ADTCP Ch27

“Zhenbao.”

The man’s voice was low and deep, the tail end carrying a sigh-like helplessness.

This nickname, so familiar in everyday life, sounded different when it came from his lips, like a little hammer striking against Tao Zhen’s heart, sending a tingling shiver down his spine.

Tao Zhen’s breathing grew a little uneven. He couldn’t tell whether it was from fever or something else. Forcing himself out of the sweat-soaked covers, head heavy and body weak, he staggered toward the door.

With a click, the door opened, and he stumbled straight into the solid, broad chest before him. A faint scent of shower gel mixed with the lingering sharpness of medicinal liniments clung to Zhu Wensheng, filling Tao Zhen’s nose.

That smell was oddly reassuring. Unaware of it himself, Tao Zhen leaned in like a small animal sniffing for comfort before finally managing to stand straight.

“Cough… my throat’s so weird. I was fine when I fell asleep…”

The once-clear voice of the boy was now raspy and hoarse, like a broken bellows, every word straining out of tune.

Zhu Wensheng supported him with one hand, guiding him back toward the bed. His gaze swept the room: clothes on the floor still caked with sand, the bathroom cold and bone-dry without a trace of steam.

It was October, not nearly as warm as summer. Tao Zhen had already been sneezing when he came back… and he had still taken a cold shower.

Zhu Wensheng’s dark eyes grew darker still.

Tao Zhen, sitting on the bed, suddenly felt a guilty pang he’d never known before. He rubbed his damp palms against the wrinkled hem of his shirt, mumbling a weak defense:

“Really, I hardly ever get sick… today’s just a special case. If I sleep it off, I’ll be, cough, cough…”

But before he could get out the words “fine tomorrow,” a stabbing pain ripped through his skull. He grimaced, swaying where he sat.

Zhu Wensheng frowned, firmly tucking him back into bed with no room for argument.

“Tao Zhen, don’t force yourself. You knew there was no hot water, only cold, and you didn’t call the hotel? Didn’t ask anyone else?”

“If I hadn’t come, were you planning to just endure this alone until morning?”

Curled up under the blanket, the golden-haired boy drooped like a wilted sunflower.

Zhu Wensheng pulled out his phone, calling the front desk to ask for a thermometer and cold medicine.

The receptionist apologized: since the star-dome hotel wasn’t fully open, staff had been transferred up from the main resort, and they didn’t stock an emergency medical kit.

She suggested using a delivery app. But the nearest pharmacy was thirteen kilometers away, and with night falling, drivers were scarce. Delivery would take at least two hours.

Two hours… too long.

Zhu Wensheng sat at the bedside for a moment, then stood to leave.

Fevered and half-delirious, Tao Zhen still felt the weight beside him suddenly vanish. His hand clenched the blanket corner tighter. He didn’t know why the emptiness hurt so much, but he couldn’t help whispering,

“You… you’re leaving?”

Zhu Wensheng turned back. In his eyes was a radiant boy, usually so bright and lively, now curled up miserably, voice tinged with unconscious pleading.

Don’t go, okay?

It’s fine if you hadn’t come. But if you came… don’t leave me now.

“I’m not leaving. I was only going to ask your friends if someone could stay with you,” Zhu Wensheng crossed back in three strides, sighing softly. “I’d only feel at ease buying medicine if someone was here.”

“Can’t we skip the medicine?” Tao Zhen’s eyes shone wet, his voice sticky and hoarse. “I really don’t want to take it.”

“No,” Zhu Wensheng said, cold and unyielding.

“…Okay…”

Even though the rejection was firm, he didn’t walk out again.

He dampened a towel with warm water, laid it across Tao Zhen’s forehead, and then took out his phone. Tao Zhen’s fever made his ears sluggish; he only caught scattered words. Zhu Wensheng’s tone was as calm as ever, but at the end of the call, he murmured thanks twice.

“…Did you tell Xiaxia? Please don’t tell them…” Tao Zhen mumbled, lashes damp. “They finally got a trip to relax. I don’t want to ruin it.”

His face was childlike, his words foolish. Zhu Wensheng’s fingers stilled before brushing away the damp hair clinging to his forehead.
“You didn’t ruin anything.”

A pause. His voice softened, “Zhenbao, you’re very good.”

Tao Zhen’s eyes widened, then curved into crescents like a crescent moon. Heart content, he buried his flushed face under the quilt.

Later, the doorbell rang. Zhu Wensheng rose quietly, collected the insulated bag from Zhao Ye’s assistant, and paid him extra.

The assistant refused, who would dare take money from the young master of the Zhu family? But Zhu Wensheng insisted.

Inside the bag: a thermometer, medicine, and, carefully wrapped, canned yellow peaches.

He sterilized the thermometer, let Tao Zhen hold it under his tongue. Five minutes later: 38.9°C. He helped him sit up, gave him water and capsules.

Tao Zhen pulled a face, finally swallowing them down, only to burrow back under the blanket. But Zhu Wensheng, unhurried, set a peach can before him. The sweet scent and cool syrup made his lashes flutter. He obediently took a bite.

Crisp, juicy sweetness spread across his tongue, soothing the fever’s sting.

***

Soon, the fevered boy drifted off to sleep. Zhu Wensheng stayed at his side an hour, checking his temperature again. It had fallen.

But Tao Zhen tossed and turned, kicking off his quilt. Pale skin, soft waist exposed.

Zhu Wensheng’s breath caught. He forced his eyes shut, pulled the blanket back up again and again until dawn.

By morning, Tao Zhen’s fever had broken. Zhu Wensheng gave up the idea of returning to his own room. He leaned against the headboard, one arm encircling Tao Zhen to keep him covered.

Two bodies, one bed, heat and scent entwined.

Tao Zhen sniffed unconsciously, dreaming. He was back in the Maybach, happily singing Baby. Only this time, Zhu Wensheng wasn’t filming, he was staring at him, dark eyes burning, arms tightening until Tao Zhen could barely breathe.

He struggled, but was always dragged back. Until at last, like in that black-and-white fancomic, he was pinned down, overpowered.

When a white flash swallowed everything, all his fatigue and ache vanished.

“!!”

Tao Zhen woke with a jolt, heart pounding. His throat was parched, his body slick with sweat, clothes clinging to his skin.

He instinctively wanted to roll out of bed and go to the bathroom to clean himself up, but a strong pull stopped him. Looking down, he saw a solid, muscular arm draped firmly across his waist.

The arm’s owner was right behind him. Zhu Wensheng’s face was strikingly handsome, though faint shadows darkened beneath his eyes, his expression cool and unreadable.

The memories of last night surged back like a flood, scene after scene replaying in Tao Zhen’s mind. His breath hitched; just thinking of those almost-whiny words he’d said made him want to scratch at the wall from embarrassment. Then, remembering Zhu Wensheng’s near-gentle murmur of “Zhenbao”, his heart trembled hard again.

For several minutes, he stayed tangled in confusion before gathering himself, trying to carefully lift Zhu Wensheng’s arm away so he could slip out of bed.

But things didn’t go his way. The young fighter reacted lightning-fast, yanking him back into place.

Their bodies pressed flush against each other, and both of them let out involuntary muffled sounds.

Tao Zhen’s scalp prickled.
He felt… his backside had bumped into something frighteningly hard and burning hot.

Like a kitten caught by the scruff of the neck, his whole body froze rigid. On reflex, he tried to shift his hips away, but in his fumbling, he accidentally moved in the wrong direction, brushing straight against that terrifying thing.

Big.

Thick.

That size… it was even more shocking than anything Tong Xia and Gu Xingzhou had ever fantasized about.