Chapter 165 Sick Wei Wuxian
The night wind blew the autumn rain against the window. Amid the pattering sound, Wei Wuxian curled up in his quilt and suddenly shivered.
At first, he just felt his hands and feet stiffen, as if they were holding a block of ice. He rubbed against Lan Wangji, hoping to absorb some warmth, but suddenly his nose caught a familiar sweet smell—the smell of his own sweat, mixed with a faint bitterness of medicine, especially clear in the cool air.
“Cold…” He murmured unconsciously, his fingertips clenching Lan Wangji’s sleeves.
Lan Wangji, who had been flipping through medical records under the lamp, immediately put the scroll down upon hearing this. He reached out to touch Wei Wuxian's forehead, and the warmth his palm felt made his heart tighten—it wasn't just ordinary warmth, it was a searing heat, like a fire burning beneath his skin.
"Wei Ying?" Lan Wangji's voice dropped, a subtle hint of panic in it. He pulled Wei Wuxian's shoulders and saw that his eyes were tightly closed, a fine layer of cold sweat clinging to his eyelashes. His lips were unnaturally flushed, and his breathing was a fraction faster than usual.
Wei Wuxian's eyes flickered open, but his vision was blurry. He stared at Lan Wangji's magnified face and tried to smile, but his throat felt like it was clogged with cotton wool, and only muffled sounds came out. The chill still lingered, and a sharp pain shot through his bones, like countless needles pricking him, forcing him to shrink deeper into the quilt.
"You have a fever." Lan Wangji fished out a thermometer and carefully placed it under his armpit. His fingertips touched the skin of his neck, which was surprisingly hot. He stood up to get the fever-reducing medicine, but Wei Wuxian gripped his wrist with a grip that didn't seem like a patient's.
“Don’t go…” Wei Wuxian’s voice was drifting, his eyes half-open, but his gaze was determined, “Stay with me…”
He was afraid of the dark, of pain, and even more so of the cold tip of a fever-reducing needle. When he'd had a high fever in the mass graves, Wen Ning had always stayed by his side, wiping his forehead with a coarse cloth dipped in cold water, muttering, "Young Master, bear it a little longer. It will be all right by daybreak." Now that Wen Ning was gone, Lan Wangji had only his hand to hold.
Lan Wangji's heart softened, and he took Wei Wuxian's hot hand in his. "I'm not leaving." He sat down on the edge of the bed, his free hand gently stroking Wei Wuxian's sweat-soaked hair. "I'm here."
The thermometer froze at 39.7 degrees. Lan Wangji stared at the bright red number, his brows knitted together. He went to the bathroom to get a warm towel, and when he returned, Wei Wuxian was already groggy and groaning, repeating "Leng... Sizhui..."
"Let me wipe you down," Lan Wangji said softly, carefully unbuttoning his pajamas. Wei Wuxian's skin, already fair, now glowed pink from the heat. A faint cyan vein could be seen along his collarbone, rising and falling gently with his breathing. He flinched as the towel brushed his neck, like a frightened cat, but he didn't struggle.
When he reached his chest, Lan Wangji paused. There was a faint scar there, an old wound from his time in the Nevernight City. The skin around it was incredibly hot, as if the heat had awakened that old wound, causing a dull ache beneath the flesh.
“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian suddenly grabbed his wrist, his eyes hazy, “Have I… caused you trouble again?”
Lan Wangji didn't say anything, simply leaning down and resting his forehead against his. Their body temperatures met, making them both shudder. "Nonsense." His voice was warm against Wei Wuxian's ear, "Taking care of you isn't a problem."
Wei Wuxian's eyelashes trembled, and tears suddenly fell. The hot tears fell on the back of Lan Wangji's hand, like a small stone, spreading ripples of pity in his heart.
More than half an hour after taking the fever-reducing medicine, the fever hadn't subsided much. Wei Wuxian began to cough, each cough so piercing that it seemed as if he was coughing his lungs out. Lan Wangji took a handkerchief and wiped the corners of his mouth. Seeing that the sputum he coughed up was tinged with a hint of red, his face instantly darkened like the night outside the window.
"Wei Ying, let's go to the hospital." He stood up and was about to put on his coat.
“No…” Wei WuXian tugged at him tightly, his strength astonishing, “The hospital bed…is not comfortable…”
He was afraid of the smell of disinfectant in the hospital, the cold look in the nurse's eyes when giving him an injection, and even more afraid of Lan Wangji sitting on a bench in the hospital corridor all night to take care of him.
Lan Wangji looked at his stubborn gaze, but ultimately couldn't bring himself to do it. He remembered the bottle of spiritual energy liquid Jun Wu had left behind, which he said could be dissolved in water and fed to Wei Wuxian in times of crisis to temporarily suppress pain. He quickly found the porcelain bottle, poured out a few drops of the golden liquid, dissolved it in warm water, and fed it to Wei Wuxian bit by bit.
The spiritual energy liquid entered his throat, carrying a refreshing sweetness. After a few moments, Wei Wuxian's cough gradually subsided, and his breathing became more even. He leaned against Lan Wangji's chest like a tamed animal, tears still hanging on his eyelashes, but he had already fallen into a deep sleep.
The rain continued to fall outside, rustling against the glass. Lan Wangji held Wei Wuxian in his arms, unable to sleep all night. He would occasionally check his temperature, tuck in the blankets, or gently soothe his ragged breath with his spiritual energy. As the morning light faded, the warmth in his arms finally subsided, no longer scorching, but still carrying the warmth of a low-grade fever.
When Wei Wuxian woke up, he saw Lan Wangji's bloodshot eyes. "Are you awake?" Lan Wangji's voice was hoarse, yet filled with relief. "Are you hungry? I'll make you some porridge."
Wei Wuxian didn't say anything, but simply stretched out his arms and wrapped them around his neck. "Lan Zhan," he buried his face in the crook of Lan Wangji's neck, his voice muffled, "I'm sorry..."
I'm sorry for making you worry again, I'm sorry for always making you stay up late, I'm sorry... for not taking good care of myself.
Lan Wangji patted his back, his movements gentle as if he were handling a fragile treasure. "Silly words." He bent down and kissed the top of Wei Wuxian's head. "When you're better, let's go watch Si Zhui paint."
Wei Wuxian nodded in his arms, and suddenly smelled a familiar sweet fragrance on the tip of his nose - it was the scent of pine wood mixed with spiritual power from Lan Wangji's body. It was the scent that made him feel at ease since he was a child, no matter how sick he was.
The rain had stopped at some point, and the morning light shone through the gaps in the curtains, casting a warm glow on the quilt. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, listening to Lan Wangji's steady heartbeat, and suddenly felt that this sudden high fever might not be so unbearable.
At least, he's by my side.
That's enough.
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