——Even though he had a high fever and his consciousness was blurred, and his memory was starting to become confused, he still instinctively remembered her.
His chest felt like it was pierced by something, and the pain was so severe that his breathing stopped for a moment.
At three o'clock in the morning, Ye Qingliu's high fever finally subsided a little.
Duan Shuce stood in front of the window, the rain trickling down the glass, blurring the neon lights outside. He recalled the first time he saw Ye Qingliu—he remembered Ye Qingliu as a child.
——The child who always has a cold face but secretly shares candy with him.
——The friend who obviously hates crowds but gave him an out-of-print book on his birthday, and said awkwardly, "I just bought it."
——The young man who coldly stood in front of Duan Shuce when he was bullied by other children from aristocratic families.
——The boy who finally learned to smile in this world line.
——The one who would coldly stand in front of Duan Shuce when he was being bullied by other children from aristocratic families.
——This is his friend Ye Qingliu.
——The proud, awkward, yet more loyal young master of the Ye family.
And now, this young man who always held his head high was lying weakly on the bed, heartbroken for someone.
As dawn approached, Duan Shuce finally made up his mind.
He walked to the bedside, a faint blue light emanating from his fingertips, and gently tapped Ye Qingliu's eyebrows.
"Qingliu, I'm sorry."
His voice was low and hoarse, with a barely perceptible tremor.
The blue light slowly seeped in, and Ye Qingliu's brows gradually relaxed, and his breathing became steady. Duan Shuce looked at his face and suddenly remembered a snowy night many years ago.
Fifteen-year-old Ye Qingliu had a high fever but stubbornly refused to take medicine. Duan Shuce was so angry that he pressed him down on the bed and forced the medicine into his mouth.
Ye Qingliu choked and coughed, glaring at him with red eyes: "Duan Shuce, you're looking for death!"
At that time, there was still light in Ye Qingliu's eyes.
And now...
Duan Shuce's fingertips gently brushed Ye Qingliu's cheek, his voice so soft that it was almost inaudible:
"Clear stream..."
"Forget it."
"Don't get hurt for anyone again."
And now, he had erased his most important memory with his own hands.
The amnesia process was silent.
Ye Qingliu only frowned slightly, as if he had just had a long dream, and then slowly relaxed. His eyelashes were still a little damp, shining slightly in the morning light.
Duan Shuce withdrew his hand and looked at him quietly.
——That’s good.
——Forget the pain and be the proud young master of the Ye family again.
Three days later, Ye Qingliu woke up.
He opened his eyes, his gaze was clear and cold. After looking around, his eyes fell on Duan Shuce lying on the sofa.
"Why am I here?"
Duan Shuce put down the book in his hand, and raised the corner of his lips slightly: "You have a fever and fainted in the rain."
Ye Qingliu was silent for a while and looked down at his wrist.
———There is a red string tied there.
He frowned slightly: "Whose is this?"
Duan Shuce's eyes dimmed slightly: "I don't know, you've been wearing it all the time."
Ye Qingliu didn't ask any more questions, but just said "hmm" lightly.
Duan Shuce looked at him, his heart tightening slightly.
——He really forgot.
——Forgot it completely.
Duan Shuce looked at him and suddenly reached out to ruffle his hair: "Are you hungry? I asked the kitchen to make some porridge."
Ye Qingliu frowned and dodged: "Don't touch my hair."
Duan Shuce laughed: "He has quite a bad temper."
Ye Qingliu ignored him, threw off the quilt and got out of bed. His steps were still a little unsteady, but he stubbornly refused to be helped. Duan Shuce looked at his back, the corners of his lips slightly raised.
——That’s good.
——Ye Qingliu, you should always be so proud.
And in a place where Ye Qingliu couldn't see, Duan Shuce's fingertips gently stroked the mint candy, and the candy wrapper made a crackling sound in his palm.
"Clear stream..."
He whispered the name, with a barely perceptible hint of tenderness in his voice.
"This time, it must be good."
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