Chao Youye leaned back on the height-adjustable hospital bed.
He was wearing a soft, skin-friendly, light gray silk hospital gown. His left arm, from shoulder to forearm, was firmly fixed in a heavy, snow-white plaster cast, like an unignorable scar.
The edges of the plaster were carefully wrapped with soft cotton pads. The paleness from blood loss on his face had faded somewhat, but he still had the tiredness and weakness of someone who had just recovered from a serious illness.
Mu Xinrong sat in the armchair beside the bed, which was deliberately pulled very close to the bed.
He was also wearing the same hospital gown, and a bandage was wrapped around the deltoid muscle of his right arm, making his movements seem a little cautious.
He had a small square of gauze on his forehead. His face was a little rosier than it had been two days ago, but there was still a faint dark shadow under his eyes from lack of sleep.
In his left hand, he held a delicate bone china bowl, which contained millet porridge made of chicken mince that was cooked to the perfect temperature, soft, sticky, and emitting a faint, soothing aroma.
In his right hand, he carefully held a small spoon of the same texture with rounded edges.
"Come on, open your mouth." Mu Xinrong's voice was extremely soft and gentle. He scooped up a small spoonful of porridge, just enough for a mouthful.
Then, very naturally and seriously, he brought the spoon to his lips and blew gently and evenly.
After doing this, he slowly and steadily brought the spoon to Chao Youye's lips.
The movements were slightly clumsy due to being a newly learned technique, as only the left hand could be used, but they were also filled with unquestionable caution.
Chao Youye's eyes followed his movements, from scooping the porridge, to blowing on it, and then to bringing it to his lips.
He followed his instructions and slightly opened his pale lips. The porridge's temperature was perfectly controlled, a warm, soothing sensation that slid down his throat, bringing a sense of warmth and care.
He swallowed the porridge, his Adam's apple rolling slightly. His eyes were still fixed on Mu Xinrong's face. He spoke softly, his voice hoarse from not speaking for a long time: "Actually... you don't need to blow. The nurse has taken the temperature."
Having said that, there was no blame in his eyes. Instead, a very shallow ripple appeared, like the surface of a lake where a stone was thrown. It was a cherished, hidden joy.
Mu Xinrong was just about to scoop out another spoonful when he paused upon hearing this.
He pursed his lips, his eyes clear and stubborn, with the kind of frank warmth that only a little sun could offer: "That's different. What if...what if the nurse doesn't blow it evenly? What if she burns you? You can't suffer at all right now."
He spoke in a serious tone, as if this was a matter of course and extremely important.
After saying this, he lowered his head again and repeated the previous action: scooping porridge, leaning close, blowing gently, and concentrating as if he were performing a sacred ritual.
Chao Youye didn't say anything else.
He leaned forward slightly, not to eat the porridge, but to get closer.
With his uninjured right hand, he very slowly and with an almost greedy feeling of cherishment, gently stroked Mu Xinrong's right arm, through the hospital gown and bandage, and stopped at the site of the deltoid muscle contusion.
The touch of the fingertips was extremely light, with cautious inquiry.
"Does it still hurt here?" he asked in a low voice, each word sounding like it was soaked in warm spring water.
Mu Xinrong felt the warmth of his fingertips and the heavy heartache, and her body trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly.
He raised his head and met those violet eyes filled with his reflection. The softest part of his heart was gently touched.
Mu Xinrong immediately shook his head, trying to raise the corners of his mouth into a smile that was a little too bright.
"It doesn't hurt anymore! Really! It's just a little sore, like a mosquito bite! The doctor said I'm healing super fast!"
In order to make his words more convincing, he tried to shrug his right shoulder, but as soon as he moved, he felt a familiar, sharp pulling pain in the bruised muscle.
"Hiss..." The smile froze on his face instantly, and the sound of gasping for air escaped uncontrollably from between his teeth.
He quickly lowered his head and stirred the porridge in the bowl with a spoon to cover up his mistake, but his ears turned red.
Chao Youye looked at his appearance of trying to hide his guilt, and the smile in her eyes deepened. The forced smile faded from her lips, replaced by a deeper and stronger pity.
He did not withdraw his hand from Mu Xinrong's right arm, but instead stroked the edge of the bandage more gently and soothingly.
"Mu Xinrong," his voice deepened, carrying an unquestionable, gentle strength. "If it hurts, it hurts. In front of me, you don't need to endure it, and you don't need to pretend. If you're in pain, I'll know it."
He said the last sentence very lightly, but it was very serious.
Mu Xinrong stopped stirring the porridge. He looked up, his smile a bit forced, his eyes a bit embarrassed as if he had been caught.
"But you are in much more pain than me..." His eyes involuntarily drifted to Chao Youye's left arm, which was bound in plaster and contained shattered bones and unknown nerve damage.
"It's different." Chao Youye moved his right hand away from Mu Xinrong's arm and raised it gently with slightly cool fingertips.
He caressed Mu Xinrong's cheek very gently, and rubbed his brows with his fingertips, which were slightly furrowed because of the pain caused by the previous action.
"Your pain is equally important to me." He paused and looked deeply into Mu Xinrong's eyes.
"Even...it concerns me more."
Mu Xinrong scooped up another spoonful of porridge, blew on it carefully again, and handed it to Chao Youye's lips: "Eat it quickly, it will be bad if it gets cold."
Chao Youye opened her mouth obediently, held the spoon gently, and swallowed the porridge.
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