5 Falling Ill

Beneath the soft glow of the lamp, Luo Wen’s face was as pure and flawless as snow and ice, yet a faint blush of shyness colored his cheeks. His features were strikingly handsome, his eyes hazy as he gazed at the person before him, the affection in his gaze flowing like rippling water.

Lu Mingzhou was well aware that the tenderness he saw in Luo Wen’s eyes was merely an illusion, but he couldn’t resist the urge to lean down and steal a gentle kiss.

The scent of soap lingered at his nostrils—an ordinary, even cheap fragrance—but in Lu Mingzhou’s somewhat infatuated state, it became intoxicatingly sweet.

Fortunately, a system kept chattering beside him, pulling him back to clarity.

Clearing his throat, he reached for the remote by his side and turned on the television.

The calm and reliable face of the news anchor appeared on the screen, and Lu Mingzhou’s heart instantly settled, as if entering a meditative trance.

Luo Wen glanced at him oddly, his lower lip pressed lightly between his teeth.

A tingling sensation, like ants crawling across his skin, spread through Luo Wen’s body. He forced himself to ignore the strange feelings, though his heart still pounded anxiously.

He didn’t know what to say. Was he supposed to shamelessly beg Lu Mingzhou to do something for him again? Before, it had been a desperate gamble; what was this now? Luo Wen despised how his body, having tasted sweetness once, now betrayed him, and he was determined not to be looked down upon.

Neither spoke, and silence fell between them once more.

[Villain’s hatred value +1]

[Villain’s hatred value -1]

[Villain’s hatred value +1]

[Villain’s hatred value -1]

Lu Mingzhou watched the system notifications flickering up and down in confusion, then glanced at Luo Wen.

He wanted to ask, “You’re unhappy when I touch you, and unhappy when I don’t—what exactly is going on?”

But he refrained from losing his wits enough to actually say it.

His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he and Luo Wen had come to have dinner together, yet after all this fuss, he still hadn’t eaten a hot meal.

He pulled out his phone and turned to Luo Wen, about to ask what he wanted to eat, but caught the other’s eyes fixed steadily on his hand.

Curious, Lu Mingzhou looked down to follow his gaze—and suddenly realized that the wounds on the back of his hand hadn’t been treated, some had dried, while a few deeper ones still oozed blood.

He didn’t think it was a big deal and reached for some tissue to wipe it off, only to find that Luo Wen had somehow produced cotton swabs and ointment from under the coffee table, halting his movement.

“Does it hurt?” Luo Wen held Lu Mingzhou’s fist gently, his expression veiled like a thin mist, shifting and inscrutable.

Lu Mingzhou didn’t quite understand, but when he heard the question, he smiled and decisively said, “No, it doesn’t.”

He was the one who had done the hitting, not the other way around; to him, it was satisfying.

Luo Wen said no more, dark thoughts swirling in his eyes.

Lu Mingzhou habitually teased him.

“So? Are you touched?”

His eyes brimmed with laughter, his voice rich and slightly intoxicating.

Luo Wen’s gaze flickered before he lowered his eyes.

Just as Lu Mingzhou thought he wouldn’t speak, Luo Wen whispered softly, “Thank you.”

Thank you? Lu Mingzhou raised an eyebrow, well, fine, a thank you it was. Even a villain’s thank you was worth something.

[Villain’s hatred value: 60]

The sudden sharp drop in numbers made Lu Mingzhou blink in surprise. Before he could ponder it further, he saw Luo Wen head to the kitchen, tying on an apron, looking rather demure and capable.

“What are you doing?” Lu Mingzhou asked.

Luo Wen rummaged through the fridge, finding most ingredients still fresh. As he washed vegetables, he glanced back. “Aren’t you hungry? I’ll make you a bowl of noodles, quick.”

Before Lu Mingzhou could reply, Luo Wen was already deftly chopping and cooking.

Steam rose, softening the youth’s handsome features under the warm light, gentle like flowing water.

Master Lu’s mother died early, and he had been raised by a nanny. Though his elder brother cared for him, the brother’s main concern was his studies.

Despite Lu Mingzhou’s grown-up recklessness, under his brother’s guidance, he had once been an excellent student, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten into Lin University. His family simply couldn’t handle his penchant for stirring up trouble.

The eldest young master, who had never soiled his hands with mundane chores, watched quietly as Luo Wen, a figure seemingly unrelated to the fate of the world, busily prepared the meal in the kitchen. It felt strangely fascinating.

Peeking from the kitchen doorway, he saw Luo Wen’s swift knife work and cooking skills—clearly practiced. Soon, Luo Wen emerged with a steaming bowl of simple noodles topped with two golden-fried eggs curled at the edges and fragrant.

