Chapter 31 Little Surprise
The rain outside the window stopped at some point, and the sunlight filtered through the gauze curtains, casting hazy spots of light on the bedroom floor.
Yu Ling was awakened by the lingering dryness in her throat. She fluttered her eyelids, and consciousness, like a survivor being salvaged from a shipwreck, slowly and heavily emerged from the water.
The first thing she felt was the perfect warmth on her forehead—a fresh, damp towel. While her throat still felt a little uncomfortable, the burning pain had eased considerably, replaced by a cool, soothing sensation. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze fixed on the bedside.
Zhao Chen sat in the chair that had accompanied her all night, one hand supporting his forehead, eyes closed, as if asleep. The morning light outlined his deep profile, a faint shadow under his eyes, and a layer of light green stubble on his chin, adding a sense of fatigue and decadence. His home clothes were wrinkled, and the collar was slightly open, revealing a small section of the well-defined collarbone.
Yu Ling's heart trembled without warning. The chaotic fragments of last night's memories pieced together bit by bit—the burning forehead, the gentle wipe, the patient soothing, the firm, warm embrace, and the magical hand that soothed her cough... Every detail was scorching, so clear that her cheeks felt slightly hot. She looked at his tired, sleeping face, and an unprecedented warmth, a mixture of heartache and gratitude, quietly flowed through her heart.
As if sensing her gaze, Zhao Chen's thick eyelashes trembled, and he slowly opened his eyes. His amber eyes were a little hazy at first, but the moment they met Yu Ling's gaze, they immediately became clear and focused.
"Awake?" He immediately sat up straight, his voice hoarse from just waking up, but he couldn't hide his concern. "How do you feel? Are you still running a fever?" He subconsciously reached out and touched her forehead.
The cool back of his hand touched her skin, and Yu Ling's heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason, but she didn't shy away like she had before. She even tilted her head slightly to make it easier for him to touch her.
"Much better..." Her voice was still a little hoarse, but much clearer than last night, with a hint of barely perceptible dependence, "My throat doesn't hurt as much anymore."
Zhao Chen carefully felt the temperature of her forehead, and his tense brows finally relaxed, revealing a relieved smile, like sunshine penetrating the clouds: "Well, the fever is gone." He withdrew his hand and stood up, "Are you hungry? I'll make you some porridge and stew some rock sugar and snow pears." He turned around quickly and decisively, with an unquestionable tenderness.
Watching his tall figure leave the bedroom, Yu Ling curled up in the quilt, still lingering with his scent. She felt the frozen surface of her heart, frozen by pain and doubt, slowly melting under an unfamiliar warmth. The vulnerable self she'd been, who'd been meticulously protected by him last night, seemed to be gradually replacing the wary, ever-ready-to-escape self.
The delicate aroma of rice porridge and the sweet scent of snow pears soon wafted from the kitchen. Yu Ling, still a little weak, sat up and leaned against the headboard. The bedroom door wasn't closed tightly, and she could hear the subtle sounds of Zhao Chen busy in the kitchen—water running, porcelain bowls clinking, pot lids carefully lifted and lowered. These most ordinary sounds of life, at that moment, held a strange, soothing power.
She looked around the bedroom, gently bathed in the morning light. The "affordable" props Zhao Chen had bought the previous night in preparation for his parents' surprise inspection—a bear mug, a plaid sofa cushion, supermarket giveaway coasters—were still there, silently demonstrating his efforts to maintain this "ordinariness."
Her eyes fell on the bedside table, where was the cup she had drunk water from before going to bed last night. Next to it was a small opened bottle of throat lozenges with the lid ajar, obviously prepared by Zhao Chen specially for her.
An indescribable complex emotion welled up in her heart. This man was unfathomable, full of mysteries, and he might even have a background so vast that it could overturn everything she knew.
But this is the man who would stay by her bedside in the middle of the night to comfort her because she had a sore throat; who would stay up all night changing towels and feeding her medicine because she had a high fever; who would put on an apron and busy himself in the kitchen because her parents said they liked home-cooked meals...
He had woven a colossal lie, yet at the heart of it, he had poured his truest tenderness and protection into her. This tenderness, like a vine, quietly entwined the sanity she tried to uphold and the cold contract.
"Lingling, the porridge is ready. Can you get up and eat?" Zhao Chen's voice rang out at the door, interrupting her thoughts. He walked in carrying a tray with a bowl of soft, fragrant white porridge, a small dish of refreshing pickled cucumbers, and a bowl of steaming, crystal-clear pear stewed with rock sugar.
"Yeah." Yu Ling nodded, threw back the quilt and tried to get out of bed. As her feet touched the ground, she felt weak and her body swayed.
Zhao Chen immediately set down the tray, strode forward, and firmly grasped her arm. "Slow down," he said in a low voice, unyielding. "Sit still, I'll bring it to you." He half-helped, half-carried her back to the bedside, then took the bowl of lukewarm porridge, sat down on the edge, scooped up a spoonful, blew on it carefully, and then offered it to her lips.
