconds later, there was a rustling sound, as if someone suddenly sat up in bed, followed by a muffled thud—it seemed as if something had been knocked over.
"Xu Ying?"
Zong Heng's voice suddenly became clear, carrying a tension she had never heard before.
"Where are you?"
"Downstairs." She looked at her reflection in the glass. "The security guard won't let me in."
A low curse came from the other end of the phone, followed by hurried footsteps.
"Wait."
The call was disconnected.
Xu Ying stood in the rain and suddenly felt her heart beating incredibly fast.
Five minutes later, the elevator doors opened with a "ding".
Zong Heng was wearing a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants, his hair was messy, and he wasn't even wearing slippers, so he was walking barefoot on the marble floor.
His cheeks were flushed an unnatural red, his lips were chapped, but his eyes were frighteningly bright.
The security guard stared in disbelief: "Mr. Zong, who is this...?"
Zong Heng didn't even glance at him, and walked straight up to Xu Ying.
Their eyes met.
He stared at her soaked school uniform, dripping hair, and frozen fingertips, then suddenly let out a cold laugh:
Are you fucking stupid?
His voice was terribly hoarse, yet it carried a suppressed anger.
"You still came in such heavy rain?"
Xu Ying looked up, raindrops sliding down her eyelashes.
"My homeroom teacher asked me to deliver it."
She held up the folder in her hand; water droplets still clung to the plastic cover.
Zong Heng stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly grabbed her wrist and turned to walk towards the elevator.
His palm was burning hot, like a branding iron, gripping her wrist tightly.
Xu Ying stumbled slightly as he pulled her, but heard him say without turning his head:
"Lend her the umbrella."
This was said to the security guard.
The security guard hurriedly handed over a black umbrella, which Zong Heng took and immediately shoved into Xu Ying's hand.
"Take it."
The moment the elevator doors closed, Xu Ying saw it reflected in the mirror—
Zong Heng stared intently at her soaked back, his eyes dark and unreadable.
"You still came in this heavy rain?" His voice was low and hoarse, almost inaudible, but clearly irritated. "Couldn't you have waited until the rain stopped before delivering?"
She gripped the folder tightly, her fingertips unconsciously brushing against the rain-dampened edges: "There's a quiz tomorrow."
Zong Heng chuckled, about to say something, but suddenly turned his head and coughed, his shoulders trembling slightly with the suppressed cough. He raised his hand to his lips, his knuckles white and the veins on the back of his hand clearly visible.
Xu Ying subconsciously took a step forward, then stopped.
After his cough subsided, Zong Heng leaned back heavily on the sofa, closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, his gaze fell on the notebook in her hand.
"Give it to me." He reached out, his voice still hoarse.
Xu Ying walked over and handed him the folder.
His fingers were very hot.
The moment they took the notebook, their fingertips briefly touched. Xu Ying was startled by the warmth and recoiled, almost instinctively raising her hand to cover his forehead.
Scalding hot.
Zong Heng froze abruptly, his pupils contracted slightly, and his dark eyes stared at her intently.
Xu Ying was also stunned.
She didn't know why she did it, but the temperature under her palm was so high that her body acted before she could even think about it.
"Your fever is over 39 degrees Celsius," she whispered, trying to pull her hand away, but her wrist was suddenly grabbed.
Zong Heng's palm was surprisingly hot, but his grip was not strong; he merely held her wrist loosely, his thumb unconsciously rubbing her cold skin.
"What do you want?" His voice was low and slightly nasal, sounding somewhat aggrieved.
Xu Ying struggled but couldn't break free: "You have a fever."
"I know." He kept staring at her, his eyes somewhat unfocused, but he stubbornly refused to let go. "I won't die."
Xu Ying pursed her lips, suddenly pulled her hand back forcefully, and turned to walk towards the coffee table: "Where's the thermometer?"
Zong Heng didn't answer, but just watched her back as she rummaged through the medicine box, his Adam's apple bobbing.
He quietly raised his hand, his fingertips gently brushing against his forehead—where the coolness of her palm still lingered.
The medicine box was a mess, with fever reducers and stomach medicine mixed together, and the thermometer buried at the bottom. Xu Ying took it out, shook it, and turned to hand it to Zong Heng: "Take my temperature."
