Chapter 12 "Will Dr. Chu open it for me personally?"
Hearing Zhou Ai's question from behind, Chu Yi didn't move. He simply calmly held Qi Yuan's head while he drank the hangover soup without leaving a drop. Then he slowly put down the empty bowl in his hand, settled Qi Yuan on the sofa, and carefully placed a soft pillow under his neck.
After doing all this, he turned around and smoothly unlocked his phone and turned on the flashlight.
A cold white beam of light suddenly cut through the dim environment in the room.
Zhou Ai leaned against the sofa without moving. The shadow cast by Chu Yi when he stood up completely covered him.
At this angle, Zhou Ai only needed to tilt his head slightly to see Chu Yi's drooping eyelashes, which created a small patch of quiet gray under his eyes.
"Dyeing your hair could also infect the wound." Chu Yi's voice remained calm, but her fingertips had already gently parted the silver-gray hair from his forehead. His hair was softer than expected, with a slightly rough texture from being freshly dyed.
The scabbed wound was exposed to the light, stretching across the brow bone. Chu Yi's fingers were very cold, and when they touched the brow bone, Zhou Ai unconsciously held her breath.
For a moment, he seemed to smell the extremely light scent of fruit wine mixed with very light sandalwood on Chu Yi, which strangely overwhelmed the sweet fragrance in the box.
"There's no redness or swelling at the stitches." Chu Yi's thumb pressed lightly on the edge of the wound. "Does it hurt?"
Zhou Ai's Adam's apple slid slightly.
It didn't actually hurt, but for some reason, he let out a vague gasp.
The flashlight flickered.
Chu Yi suddenly leaned forward, resting his other hand on the back of the sofa next to Zhou Ai'er.
The distance was so close that Zhou Ai could count the slightly pulsating carotid arteries under his shirt collar.
"Mr. Zhou," Chu Yi lowered his voice, the air sweeping across his burning earlobes, "Alcohol will amplify the pain, but it won't cause you to misjudge the pressure on the wound."
Zhou Ai's eyelashes trembled violently.
"I didn't even touch the stitches." Chu Yi turned off the flashlight. As darkness fell again, Zhou Ai saw the corners of his lips slightly raise. "Your acting skills are far worse than the last time you were doing the stitches."
Cheng Yingzhi stood at the bar with a glass of wine in his hand, the ice cubes making a soft crackling sound in the glass.
He saw Zhou Ai suddenly grab Chu Yi's wrist as he was about to retract it, and the silver ring on his knuckles poked the other's cold white skin.
"Then Doctor Chu, can you teach me?" Zhou Ai's thumb caressed the other man's protruding wrist bones imperceptibly. "How can I pretend to be more convincing?"
Qi Yuan uttered a vague mutter on the sofa, breaking the confrontation that was about to break out.
Chu Yi pulled his hand back so quickly that it created a gust of wind. When he turned around, the hem of his white shirt brushed against the condensed water droplets on the glass coffee table.
"The wound is healing well." He bent down to tuck Qi Yuan's slipped coat, his voice returning to its usual calm. "Come to the hospital next week to remove the stitches."
Zhou Ai slowly leaned back into the shadow of the sofa and took the fingers that had just touched Chu Yi into his palm.
The aftereffects of the vodka still seem to be boiling in my veins.
"I've called a designated driver to take Qi Yuan home first. You guys take your time." Chu Yi said as he helped Qi Yuan to his feet, the leather of the sofa making a slight rubbing sound. Qi Yuan's body was half pressed against his shoulder, his drunken breath wafting against his ear.
When passing by Zhou Ai, Chu Yi deliberately turned his body to avoid her, but still inevitably bumped into the other person's legs stretched out in the aisle.
Their kneecaps collided through the fabric, not hard, but it made both of them pause.
"Mr. Zhou," Chu Yi said, not lowering his head. His gaze fell on the gilded handle of the box door in front of him. His voice remained calm, like a normal doctor giving patient advice. "Drink less. Be careful of inflammation of the wound."
Zhou Ai looked up at him. From this angle, he could see the slight roll of Chu Yi's Adam's apple as he spoke, and the tense curve of his jawline. Down below, the cuffs of Chu Yi's white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing a lean forearm dotted with red wine stains.
He suddenly smiled, tilted his wrist, and poured the remaining half of the vodka in the glass into the crystal ashtray beside him. The amber liquid drowned the cigarette butt, making a slight sizzling sound.
"I'll listen to the doctor." Zhou Ai placed his empty cup on the coffee table, the bottom of the glass making a crisp sound. He leaned back into the sofa, his silver-gray hair burying in the dark red velvet. "On the day the stitches are removed..." he drawled, looking at Chu Yi's back as he turned around with his hands on his shoulders. "Will Doctor Chu remove them for me personally?"
Chu Yi didn't stop, but simply raised his hand to adjust Qi Yuan's arm as it slid downwards. His voice cut through the noisy background, "Whoever's name is on the registration form will have it removed."
After saying that, he supported Qi Yuan and moved sideways to accurately avoid Zhou Ai's long legs that were across the aisle, without any delay.
The heavy wooden door closed, completely isolating Zhou Ai's unspoken words and Cheng Yingzhi's laughter as he watched the show with anticipation.
The cold white light poured down from the corridor, splitting the corrupted and dim interior of the box into two different worlds.
Qi Yuan groaned uncomfortably, and Chu Yi lifted his sliding body upwards. The glaring red wine stain on the crook of his white shirt rubbed against Qi Yuan's dark coat, casting a small, blurry shadow.
