Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

When Yang Sheng called, Zhuang Jun was in Jin Xian's office working on next week's schedule.

He answered the phone after it vibrated three times. Yang Sheng's voice came through the receiver, twice as fast as usual: "Brother Zhuang, Teacher He is coughing so badly, could you come over—"

When Zhuang Jun arrived at the practice room door, he heard that sound before he even pushed the door open.

cough.

A series of muffled sounds, one after another, with a distinctly tearing sensation that made it hard to breathe.

There were extremely short gaps in between, barely enough time to catch one's breath, as if the whole person was trying to pour something out, but couldn't get it out and couldn't stop.

He pushed open the door.

He Xu knelt on the floor of the practice room, one hand supporting himself on the ground, the other hand tightly covering his mouth, his back hunched, his shoulders shrugging.

As the cough reached its deepest point, he suddenly leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the floor, and his knees slipped outwards.

Yang Sheng squatted down beside him, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding an open bottle of mineral water.

Li Bufan stood to the side, his face pale, his hands clenched at his sides, wanting to go forward but not knowing how to start.

Jiang Yang's eyes were already red, and he stood at the very back with his lips tightly pursed.

As Zhuang Jun walked over, He Xu coughed again.

This time it was even heavier than before. He lay face down on the ground, his face buried in his arms, his shoulders heaving violently, as if something was twisting in his chest, making it difficult for him to even breathe.

By the end of the coughing, the voice had become so hoarse that it was almost inaudible, leaving only a short, abrupt breath sound in the throat.

"He Xu." Zhuang Jun squatted down next to him.

Hearing the sound, He Xu turned his head slightly, revealing half of his face, which was soaked in sweat, with red eyes and dark circles under his eyes.

His lips were chapped, and there was saliva stuck to the corners of his mouth. He looked like he had just been pulled out of the water.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Zhuang Jun reached out and touched his forehead. The skin his palm touched was abnormally hot, much hotter than a low-grade fever.

I touched the back of my neck again and felt a layer of cold, damp sweat.

"How long have you had a fever?" Zhuang Jun asked in a low voice.

He Xu did not answer, coughing so hard he could not speak.

Zhuang Jun did not press further.

He half-lifted and half-dragged He Xu up from the floor.

He Xu's hand rested on his arm, but it was weak. He leaned against him, his forehead against his shoulder, his breathing was rapid and shallow, and he coughed occasionally, each cough accompanied by a tremor throughout his body.

"Yang Sheng." Zhuang Jun turned his head.

"Yes." Yang Sheng immediately stood up.

"Please bring his coat over to me; it's on the chair."

Yang Sheng ran over and handed him a coat. Zhuang Jun took it, pulled He Xu slightly off his shoulder, draped the coat over him, and then adjusted the front of the coat.

"Let's go." He put He Xu's arm on his shoulder. "I'll take you to the hospital."

He Xu's body tensed up suddenly.

"I'm not going." The voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, but the meaning was clear.

"You have such a high fever, you absolutely need to go to the hospital."

"I'm not going." He Xu repeated, even more forcefully than before.

He pulled away from Zhuang Jun, his back hitting the mirror. He turned his head to look at him, his expression showing an abnormal, almost reactive resistance: "I said I'm not going."

Zhuang Jun paused for a moment after seeing his reaction.

He Xu leaned against the mirror, his chest heaving rapidly, as if the movement just now had exhausted his last bit of strength.

He lowered his head, coughed twice, wiped his mouth with his hand, and said in a muffled voice, "I can go back and rest by myself."

"Then we won't go to the hospital."

Zhuang Jun stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, then glanced at the seven children beside him, each with an increasingly unpleasant expression, and swallowed back the words he was about to say.

"Okay." He backed down a step. "I won't go to the hospital. But you can't go back to the villa either. If you record the show in your current state, it will be an accident. The production team won't be able to handle it, and everyone else will be worried."

He Xu looked up at him but did not refute.

He was coughing so badly that he didn't even have the strength to argue anymore.

"Go back to my place," Zhuang Jun said. "I'll keep an eye on things."