Lu Mingzhou was already hungry; his eyes nearly popped out at the sight. When Luo Wen placed the bowl before him, he didn’t hesitate.

Blowing on the noodles, Lu Mingzhou eagerly shoveled them into his mouth.

Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had tasted every exquisite delicacy imaginable. No matter how skilled Luo Wen’s cooking was, it was still just a humble bowl of noodles, nowhere near the level of a five-star chef.

Yet, eating this bowl, perhaps because of the rare hunger, felt different.

“Aren’t you eating?” Lu Mingzhou looked at the two golden fried eggs in his bowl, still mindful of Luo Wen, and asked with concern.

“I ate.” Luo Wen lowered his eyes and lied. He felt unwell and had no appetite. After the day’s troubles, he didn’t want to trouble Lu Mingzhou further. Thinking of the medicine kit he had found in the drawer, he planned to take some pills once Lu Mingzhou rested.

“Want me to share? It’s really delicious.” Lu Mingzhou turned to him.

“I’m not hungry.” Luo Wen refused and turned back to the kitchen, silently cleaning the dishes.

Lu Mingzhou raised an eyebrow, stood up, and gently pushed him away. “Don’t worry about it; the housekeeper will clean up tomorrow.”

Luo Wen’s fingers trembled slightly. With nothing else to do, he nodded blankly.

Lu Mingzhou eyed him suspiciously, sensing something was off. Just as he was about to ask again, Luo Wen said, “I’m going to rest first.”

Of course, Lu Mingzhou didn’t object. He looked at the fried eggs in his bowl with growing satisfaction. After a moment, he pulled out his phone, snapped a photo of the beautiful eggs, and added a filter recommended by the system.

He posted it to his social circle with the caption:

“A very delicious homemade noodle dish.”

His posts rarely lacked fans, and soon, comments flooded in.

“Did you make this? Not bad,” said Tong Hao, a close friend.

“Share some!” shamelessly demanded Ke Tianyu, who had been scolded by Lu Mingzhou before but acted as if nothing had happened. Lu Mingzhou admired his nerve.

“Eat earlier next time,” his elder brother, having finished work, occasionally browsed his esteemed feed.

Lu Mingzhou picked a few cooling noodles and chewed while replying:

“@Tong Hao — As if I have those skills.”

“@Ke Tianyu — Get lost, you don’t deserve it.”

Before replying to his brother, a video call came through.

The screen showed a handsome face somewhat resembling Lu Mingzhou’s but gentler, eyes full of concern.

“Is this the house near school?” Seeing Lu Mingzhou nodding and slurping noodles without his usual fastidiousness, Lu Jingshan’s eyes curved into a smile, his expression softening. “Eat slowly; don’t upset your stomach.”

Watching Lu Mingzhou finish the noodles quickly, he said, “You haven’t been home in a long time. Dad…”

He paused. “Your brother misses you. When will you come back and have a meal with him?”

“Sure.” Lu Mingzhou answered promptly, surprising Lu Jingshan.

“I’m planning to develop a game with some friends. When you come back, help me check it out, and if it’s good, lend me some support.”

Though he asked for help, Lu Mingzhou was confident in the project. It was a hit game from his previous life, highly praised domestically and internationally, having already brought in hundreds of millions since launch.

He was too lazy to design a new game from scratch. If progress was fast enough, he even considered porting several successful games from his former world to conquer this one.

But the world wasn’t an RPG; he couldn’t conjure games out of thin air. He needed sufficient funds and manpower.

For once serious, Lu Jingshan sensed his brother wasn’t joking and straightened up, his expression grave.

“Alright, I’ll be waiting.”

Others might see Lu Mingzhou as a playboy, unworthy of trust. But Lu Jingshan, having raised him, knew his brother was sharp, just unwilling to focus on the right path.

As a young man open to new things, he didn’t share their father’s disdain for the gaming industry.

With the company in his hands and his brother under his care, as long as he stayed out of trouble, what harm was there?

Feeling satisfied with his balanced approach to education, after some casual talk, Lu Jingshan reluctantly hung up.

Lu Mingzhou tossed his bowl into the sink and turned toward the bedroom.

The dim room remained unlit; only a few strands of moonlight slipped through the half-closed window, falling softly on the young man lying on the bed.

Lu Mingzhou bent his long legs, leaning against the doorframe, his dark eyes watching the youth on the bed.

For some reason, he suddenly craved a cigarette but thought better of it, recalling Luo Wen’s sensitivity to smoke.

Well, sleep it was—soft warmth was a kind of happiness too.

The eldest young master didn’t linger at the door. He quickly shed his shirt, ready to lie down, but sensed something was wrong.

