Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

Shen Yiheng placed his hand on He Xu's forehead, the warmth of his palm making He Xu's fingers twitch slightly.

"He Xu." His voice rose a little, and he tightened his grip, pushing He Xu's shoulders to turn him out of the pillow. "Wake up, you have a fever."

He Xu was pushed and swayed twice, his brows furrowed, and he let out a muffled groan, like some kind of large feline that had been awakened.

"...Isn't it annoying?" His voice was so hoarse that it was almost just a breath, and even these three words were spoken in a broken and intermittent manner, as if his throat had been sanded over and over again.

Shen Yiheng ignored his complaints and moved his hand from his forehead to his neck, where it was still burning hot to the touch.

He Xu's skin was already fair, but now it was even more unnaturally fair. His lips were dry and cracked, and his cheeks were flushed with two unnatural red patches.

His eyes were closed, his eyelashes trembled slightly twice, and then he fell silent again.

"He Xu!" Shen Yiheng exclaimed anxiously, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him off the bed, making him sit up against the headboard.

He Xu's body was so limp it felt like he had no bones. He tilted his head to the side and leaned it directly on Shen Yiheng's shoulder.

The burning forehead pressed against Shen Yiheng's neck, making him tense up.

"You..." Shen Yiheng's voice faltered.

He Xu leaned on his shoulder, his breathing heavy and unnaturally hot, each breath hitting his collarbone.

"It's uncomfortable," He Xu said.

Just two words, spoken so softly it sounded like a breath from the back of his throat, carrying a soft, aggrieved tone that Shen Yiheng had never heard before.

Shen Yiheng froze.

He has known He Xu for five years, from his teenage years when he was scolded and cried at the age of seventeen, to his current position at the top of the entertainment industry at the age of twenty-three.

He had seen He Xu when he was angry, impatient, rude, swearing, or saying "never mind" after being injured.

But he had never seen He Xu say "I feel uncomfortable".

He Xu didn't even flinch when he got four stitches. When his voice was damaged, he said, "If I can't sing, I won't sing." After being scolded by Zhou Wei in front of the entire practice room, he just sat in the stairwell and cursed himself for being "shameful."

He never says he feels unwell.

Shen Yiheng took a deep breath, suppressing the rising sourness, and reached out to touch He Xu's forehead.

It's still hot.

He reached for his phone on the bedside table and sent a message to his manager, Sister Lin: "He has a fever. I'm taking him to the hospital. Can you handle things at the practice room for me?"

Less than ten seconds after the message was sent, Sister Lin called.

Shen Yiheng answered the phone, but before he could speak, the other end exploded: "What did you say? Fever? Who has a fever? He Xu? You two are together? Where? At the hospital? Aren't you afraid of being photographed at the hospital? You—"

"Sister Lin," Shen Yiheng interrupted her, his voice low, "He has a high fever and needs to go to the hospital. You take care of things at the practice room for me, we'll talk about the rest when we get back."

-

Thirty minutes later, Shen Yiheng's car stopped in a corner of the hospital's underground parking garage.

He Xu was half-helped and half-dragged out of the car by him. He leaned against him, his eyes unfocused, looking like he might fall asleep at any moment.

"It's just a few steps, let's walk." Shen Yiheng put his arm around his waist, his voice very low.

He Xu didn't move.

Shen Yiheng looked down at him and found that the man had closed his eyes and leaned against him, his weight pressing down on him.

"He Xu." Shen Yiheng shook him helplessly.

"...I can't walk." He Xu's voice was muffled behind his mask, carrying a sense of self-righteous shamelessness.

Shen Yiheng took a deep breath and then exhaled.

He gritted his teeth, put one arm around He Xu's waist, and with the other hand, he lifted He Xu's arm and put it on his shoulder, almost dragging him towards the elevator.

He Xu staggered a couple of steps as he was dragged along, and finally reluctantly took a step, but with each step he leaned towards Shen Yiheng, like a large, boneless doll.

"You've really gone mad from the fever," Shen Yiheng said through gritted teeth.

"Not stupid."

"If you weren't stupid, you wouldn't be able to walk, would you?"

"My legs are weak."

Shen Yiheng shut up.

He didn't want to reason with someone who had a fever of 39 degrees Celsius.

The on-duty doctor in the emergency room was a woman in her forties, wearing a mask, with sharp eyes.

She glanced at Shen Yiheng, then at He Xu leaning on Shen Yiheng's shoulder, and frowned slightly.

"What's going on?"

"He has a fever, over 39 degrees Celsius." Shen Yiheng pressed He Xu down into a chair. "His throat is also uncomfortable. His vocal cords were injured before, and he used it too much last night."

The doctor picked up a flashlight and walked up to He Xu: "Open your mouth and say 'ah'."

He Xu raised his eyelids and glanced at her, then obediently opened his mouth.

The doctor looked at it for a few seconds, then turned off the flashlight, his brow furrowing even more.

"Your tonsils are inflamed and your throat is very congested." She turned around and wrote a few lines in the medical record book. "You already had an old injury to your throat, and now it's acutely inflamed. You need an IV drip, otherwise your fever won't go down and your throat won't get better."

