Chapter 68
When the ward door was flung open, Atobe's warm lips were still pressed against the corner of my eye, tears still wet on his fingertips. Before I could even see who was coming, a roar resounded through the ward like thunder:
"What are you doing?!"
Long Yao, like a sudden demon, blocked the doorway. His handsome, yet now livid, face was twisted in shock and anger. His sharp gaze pierced through us, our huddled companions, like a knife, finally fixing itself on Atobe.
"Xiaojiu! How old are you this year?! Are you an adult?! Have you finished the college entrance examination?!" He stepped in, his voice slightly crackled due to the rising voice, and every word was wrapped in sparks, "A single man and a single woman! Hugging and kissing! Where are the tutors of the Atobe family?! Have they been fed to the dogs?!"
He was clearly furious. He pointed at Atobe's nose and bombarded me with blows, but at the same time, he didn't dare to move too much because of the injuries on my body. But his anger finally got the better of him. He rushed over and grabbed Atobe's shirt with his big hands with irresistible force, pulling him away from me.
"Get out!" Brother Seven practically roared, veins popping out of his forehead. "Get out of here! Never set foot in this ward again without my permission!"
My heart suddenly sank, and I was afraid that Brother Qi would lose his composure in his rage and hurt Teibu. I struggled to pull Brother Qi's arm: "Brother Qi! Don't..."
The movement involved my ribs, and a sharp pain instantly gripped me. Cold sweat broke out, and a suppressed groan of pain escaped my throat. The wound, which had just stopped bleeding, quickly spread a small, glaring red patch on my hospital gown.
"Xiaojiu!" The Seventh Brother's roar was instantly stuck in his throat. Seeing the blood, his face turned from ashen to pale, and the flames of rage in his eyes were instantly extinguished by panic.
He threw Atobe away like a troublesome object and yelled towards the door: "Nurse! Call the nurse!"
Then he yelled out the door, "Get him out of here! Now!"
Two tall bodyguards quickly flashed in, one on the left and one on the right, holding the man who was nervously trying to check the traces of my wound, and almost half-forced him to leave the ward.
The door was shut heavily, blocking out all sounds from outside.
The only sounds left in the ward were my and Seventh Brother's rapid breathing and the lingering smell of gunpowder in the air.
The nurse came in quickly and examined my wound with swift movements. Like a trapped animal, Brother Qi paced anxiously around the bed for a few seconds. Finally, he could only clench his fists and stare at the nurse's movements, his jaw tense.
There was a suffocating silence, the only sound being the gentle rustling of the nurse as she unwrapped the gauze.
After the nurse re-bandaged the wound and confirmed that it was only a minor injury causing bleeding and that there was nothing serious, she left. The tense, awkward silence fell again.
I leaned against the pillow, my chest still aching slightly, but what was even more uncomfortable was the stagnant atmosphere.
I licked my dry lips, trying to break the deadlock, and asked the most abrupt question that had been lingering in my mind: "Seventh Brother... I... killed someone... What should I do?"
Seventh Brother was bending over to tuck in the corner of my quilt. He didn't even pause when he heard this. His tone was as calm as if he was discussing the weather: "Self-defense. The traces at the scene and the trajectory of the bullet are all clear."
He stood up straight, and glanced at me with a hint of coldness, "Before I even made a move, the Atobe family had already wiped out the enemy."
I breathed a sigh of relief: "That's good..."
"Bullshit!" Seventh Brother interrupted me abruptly, his anger a bit uncontrollable. He put his hands on his hips and looked down at me, "If you're being too attentive for no reason, you're either a traitor or a thief! When did the Atobe family become so enthusiastic?"
"How can I say nothing happened?" I whispered defensively, "At least... I saved Jingwu..."
"Jingwu?" Seventh Brother snorted, his eyes growing even colder. "You're calling me that affectionately! Is it normal for them to deal with the aftermath? Humph, normally they should notify the guardian immediately! Instead of letting a half-grown brat guard it here!"
He took a deep breath, as if trying hard to suppress his surging anger, and his voice became deeper. "How dare you? You came to England secretly and got involved in this kind of thing. Why didn't you tell me?"
I lowered my eyelashes, not daring to look at his sharp gaze: "I know... you will definitely not agree..."
"So you acted on your own? And you wanted to bring the butler with you to conceal the truth?" The seventh brother's voice suddenly rose, filled with anger of betrayal, but then he seemed to remember something and suppressed it, leaving only heavy fatigue and fear.
"Do you know... do you know..." He didn't say the rest of the words, but just turned his face away, with his jaw line tense.
"If something happens, how am I going to explain it to my fifth uncle..." He turned his head, probably recalling the past.
I looked at his bloodshot eyes and the lingering haggardness between his brows, and knew that he must have been exhausted these days.
My heart was filled with sadness and tenderness, just like when I was a kid and had gotten into trouble. I stretched out my fingers and gently hooked them around his sleeve, saying in a soft and flattering voice, "I'm sorry, Seventh Brother... I won't do it again next time..."
The call of "Seventh Brother" and that familiar coquettish tone seemed to carry some kind of magic.