He didn't answer, but just leaned back on the sofa and looked at her with a lazy smile in his eyes: "I don't know how to use it."
Xu Ying: "..."
She took a deep breath and reached out to unbutton his shirt.
Zong Heng suddenly leaned back, almost tumbling off the sofa: "What are you doing?!"
"Taking your temperature." She said expressionlessly. "Can't you just tuck it under your armpit?"
Zong Heng stared at her for two seconds, then suddenly smiled.
He slowly took the thermometer, deliberately rubbing his fingertips against her palm before unbuttoning two buttons and inserting the thermometer.
Xu Ying looked away, her ears burning.
Five minutes later, the thermometer showed 39.3℃.
“Let’s go to the hospital,” she said decisively.
"I'm not going." Zong Heng tossed the thermometer back into the medicine box. "I'll be fine after a nap."
Xu Ying glared at him: "You'll get brain damage from the fever."
He raised an eyebrow: "Worried about me?"
"..."
She turned and went to the kitchen to get water, not wanting to talk to him.
The kitchen was even messier than the living room; unwashed cups were piled up in the sink, and several packets of instant noodles were scattered on the counter. Xu Ying frowned, found a clean glass in the cabinet, and boiled a kettle of water.
Zong Heng had followed her over at some point, and was now leaning lazily against the doorframe, watching her busy herself.
"Is this all you usually eat?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Otherwise what?" His voice was still hoarse. "There's no one to cook for me."
Xu Ying didn't reply, but silently prepared the fever reducer and handed it to him: "Drink it."
Zong Heng glanced at the dark brown liquid and frowned: "It's bitter, I won't take it."
Are you three years old?
“Twenty months.” He said without changing his expression.
Xu Ying took a deep breath and pulled a mint from her pocket—it was a habit she always carried with her to refresh herself.
"I'll give you this after you finish your medicine." She waved the candy wrapper.
Zong Heng stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly reached out, but instead of taking the medicine, he grabbed her wrist and drank the medicine in one gulp from her hand.
Xu Ying froze.
His lips brushed against her fingertips, hot and dry.
Before she could react, Zong Heng had already let go of her hand and instead pinched the mint.
But he didn't take it away. Instead, he lowered his head and bit her fingertips along with the candy, still in that position.
Xu Ying's breath hitched.
His teeth gently tapped against her knuckles, his tongue swept across her fingertips, and as he rolled the candy away, he deliberately brushed against her skin.
"Sweet," he said softly, his dark eyes gazing intently at her.
Xu Ying abruptly pulled her hand back, her ear tips turning bright red.
Zong Heng, however, staggered due to the sudden loss of his balance. Already weakened by a high fever, this sway caused him to fall forward—
Xu Ying subconsciously reached out to support him, but his weight made her take two steps back, her back hitting the refrigerator.
Too close.
Zong Heng's hand rested on the refrigerator door beside her ear, his burning chest almost touching hers. His breath was hot, carrying a faint scent of mint and medicine, wafting towards her nose.
Xu Ying could clearly see his reddened eyes, trembling eyelashes, and dry, chapped lips.
Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of her chest.
Zong Heng lowered his eyes and stared at her, his gaze moving from her trembling eyelashes to her flushed cheeks, and finally settling on her tightly pursed lips.
His Adam's apple bobbed, and his voice was low and hoarse.
"...It's not too late to run now."
The moment the elevator doors closed, Xu Ying realized that her fingers were trembling.
She stared at her reflection in the metal door—her hair was half-wet, her cheeks flushed, and her lips were white from being bitten so hard during the tension. Zong Heng's black coat was still draped over her shoulders, retaining his lingering body heat and faint tobacco scent, mixed with the smell of rain, making her breath catch in her throat.
The elevator slowly descended, and the feeling of weightlessness was just like the pounding of my heart when he pressed me against the wall.
"It's not too late to run now."
His voice still lingered in her ears, low and hoarse, with a feverish nasal tone, his hot breath brushing against her forehead. Xu Ying abruptly closed her eyes and gripped her backpack strap tightly.