He carried the person steadily towards the exit, his footsteps making no sound on the soft carpet.
Only when he was completely away from the door did Chu Yi slow down his pace almost imperceptibly. He raised his free hand and pressed the side of his neck very lightly.
The skin where Zhou Ai's breath had just passed seemed to still retain a little abnormal temperature, as if it had been burned by the smell of vodka.
He frowned slightly, and used his fingertips to suppress the unfamiliar warm feeling.
————
After the door was completely closed, there was a strange silence in the box for a moment, with only the faint sound of ice melting in the ice bucket.
Zhou Ai's gaze remained fixed on the door, as if he could penetrate the solid wood and track the disappearing figure. He suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse from the alcohol: "Cheng Yingzhi, what is your relationship with him?"
Cheng Yingzhi swirled the remaining whiskey in his glass, the amber liquid clinging to the wall and then sliding down. He raised an eyebrow at the words, tilted his head to look at Zhou Ai, who was trapped in the shadows, and a playful smile curved his lips. "Guess what? What do you think our relationship is?"
Zhou Ai frowned. He and Cheng Yingzhi had been together for over a decade, from their days of brawling in school uniforms to their current successes in their respective fields. They were well aware of each other's romantic affairs and bad company.
But Chu Yi... this figure suddenly emerged from the cracks in the ice. It was clean and cold, out of tune with everything around it, yet it had some kind of indescribable tacit understanding with Cheng Yingzhi.
"I haven't seen it, and I haven't heard you mention it either." Zhou Ai's fingers unconsciously twisted the velvet fabric of the sofa, and her tone was filled with inquisitiveness that she herself didn't realize. "He can make you, Master Cheng, take the initiative to offer sobering soup and even care to send people home?"
Cheng Yingzhi chuckled softly, tilting his head back and downing the last of his wine. The glass made a crisp sound as it rested on the marble countertop. He turned and faced Zhou Ai, his eyes tinged with amusement and a subtle, yet profound meaning.
"Chu Yi," he said slowly, as if savoring the name, "Originally, his last name should have been Cheng, like mine."
Zhou Ai's fingers, twisting the sofa velvet, suddenly stopped. She looked up at Cheng Yingzhi, a trace of surprise flashing across his silver-gray hair in the dim light: "...cousin?"
Cheng Yingzhi nodded, picked up the bottle and poured himself another half glass, the ice cubes clattering. "What else? Who do you think would let me serve him like this and still let him put on that cold face?"
"Why have I never heard you mention it seriously?" Zhou Ai frowned even more, trying to search for clues in his memory. The Cheng family has many collateral branches, but the one that Cheng Yingzhi mentioned so clearly...
Cheng Yingzhi scoffed, swirling his wine glass as he walked to the sofa, looking down at Zhou Ai. "I mentioned it before, of course I mentioned it before. When we were little, I always told you about my little cousin—he was so smart he was annoying, as pretty as a porcelain doll, and always ranked first in his studies, way ahead of me. But didn't you get impatient every time you heard it, and accused me of bragging and fabricating stories about someone else's kid to fool you?"
He leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees, and approached Zhou Ai, his eyes gleaming mischievously: "What? Now that you've seen the real person, do you believe it?"
Zhou Ai was speechless. Those long-lost fragments of memory, blurred by alcohol and time, were suddenly pried open.
As a teenager, Cheng Yingzhi did seem to frequently babble about a younger brother from "someone else's family," his tone a mixture of impatience and hidden pride. However, at the time, he only found it annoying and never took it seriously.
It turns out that wasn't made up.
It turned out that the "porcelain doll" had grown up and turned into a doctor whose frown was cold, his fingers were as cold as jade, and the imperceptible curve of his mouth when he exposed a lie was more burning than strong liquor.
Zhou Ai's Adam's apple rolled, but he didn't say anything. He only felt that the brow bone that had been touched by Chu Yi's fingertips just now suddenly began to feel hot again.
"Your brother..." Zhou Ai rolled the word around in his mouth uncomfortably, the tip of his tongue touching the roots of his teeth, tasting a strange bitterness. "Has he always been like this?"
"What?" Cheng Yingzhi asked knowingly, shaking his glass and smiling, the ice cubes making a clear sound. He tilted his head back and took a sip, the amber wine moistening the corners of his lips. "No, isn't it good? He's very polite to everyone."
As the words fell, their eyes met briefly in mid-air. The only sound in the box was the low drumbeat of the background music, like some kind of unspoken heartbeat.
No one spoke anymore, and a kind of silent consensus was quietly reached in the alcohol and shadows.
Cheng Yingzhi tilted his head back and drank the remaining wine in the cup in one gulp, the spicy liquid sliding down his throat.
In fact, he knew very well what Zhou Ai was referring to.
The "other people's child" who was praised by the family elders and looked up to by his peers seemed to be separated from him by a layer of frosted glass since childhood.
Chu Yi's politeness is a watertight shield, and his smile is the perfect distance ruler. He is gentle to everyone, but that also means he has never been truly open to anyone.
You can't get close to it, and you can't catch it.
It was only thanks to Cheng Yingzhi's persistence as the "brother" for more than ten years, and his thick skin at the corner of the city wall, that he was able to barely chisel a crack in the ice field and get a glimpse of the real warmth inside.
Or to be more precise, it is a glimpse into the essence of the lack of warmth.
Chu Yi's coldness is in his bones, a kind of alienation that is almost innate.
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