His tense shoulders collapsed instantly, the forceful anger and rage dissipating like a popped balloon. He sighed long and silently, a sigh of resigned indulgence. He couldn't bear to lose his temper with this precious little sister he'd cherished since childhood.
He turned around, and with a slightly rough gentleness, he ruffled my hair with his big hands, but with very little force: "...If you want to do it again, I'll break your legs."
The atmosphere relaxed. Looking at my dry lips, he poured warm water and handed it to me. Although his movements were still a little stiff, he was very careful.
His voice was muffled, with a bitterness that he tried hard to conceal but still revealed:
"I've been guarding you for three days and three nights without even closing my eyes, and you've been sleeping like a pig. That guy's only been here for one night... and you've already woken up..."
He paused, his voice lowered, a hint of subtle grievance in his voice, "Is it because Xiaojiu has grown up...that he no longer likes Seventh Brother?"
I looked at his tall back and my nose felt sore. This Seventh Brother, who was so powerful and had the final say outside, now looked like a child afraid of being abandoned.
My voice was hoarse as I whispered, "No... I like Seventh Brother the most..."
His tall figure stood beside the bed, like a silent mountain. The warm yellow wall lamp cast shadows of varying depths on his face. He lowered his eyes, his fingers unconsciously twisting the corner of the quilt, the movement carrying a rare hesitation.
After a long while, he raised his eyes again, his gaze fixed on my face. His voice was so muffled that it seemed to be squeezed out from his chest, with a hint of deliberately lowered awkwardness: "...When did you and that kid start this?"
The air seemed to stagnate for a moment.
I was caught off guard by his question, my cheeks felt slightly hot, and my eyes subconsciously drifted to the gray sky outside the window.
How do we define that “time”?
Was it his arrogant and awkward testing when we first met? Or was it the tacit understanding we developed when raising Xiaokong? Or was it even earlier, in those daily confrontations and undercurrents, that the seeds of a bond that could not be ignored were already sown?
"...I don't know." I looked away, at Seventh Brother's tense profile, and spoke softly, with a mix of confusion and conviction I couldn't quite explain, "It just... happened naturally... like this."
It was a feeling of natural development, unable to trace the exact starting point, but already deeply involved in it.
"Naturally?!" Brother Seven seemed to be suddenly burned by this word, and his voice suddenly rose. The blue vein on his forehead that had just calmed down showed signs of bulging again.
He turned around abruptly, raking his already messy hair in annoyance, his chest heaving violently like a completely enraged lion. "What a natural thing to do! Do you know what it means to invite a wolf into the house?!"
His anger seemed to have found a more specific outlet, and it was directed at his sixth brother, who was thousands of miles away and completely unaware of the situation. "It's all that old charlatan's fault! He pretended to count on his fingers back then, saying things like, 'Good luck traveling east, Japan will be a boon!' That's bullshit!"
He became angrier and angrier as he spoke, as if the compass that had calculated the divination was right in front of him. "What a bullshit good thing! The good thing is that you almost lost your life in a foreign country? The good thing is that you were bullied by that brat from the Atobe family...!"
He seemed to be choking on the rest of the words, his face turning blue with anger. He kicked the innocent low cabinet next to him fiercely, making a dull sound. "When we get back, I'll smash all those broken plates and bowls of his! Let him calculate again!"
The low cabinet shook from his kick, and the water cup on it bumped slightly. I shrank back at his fury, and a faint tugging sensation ripped through my wound.
Seeing him so angry that his eyes turned red, like a beast that failed to protect its cub and couldn't find the culprit, he was left with anger and grievances that had nowhere to vent, and the sour feeling in my heart surged up again.
"Seventh Brother..." I reached out, carefully hooking my fingertips around his clenched fist hanging at his side. His fingers were cold, but his palm was burning, his muscles as stiff as stone.
"Don't be angry..." I used the soft and sweet tone that always worked when I was a kid, and gently shook his finger with a hint of pleading, "Sixth brother didn't mean it... Look at me now... I'm fine..."
This trick seems to always work on Brother Seven.
His tense body felt like a hole had been punctured, and the raging rage visibly released. He snorted heavily, a little unwillingly, and with his backhand, he pinched my fingertips with force, yet controlled strength, as a response.
He still had a stern face, but the violence in his eyes had mostly faded, leaving only an inextricable worry and a feeling of powerlessness that "the sister has grown up and is no longer under the control of her brother."
He said nothing more, simply turning around and roughly picking up the pills and water cup from the bedside table. He gripped the cup, his fingertips turning pale from the pressure. He silently brought it to my lips, his eyes signaling me to take the pills.
I obediently swallowed the pills in his hand, the warm water sliding down my throat. He watched me swallow it and then put the cup back in its place.
Then, he bent down and, as if treating a fragile piece of porcelain, carefully tucked in the corners of my quilt, sealing every gap where air might leak in. His movements were clumsy, with a careful concentration that was completely different from his irritable temper.
After doing all this, he stood up and looked at me deeply. His eyes were extremely complicated. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, it turned into a barely audible sigh.