The elevator dinged and stopped on the first floor. A gust of cold wind rushed in through the open glass doors of the lobby, making her shiver. Outside, a black sedan with its hazard lights flashing stood in the rain, the driver holding an umbrella and waiting for her.
She hesitated for a moment, then looked back at the elevator. The numbers were stuck at the top floor, motionless.
He didn't chase after them.
Whether it was disappointment or relief, Xu Ying lowered her head and got into the car. The moment the door closed, she inexplicably looked up—
A blurry figure stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window on the top floor, a crimson light flickering at the tip of his finger.
It was Zong Heng smoking.
The car's heater was on full blast, but it couldn't dispel the chill emanating from Xu Ying.
"Miss, what's the address?" the driver asked politely.
Xu Ying gave her home address, her voice still a little unsteady. She looked down at her hand—the feeling of Zong Heng biting her right index finger still lingered, the wet, warm tongue brushing against her skin, sending shivers down her spine like an electric shock.
She suddenly curled her fingers, her ears burning.
The rain outside the car window was pouring down harder, the water streaks distorting the city lights. Xu Ying stared at the scenery rushing past the window, but her thoughts drifted back to that dimly lit living room—
Zong Heng's eyes were burning red, the warmth of his palm when he gripped her wrist, and the bangs that fell from his forehead when he looked down, the ticklish touch as they brushed against the back of her hand.
Are you coming again tomorrow?
What did she say at that time?
"It depends on your performance."
Xu Ying buried her face in her palms in frustration. What kind of answer was that? It was like... like she was expecting something.
Her schoolbag suddenly vibrated, and she frantically pulled out her phone—it was a message from her mother:
[Where are you so late?]
Xu Ying bit her lip and replied: [I'm delivering some documents for a classmate, I'll be right back.]
Only after I sent it did I realize that I had lied.
Not a "classmate".
It is Zong Heng.
The rain had stopped by the time I got home.
Xu Ying thanked the driver, wrapped Zong Heng's coat tighter around herself, and rushed into the building. In the elevator, she habitually reached into her pocket, but her fingertips touched a cold, metallic object—
Zong Heng's school badge.
She was stunned.
The boy in the photo was expressionless, his black hair was messy, and his school uniform collar was crooked, looking impatient. But Xu Ying knew that behind this photo was his triumphant smile after scoring a goal on the basketball court, the profile of his face as he smoked on the rooftop, and the strength with which he gripped her wrist when he had a fever.
The back of the school badge still carried his body heat.
—When did he slip it in?
Was it when she bit her finger in the kitchen? Or when she hurriedly put on her shoes?
Xu Ying's heart raced, and her thumb unconsciously rubbed the edge of the photo.
The elevator doors opened, and she hurriedly stuffed her school ID back into her pocket, but froze the next second—
The mother was standing at the front door, frowning as she looked at the boy's jacket she was wearing.
Meanwhile, at Linjiang Mansion.
Zong Heng stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, the cigarette between his fingers burned to the end.
The rain was still falling, and the winding streaks of water on the glass resembled Xu Ying's wet eyelashes. He remembered the panicked look in her eyes when she pushed him away, like a startled rabbit, yet secretly blushing at the tips of her ears before running away.
"I'm afraid it will interfere with your studies."
He chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette.
As I turned around, a light gray figure caught my eye—Xu Ying's scarf was still draped over the sofa, made of pure cashmere, soft and warm to the touch, just like her.
Zong Heng stared for two seconds, then suddenly bent down and buried his face in the hole.
The scent of laundry detergent, mixed with a hint of the crispness of rainwater.
He took a deep breath, and the restless emotions in his chest finally calmed down a little.
On the coffee table, the mint lay quietly, its wrapper reflecting a faint light. Zong Heng reached out, picked it up, unwrapped it, and put it in his mouth.
The moment the sweetness melted on his tongue, he picked up his phone and found Xu Ying's number.
His thumb hovered over the dial key, paused for a few seconds, and ultimately only sent one text message:
[I'll return your coat tomorrow.]
He paused, then added:
Don't catch a cold.
After successfully sending the message, he tossed his phone aside, leaned back on the sofa, and rested his arm over his eyes.
The coolness of the mint candy rushed up my throat.
—That's fucking awful.
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