Chapter 47: A Thousand Miles Away "Pretend to be dead."
The place they settled in was called Xiaowangzhai. The man who took them in was called Wang Dayong. He looked fierce, but he was actually an honest and easy-going hunter.
Zhao Yan and Yong Shaolan could not walk anymore when they reached Xiaowangzhai. They had not eaten for two days and were already exhausted. Fortunately, they met Wang Dayong who had returned empty-handed after hunting in the mountains.
Zhao Yan gave him one or two taels of silver, and then took Yong Shaolan into Wang Dayong's house.
Wang Dayong's house consisted of a main hall and two side rooms. Zhao Yan and Yong Shaolan lived in the west side room. They arrived that afternoon and ate some glutinous rice porridge. That evening, Yong Shaolan developed a high fever.
It was already midnight when Zhao Yan discovered Yong Shaolan. He felt his breathing become heavier, so he stood up and felt him. Sure enough, he had a fever. "Brother Lan? Are you okay?"
My forehead is burning.
"It's okay." Yong Shaolan held Zhao Yan's hand, "Rest. We need to leave here as soon as possible."
"What do you mean, okay?" Zhao Yan touched Yong Shaolan's wound. Wang Dayong had bandaged it that afternoon. His fever must be related to the wound. "No, if you keep having this fever, you won't be able to rest well. Wait for me."
Zhao Yan rustled out of bed in the dark. Yong Shaolan clearly no longer had the strength to stop the young man. He simply frowned and called out to him, "It's so late. Just get some cold water and a towel."
Zhao Yan put on his shoes and said, "Well, I'll get you some towels to cool you down and bring you some wine."
Zhao Yan went out in the dark and knocked on Wang Dayong's door. Not long after, the man came out with a dark face: "Brother Wang, my husband has a fever. Can I use some of the wine I drank during the day?"
Wang Dayong's face was dark, and he was dissatisfied with having his sweet dream disturbed, but he still went back to the house. After a while, he took out a jar and stuffed it into Zhao Yan's arms.
Zhao Yan returned to the room with the wine, took a handkerchief, dipped it in the wine, and wiped Yong Shaolan's forehead: "Wine dissipates heat, it will feel much better if you apply it on."
After saying that, Zhao Yan reached out to grab Yong Shaolan's hand again: "Palm."
Yong Shaolan obediently handed his hand to Zhao Yan, closing his eyes and saying nothing. Zhao Yan carefully wiped the man's hand with a handkerchief, "If only there were cephalexin and ibuprofen, you wouldn't have to suffer so much."
Zhao Yan said to himself: "Is it very uncomfortable?"
Yong Shaolan murmured, "Not bad."
Yong Shaolan rarely shows such a vulnerable side in front of Zhao Yan, or rather, he rarely shows such a vulnerable side in front of others, but he is still a human being after all, and humans will have headaches and fevers, be fragile and get sick.
"Stop pretending," Zhao Yan wiped his palms, walked to the head of the bed with the wine, and tried to pull off Yong Shaolan's socks.
When Yong Shaolan realized something was wrong, Zhao Yan had already taken off one of his socks: "What are you doing?"
Zhao Yan didn't think there was anything wrong with it. "You should also apply some on the soles of your feet to dissipate heat quickly."
"No need." Yong Shaolan supported the bed with one hand, trying to pull his legs back. "Come here and sit with me for a while."
"I'm not a medicine. If I can help you get better by accompanying you, then you won't get sick with a fever. Okay." Zhao Yan wiped the soles of his feet, then climbed to the head of the bed and pulled at Yong Shaolan's collar: "Apply some to your chest too. I'm going to do it."
Yong Shaolan frowned, narrowed his eyes, moved his lips, and wanted to say something, but he couldn't stop Zhao Yan from untying his belt and wiping his chest with white wine.
No matter how many times Zhao Yan looked at those bulging chest muscles, he still felt uncomfortable. Yong Shaolan was also quite fair-skinned, and his body turned pink when he had a fever. He wiped his tight chest with a handkerchief over and over again, and his skin soon turned red again. "Why do you have so many scars on your body?"
"Don't you all wear armor when you go to war?"
Yong Shaolan pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and suddenly grabbed Zhao Yan's wrist: "Okay, stop it, it smells terrible."
The man's voice was a little impatient, but Zhao Yan didn't hear it and slapped Yong Shaolan's hand away: "That won't work. You told me before that good medicine tastes bitter. I didn't even ask you to take the medicine, and you're still complaining about it?"
Yong Shaolan: “…”
Zhao Yan opened Yong Shaolan's shirt completely, and the man was like meat on a chopping board, allowing him to slaughter him. When the wine was almost all applied, Zhao Yan got off the bed, sealed the wine jar and put it on the ground, and placed the wine bowl and towel for wiping the man's body on the small stool at the head of the bed.
"I'll wipe you a few more times later," Zhao Yan said. He then changed a handkerchief, soaked it in cold water, wrung it half dry, folded it, and placed it on Yong Shaolan's forehead. "You should feel more comfortable with this."
"I did this before when I had a fever and had no medicine to take. My head hurt like it was about to explode, and the cool towel felt so comfortable."
After finishing, Zhao Yan sat on the small stool, lying next to Yong Shaolan, tilting his head and looking at him: "Go to sleep, have a good rest."
Zhao Yan was used to being served. It had been a long time since he had served others like this. Although he was tired, he felt very comfortable in his heart. "Good night."