Luo Wen was still curled up, his body lacking any sense of security, yet his face was flushed, beads of sweat covered his forehead.

Instinctively, Lu Mingzhou reached out and found Luo Wen’s forehead burning hot.

He immediately turned the youth around to face him, furrowing his brows as he called out, “Luo Wen? Luo Wen?”

Luo Wen’s eyes opened, briefly clouded with confusion. His gaze lingered on Lu Mingzhou’s face before focusing. His previously crimson lips were now slightly pale. After a moment, as if realizing where he was, he whispered hoarsely, “...I’m fine.”

Lu Mingzhou, rarely seeing him so unsettled, worried silently: please don’t let this fever fry your brilliant mind.

“You have a fever.” He pressed his forehead to Luo Wen’s, just as his mother had done when they were children.

Luo Wen blinked, his long lashes brushing Lu Mingzhou’s cheek.

The fever seemed to dull his mind; he stared at Lu Mingzhou for a long while before slowly nodding, “Mm.”

Confirming the fever, Lu Mingzhou hesitated before asking, “I forgot to clean yesterday. Did you manage to clean yourself afterward?”

Luo Wen’s body was weak, as if drifting on clouds. Lu Mingzhou’s voice sounded distant to him, like a faint echo from afar. Slowly, he frowned, eyes clouded with confusion.

Lu Mingzhou was momentarily speechless. Considering Luo Wen’s nature, it wasn’t surprising he had never been exposed to matters of intimacy.

In truth, this was also Lu Mingzhou’s first time doing such a thing, but having grown up, he was at least somewhat informed.

Unsure what to say, and feeling a touch remorseful for not anticipating this, he stared silently at Luo Wen’s flushed, innocent face.

Meanwhile, Luo Wen seemed clearer-headed and hoarsely said, “I saw some fever medicine in the drawer earlier.”

Lu Mingzhou frowned, disapproving. “You can’t take medicine carelessly.”

The young master looked at him, hesitated, then said, “Sorry.”

Luo Wen said nothing, but the faint redness from the fever spread around his eyes. He looked up at the hesitant, guilty Lu Mingzhou, his dark eyes reflecting a trace of puzzlement. Then he shook his head gently and whispered, “It’s my fault.”

Lu Mingzhou didn’t understand why Luo Wen always blamed himself. This wasn’t his fault—it was Lu Mingzhou’s own lack of consideration due to his infatuation.

He reached out to touch Luo Wen’s cheek; still burning hot. His conscience pricked him. Not wanting Luo Wen to take medicine recklessly, he felt like some kind of scoundrel.

After hesitating, he dialed a number.

After a few busy signals, the call connected.

“Xiao Zhou,” came a calm, steady female voice, familiar and close. “What’s wrong? It’s been a long time since you called. Did something happen?”

“Aunt Yao, are you resting?” Lu Mingzhou relaxed when she said no. He explained the situation briefly. “How should I reduce his fever?”

“Take off his clothes, wipe his body with ice cubes or a wet towel. Do you have any medicine? Send me a photo,” she instructed, experienced and methodical compared to Lu Mingzhou’s panic.

He complied, but she seemed unconvinced and quickly sent a video back.

Lu Mingzhou hesitated but answered the call.

A woman’s face appeared on the screen, serious and wearing a white coat. Her gaze first fell on Lu Mingzhou’s face, paused, then looked behind him to Luo Wen’s collar, spotting the kiss marks.

She immediately understood and her eyes narrowed with concern.

“Give him acetaminophen. If the fever doesn’t go down after an hour, take him to the hospital.”

Lu Mingzhou rubbed his nose, feeling a bit guilty under her scrutiny.

“Xiao Zhou, you’ve grown up. I won’t say much else.” Seeing the remorse in his expression, she said softly, “Don’t make your mother worry.”

Lu Mingzhou nodded slowly, about to respond, when Luo Wen, who had been sleeping during the conversation, suddenly stirred.

“Pain... so painful,” he murmured, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, lips pale, fragile and pitiful.

Panicked, Lu Mingzhou glanced at the video, “Aunt Yao, he says it hurts. Does fever cause body aches?”

There was a brief silence on the other end, then a sigh. “That’s normal. Give him the medicine.”

Lu Mingzhou, emboldened, quickly hung up.

Luo Wen felt as if half his body was engulfed in blazing fire, forged in flames, while the other half was trapped in icy torment, trembling uncontrollably. Between the hot and cold, his soul seemed to drift back to his earliest memories.

A man’s angry curses, a woman’s reluctant sobs, and his own helpless pleas.

“Don’t go…” He curled into a corner of the bed, whispering anxiously.