"Go to sleep." His voice was low and unquestionable. "Rest well."
After saying that, he stopped looking at me, turned around and strode towards the door.
With a light click, the door locked and silence returned to the ward.
The heavy ward door closed behind Long Yao with a dull click. The corridor outside the door was pale and cold, and the smell of disinfectant was so strong that it could not be dispelled.
Almost the moment the door closed, Keigo Atobe broke free from Oshitari's supporting hand and staggered forward.
His tall frame seemed to be swaying slightly, his face a grayish hue of fatigue, and the newly sprouted stubble on his jaw added a touch of unkemptness. There were untreated bruises and scrapes on the corners of his mouth and cheekbones, the messy marks left by the bodyguards when they carried him away.
Several days and nights of sleepless torment, coupled with the violent ups and downs of emotions just now, had already overdrawn his strength.
His eyes were bloodshot, but he still stared stubbornly at the closed door, burning with desperate eagerness.
"Get out of the way." His voice was hoarse and dry, like sandpaper rubbing against the wall. It was an unquestionable command, and he was speaking to Long Yao who was blocking the door. He tried to push Long Yao away, but his arm was clearly trembling with weakness when he raised it.
Long Yao's tall figure was like an insurmountable wall, standing motionless in front of the door.
He folded his arms, set his jaw, and looked at Atobe's miserable state with cold and sharp eyes.
The expensive handmade suit was wrinkled on his obviously thinner frame, his hair was already messy, his face was bruised, and he could hardly stand steadily, but he was still trying to be brave in front of him.
A surge of evil fire suddenly rose in my heart.
Long Yao almost blurted out those harsh and sharp accusations, questioning him on what grounds, on what grounds he let his most precious sister fall into such danger, and on what grounds he put on such an affectionate gesture here.
But when the words were on the tip of his tongue, his eyes flashed with the image of Xiaojiu in the ward with a pale face, pulling his sleeve and apologizing softly, and the unconcealable soft light in her eyes when she looked at Atobe.
All the anger was like being poured over his head with a basin of ice water, leaving only a feeling of suffocation and irritation that had nowhere to vent. Long Yao suddenly raised his foot and kicked the innocent metal trash can next to him in anger.
“Bang—!”
The loud noise echoed in the silent corridor, startling a passing nurse. The trash can was kicked out of shape and rolled several times on the ground, making a piercing noise.
Yuushi Oshitari stood one step behind Atobe, his eyes behind the lenses filled with deep worry and helplessness.
He adjusted his glasses, looked at Atobe's shaky back, and spoke at the right time. His voice was calm but carried a statement that could not be ignored: "Atobe...you really need rest and treatment. You have hardly slept or eaten properly in the past few days."
He paused, his eyes sweeping over Atobe's suit jacket, which was obviously ill-fitting and stained with dust and suspicious stains, and added, "Besides, you've been guarding here since the accident. Not only have you not taken care of your appearance, you haven't even treated your wounds properly."
There was a barely perceptible sigh in Oshitari's tone, "Our King is now only one broken bowl away from being a 'homeless person'."
Atobe ignored Oshitari's words, his entire mind focused on the closed door. It wasn't until Oshitari's teasing yet truthful comment about "tramp" that his chaotic thoughts began to clear up.
He remembered the ward, Xiao Yin leaning in his arms, her voice weak but with a spoiled stubbornness, asking him to be handsome again, asking him to have big pectoral muscles and eight-pack abs...
Those faint voices now exploded like thunder in his exhausted mind.
He promised her.
She promised to recover and return to the gorgeous Keigo Atobe that she was proud of.
His gaze, fixed on the door, finally shifted to Long Yao's face, which was filled with impatience and suppressed anger. Atobe pursed his pale lips, his jawline tensing and relaxing as he tried to make an incredibly difficult decision.
Finally, he nodded extremely slowly and slightly. That gesture was filled with reluctance and reluctance, but it was the only promise he could make at the moment.
Long Yao looked at his grimacing expression, and then saw that he finally nodded. Only then did the nameless anger in his heart subside a little.
He frowned in disgust, as if afraid of being contaminated by some unclean smell, and ordered in a harsh tone, "Did you hear me? Get back here right now! Get an injection! Take some medicine! Wash yourself from head to toe! And shave that prickly beard of yours!"
He practically roared, each word laced with disdain, "Aren't you afraid that the smell on your body will irritate my precious sister? She can't stand the smell of anything irritating right now, understand?!"
Atobe remained silent and did not refute.
Oshitari immediately stepped forward, firmly holding onto Atobe's arm, and whispered, "Let's go, Atobe. Miss Long also needs to rest."
He glanced at Long Yao, who was still blocking the door like a door god, and signaled with his eyes.
Long Yao was extremely reluctant, almost groaning through his teeth, before he moved aside to make way for the elevator.
With a gloomy face, he watched Oshitari half-supporting and half-helping the annoying guy away with unsteady steps but a straight back. Only when the two figures disappeared around the corner of the corridor did he kick the deformed trash can again with a heavy kick, with nowhere to vent his frustration.
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