"I can do it myself..." Yu Ling said awkwardly, wanting to take the spoon. Being fed like this felt like being swaddled again, making her feel both shy and... inexplicably craving the feeling of being cared for.
"Open your mouth." Zhao Chen's tone was gentle, but with an unquestionable insistence. His amber eyes looked at her, clearly reflecting her somewhat pale face. "You don't have the strength in your hands, don't be stubborn." He naturally pushed the spoon forward again, and the aroma of porridge lingered at the tip of his nose.
Yu Ling looked at his face, so close, so earnest and concerned. The words of refusal stuck in her throat, and she finally opened her mouth slightly. The warm porridge slid into her mouth, soft, sweet, and just the right temperature, instantly soothing her empty stomach and uncomfortable throat. Zhao Chen fed her patiently, spoonful by spoonful, neither too fast nor too slow, occasionally scraping a grain of rice from the corner of her lips with the edge of the spoon, a movement so natural that it felt like it had been done a thousand times.
Sunlight streamed through the window, dancing on his downcast brows and focused profile. Yu Ling watched his long eyelashes cast a small shadow under his eyes, watched him carefully blow on the porridge, watched his chest rise and fall slightly as he approached...
An unprecedented sense of peaceful and warm happiness enveloped her like a warm spring. Those sharp questions about identity, contracts, and deception seemed to fade into the distance and blur in the warm morning light.
She even forgot to ask where the missing orange Lamborghini had gone. At this moment, this bowl of porridge he had personally cooked, this bedroom filled with sunshine and his scent, this feeling of being cherished and cared for, was her entire world.
"Is it sweet?" Zhao Chen asked softly with a smile on his face as he watched her eat the pear in small bites.
Yu Ling nodded, holding a small piece of sweet snow pear in her mouth. It was cool and moist, so comfortable that she narrowed her eyes slightly: "Hmm, sweet." There was a hint of softness in her voice after being ill.
Zhao Chen looked at her satisfied, kitten-like expression, and the smile in his eyes deepened, with a pure sense of satisfaction at seeing someone he cherished safe and sound. He picked up the tissue beside him and naturally wiped the sugary liquid from the corner of her mouth.
Her fingertips gently brushed across her lips through the soft tissue, bringing a subtle electric sensation. Yu Ling's heartbeat uncontrollably quickened again, her cheeks slightly warmed, but strangely, she didn't shy away.
The illness faded away. For the next two days, Zhao Chen, under the pretext of being a "patient," forced Yu Ling to stay at home to recuperate. He seemed to be in his ultimate, devoted husband mode.
In the morning, he would bring me warm water, pills, and a carefully prepared breakfast on time. Sometimes it was thick chicken porridge with refreshing side dishes, sometimes it was a golden fried egg and crispy toast. There was even one time when he conjured up a bowl of authentic wontons from nowhere, with thin skin, big fillings, and delicious soup.
"There's a new breakfast shop downstairs. The food is delicious. I've tried it." Facing Ling's surprised look, Zhao Chen explained calmly and put a peeled, plump boiled egg into her bowl.
During the day, he spent most of his time at home. He sat on a comfy, improvised sofa in the living room, with an ordinary-looking laptop in front of him (Yu Ling recognized it; it was the one he'd used for his "overtime" work). His fingers pounded the keyboard, a crisp, rhythmic click. The screen was filled with dense, unreadable code.
"I have a small project to finish, so I'll take care of it at home." Noticing her gaze, Zhao Chen raised his head and gave her a gentle and harmless smile, his eyes clear and frank. "Don't worry, I won't disturb your rest."
Yu Ling curled up on the other end of the sofa, hugging a soft blanket. She watched the sunlight fall on his focused profile, watched his slender fingers dance to a dazzling rhythm on the keyboard, and listened to the keyboard tapping that represented "ordinary work." She felt a sense of peace and tranquility in her heart. She didn't even bother to think about what kind of "small project" would require him to type such heart-wrenchingly complex code. She just... enjoyed the feeling of having him by her side.
He would remind her to take medicine at the appointed time and bring her warm water and peeled throat lozenges.
He would adjust the temperature of the air conditioner according to her body temperature and condition to ensure her comfort.
He would silently hand her a pillow or a cup of warm honey water when she was reading or browsing her phone.
He would even find, when Yu Ling woke up from a nap, that a small bunch of fresh calla lilies had appeared on the bedside table, placed in an equally "ordinary" glass bottle, emitting a light and elegant fragrance.
"I saw a sale at the flower shop on the way back, so I bought some." Zhao Chen came in with freshly washed fruit, his tone as casual as if he was saying he bought a cabbage.
Yu Ling looked at the bunch of white, elegant and obviously valuable calla lilies, then looked at his frugal expression, and the corners of her mouth couldn't help but twitch.
Discount? What a lie! This guy's ability to play dumb is truly extraordinary! But strangely, instead of feeling doubt and anger, she felt a tinge of laughter. She even found his lame excuse a little endearing.
A sweet feeling of being carefully cared for and pampered, like fine frosting, enveloped her heart layer by layer. She began to get used to his presence, his care, and even began to look forward to his clumsy yet heartwarming "little surprises."
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