I thought Yong Shaolan would sleep peacefully, but the man took off the scarf on his head and said, "I'm fine, come up and rest."
Zhao Yan: “…”
The young man stood up quickly and tried to grab the handkerchief from Yong Shaolan's hand, "What are you doing? I just put it down, give it to me!"
Zhao Yan tried to grab it, but Yong Shaolan held it tightly and refused to let go. He pulled it a few times and suddenly found that Yong Shaolan's brows were tightly furrowed, and he looked very unhappy, "..."
Zhao Yan frowned, as if realizing something, and stopped trying to snatch the handkerchief. Instead, he cupped his cheeks with both hands, forcing him to look at him. "Brother Lan, you don't think you're a burden to me, do you?"
A word can wake a person up from his dream.
Zhao Yan stared at the man's eyes eagerly. Those gilded eyes always looked down upon everything in the past, but now they were covered with a thick layer of fog, with the feathers drooping and the lips tightly pursed.
Zhao Yan sneered and rubbed Yong Shaolan's face vigorously, "Really?"
"Is it possible that even the almighty Prince Yong would have a day when he lacks confidence?"
"You're so cute when you're angry, Brother Lan," Zhao Yan tilted his head, his eyes sweeping from Yong Shaolan's brows to his tightly pursed lips. His Adam's apple slid as he looked at those pale lips, and he actually felt they were very kissable???
Yong Shaolan remained silent, but he was helpless with Zhao Yan, so he simply closed his eyes and said, "No."
"It's just a fever. It will be gone when you wake up tomorrow. There's no need to make a big fuss."
"Oh~~~~" Zhao Yan pried open the man's eyelids with two fingers: "It's almost twelve o'clock, why don't you go to bed?"
Yong Shaolan: “…”
Zhao Yan persisted: "Isn't it because you are so uncomfortable that you can't sleep?"
"Why are you so stubborn?" Zhao Yan licked his lips and continued to complain: "People who act like you usually end up in the crematorium, you know?"
"Will you give me the handkerchief?"
The man remained silent, looking sulky. Zhao Yan snorted and raised his hand to pinch Yong Shaolan's cheek: "Give it to me or not? If not, I'm going to touch the soda ash and draw on your face?"
Zhao Yan pinched and pinched: "Give it or not? Give it or not? Give it or not, give it or not, give it or not, give it or not."
Yong Shaolan: “…”
He turned his head and handed the handkerchief to Zhao Yan with his other hand.
"That's better," Zhao Yan snorted, letting go of the man, took the handkerchief to the wooden basin with cold water to wash it, and brought it back, "Lie down, I'll apply it to you."
"hurry up."
Yong Shaolan finally obeyed and turned over. Zhao Yan applied the handkerchief as he wished, then went back to get the white wine and continued to wipe Yong Shaolan's body.
After working for more than two hours, he finally felt that his fever was no longer so high. However, the sky was already turning pale. Zhao Yan was too tired to go to bed, so he fell asleep next to Yong Shaolan.
The next day, before noon, the roosters outside the room began to crow. There were rustling sounds outside the yard; it must be Wang Dayong going out hunting.
Yong Shaolan was not feeling well, and after being woken up, his headache became even worse, as if a hammer was constantly hitting him. He wanted to go to the toilet, but as soon as he opened his eyes, he found Zhao Yan sleeping next to him, with his little face resting on his arm, and several wrinkles on his face.
Yong Shaolan took off the scarf on his head and called out, "Zhao Yan..."
Zhao Yan seemed to be very sleepy. He frowned, muttered "Don't move!" and then fell asleep again.
Yong Shaolan tried to get up, but the wound on his right arm made any movement unbearable. He was soon sweating profusely. Finally, he managed to get up, supporting himself with one hand. His gaze fell on the boy's dark eyelids, and a subtle frown formed between his brows.
Yong Shaolan half-got out of bed and let out a long sigh, but found that he was unable to reach the boots on the ground. He tried to reach for them a few times, but kicked the shoes away instead.
He clenched his fists and could only walk barefoot. At this time, Zhao Yan woke up, rubbed his eyes, and saw Yong Shaolan sitting awkwardly beside the bed, putting on his shoes with one hand, not even bothering to put on socks. "Why didn't you call me when you woke up?"
The boy's legs were numb from sitting. He stood up, stumbled, and took a long time to stand steady. "God, I was so sleepy last night."
"What are you doing?" Zhao Yan stood up, took some clean socks, bent down to put them on Yong Shaolan, and then helped him put on his boots: "Are you still burning?"
Yong Shaolan blocked the young man's hand and said calmly, "Okay."
"I'm going to the bathroom, you go to bed and rest for a while."
"Really?" Zhao Yan withdrew his hand in frustration. "Brother Wang said your wound would take at least three days to heal. How could it heal in one night?"
After saying that, he grabbed Yong Shaolan's wrist and touched it with his other hand. The body temperature that had been suppressed with great difficulty last night seemed to rise again: "It's still very hot."
Zhao Yan: "Big liar."
"I'll get the chamber pot, wait for me."
Yong Shaolan: “…”
Yong Shaolan stopped the young man who was about to leave: "No need."
Zhao Yan turned around and walked out as if he didn't hear him.
Yong Shaolan looked at the empty room and his own seriously ill appearance, and suddenly tightened his fists under his sleeves.
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The author has something to say: It’s coming!!!
Looking back at the plot, I just want to say one thing to the young couple: Come on, special forces!!!
Good night!
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