He Xu paused for a moment, then nodded.

When Zhuang Jun helped He Xu up from in front of the mirror, He Xu's knees bent noticeably, and he slumped halfway down before Zhuang Jun caught his arm.

He glanced at Yang Sheng and said, "You guys keep practicing. Help him pack his things tonight, and I'll have someone come and get them tomorrow."

Yang Sheng nodded, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just watched Zhuang Jun half-help and half-carry He Xu out of the practice room.

When He Xu was shoved into the passenger seat, he was completely exhausted. He leaned against the seat, his forehead against the car window, and coughed occasionally.

He was curled up, hugging his arms, looking like he was frozen to the bone.

Zhuang Jun took a bottle of water from the back seat and placed it next to him, then got into the driver's seat and started the car.

As the car turned onto the main road, he glanced at He Xu—leaning against the car window, eyes closed, brows furrowed, lips dry and pale.

"Let's go to the hospital first, get an IV drip, and I'll bring you back once your fever goes down," Zhuang Jun said.

He Xu's eyes suddenly opened.

"I'm not going to the hospital."

"Your body temperature right now—"

"I said I'm not going!" He Xu's voice suddenly rose, though it was hoarse, there was a sharp edge to it. "Can you please leave me alone?! I just have a cold! Don't you know my own body?!"

Zhuang Jun tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"He Xu—"

"I'm not going," He Xu interrupted him, her voice trembling. "Don't you understand? I don't want to go to the hospital. I've been... I hate that place lately."

Zhuang Jun glanced at He Xu in the rearview mirror. He was tilting his head, his gaze fixed on the scenery outside the window, his eyes red-rimmed, and his jaw taut.

That expression was less about anger and more like a stress response from being cornered.

Zhuang Jun paused for a moment, then turned his gaze back ahead and changed direction at the next intersection.

"Okay," he said. "I'm not going. I'm going back to my place."

He Xu did not speak again.

After driving for about ten minutes, Zhuang Jun parked the car in the underground parking garage of the residential complex.

When He Xu opened the car door, his legs were weak. He had to lean against the door frame for two seconds before he could stand up. Zhuang Jun came over and put his hand on his shoulder, while supporting his waist with his other hand.

"Can you walk?"

"……Um."

He Xu walked intermittently from the underground parking garage to the elevator, and from the elevator to the door. He stopped twice to lean against the wall and coughed, each time coughing until his whole body was bent over.

Zhuang Jun opened the door and helped him into the bedroom.

That was Zhuang Jun's own bed.

"Lie down."

He Xu sat on the edge of the bed, and Zhuang Jun squatted down to take off his shoes, then took off his coat from his shoulders and helped him lie down slowly.

As soon as He Xu's head touched the pillow, he curled up into a ball, his knees bent, his hands on his stomach, looking like a cat that had been picked up from the rain, soaking wet and too weak to shake its fur.

Zhuang Jun pulled the blanket up to cover his shoulders.

Then He Xu started coughing, and it happened again.

This time, He Xu coughed so badly that he couldn't even maintain his curled-up position. He curled up in a ball on the bed, clutching the corner of the blanket and burying his face in the pillow.

Zhuang Jun sat on the edge of the bed, pressing one hand on his back, waiting for him to finish coughing.

After He Xu calmed down, he didn't turn over, but just lay face down on the pillow, breathing rapidly and shallowly.

Zhuang Jun dimmed the bedside lamp by one notch.

"I'll get you a glass of water."

He stood up and walked towards the kitchen. Behind him came He Xu's muffled voice from under the pillow, so hoarse it was almost inaudible: "...Zhuang Jun."

"Um."

"...I don't want plain water." He Xu paused for a moment. "I want something sweet."

Zhuang Jun paused for a moment.

He Xu rarely makes such requests.

He never picks and chooses his water; warm water is fine, as is boiled water. He even occasionally drinks honey water, which he considers his own choice.

But he said it today.

She lay face down on the pillow, her voice muffled, with a slightly hoarse tone at the end, almost like she was being coquettish.