She wrote out the prescription, tore it off, and handed it to Shen Yiheng: "Go pay the bill first, then go to the infusion room. We'll see how things go after the IV drip is finished. If the fever doesn't go down, you might need to be hospitalized."

Shen Yiheng took the order and nodded.

He Xu sat in the chair, looking up at Shen Yiheng.

"Do you need an IV drip?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Um."

He Xu was silent for two seconds, then said something that Shen Yiheng hadn't expected.

"pain."

Shen Yiheng was stunned for a moment.

"...You didn't complain of pain when you were getting stitches, but now you're telling me that getting an IV hurts?" He squatted down and reached out to touch He Xu's forehead, which was still burning hot.

"That's different," He Xu said in a muffled voice.

Shen Yiheng stared at him for two seconds, and after confirming that the man was not joking, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Are you a three-year-old?" He stood up and pulled He Xu up from the chair. "Come on, let's go to the infusion room."

There weren't many people in the infusion room, just seven or eight scattered around, including elderly people and children, all quietly receiving IV drips.

Shen Yiheng chose a seat in the corner, pressed He Xu down into a chair, and went to the nurses' station to hand in the forms.

When the nurse pushed the cart over, He Xu was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, looking like he was asleep.

"Put your hand out," the nurse said.

He Xu opened his eyes and slowly stretched out his right hand.

The nurse glanced at the back of his hand—the wound from the last stitches was still there, and the bandage was still on.

"Switch to your left hand."

He Xu pulled his hand back, then slowly stretched out his left hand.

The nurse patted the back of his hand, found a vein, wiped it with an iodine-soaked cotton ball, and the coolness made He Xu's fingers curl up slightly.

The moment the needle pierced his skin, He Xu frowned slightly, but he didn't utter a sound.

The nurse applied the tape, adjusted the drip rate, and pushed the cart away.

Shen Yiheng sat down next to him and took out his phone to take a look.

Sister Lin sent me a message: "I've taken care of things at the practice room. They said the PD will accompany you to the hospital. But you two be careful not to get photographed."

He replied "Okay" and put his phone back in his pocket.

He Xu leaned back in his chair, his left hand resting on the armrest, as drops of liquid dripped from the syringe.

"It's cold," he said.

Shen Yiheng glanced at him, took off his coat, and wrapped it around He Xu.

He Xu pulled his coat over and tucked it inside, making him look a size smaller.

About twenty minutes later, Shen Yiheng noticed that He Xu's expression was not quite right.

She was even paler than before, and the unnatural red on her lips had faded, leaving an almost deathly pallor.

His brows were furrowed, as if he was enduring something.

"What's wrong?" Shen Yiheng asked.

He Xu didn't answer, his eyes were closed, and his breathing was heavier than before.

Shen Yiheng reached out and touched his forehead—the fever hadn't subsided yet, but that wasn't the point.

The key point is that He Xu's right hand had somehow moved off the armrest and was now pressed against his stomach, his fingers slightly curled, as if he were pressing on something.

"Stomach ache?" Shen Yiheng's voice rose a little.

He Xu opened his eyes, glanced at him, then closed them again, his lips moving slightly as he murmured, "Mmm."

Shen Yiheng sighed, stood up, and walked to the nurses' station.

"Nurse, he has a stomachache. Is it a reaction to the medication?"

The nurse glanced at He Xu's prescription and nodded. "This antibiotic can irritate the stomach; some people are more sensitive to it. Did he eat dinner tonight?"

Shen Yiheng was stunned for a moment.

He thought back for a moment—He Xu hadn't eaten dinner yesterday, nor breakfast this morning, and seemed to have just ate a little something at noon, but it didn't really help.

"...No," he said.

The nurse frowned: "Then go buy him something hot to eat, porridge or bread will do, it'll help him feel better."

"You stay here and don't move, I'll go buy some food."

Shen Yiheng pressed He Xu back into his chair, wrapped his coat around him, and then turned and walked out of the infusion room.

He Xu leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and listened as the footsteps faded into the distance.

The infusion room quieted down, with only the hum of the air conditioner and the intermittent coughing of the elderly man next door remaining.

The smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, neither too strong nor too weak, just enough to remind one of things they didn't want to think about.

He Xu pressed his right hand against his stomach, his knuckles slightly curled.

The pain is bearable.

But I was really hungry.

Shen Yiheng went to buy food.

He Xu thought he would scold him a bit when he got back—what was he dawdling about for so long to buy something?

But my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and my consciousness felt as if something was pulling it down, slowly sinking into a hazy, half-awake state.

I don't know how much time has passed.

Someone patted him on the shoulder.

The force was not heavy, but very steady, carrying a cautious, tentative approach.

He Xu frowned, and finally reluctantly opened his eyes.

"I'm telling you—"

The words were stuck in my throat.

The person standing in front of him was not Shen Yiheng.

It was a man.

He was wearing a dark gray jacket with the collar turned up, obscuring half of his face.

He was wearing a black baseball cap, the brim pulled low, revealing almost only his eyes.

But He Xu still recognized him.

"Han Yu... what are you doing here?"