Hot flashes

Zhou Heng felt a lump in his throat.

He picked Xiao Jue up and held him close to his chest. Xiao Jue's body was burning hot, yet he was trembling; the interplay of hot and cold tormented him beyond recognition.

Zhou Heng hugged him tightly, wrapped him in the thin outer robe, and used his remaining body heat to warm him.

Xiao Jue's face was pressed against his chest, his hot breath seeping through his clothes and burning his skin with each breath. He was trembling, his whole body shaking, like a leaf in the wind.

Zhou Heng placed his hand on his back, stroking it gently. His hand was trembling, but he tried to keep it steady and light.

"It's alright," he said, his voice hoarse and unlike his own. "It's alright."

Xiao Jue's eyelashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes a crack. His eyes were burning red, and his pupils were dilated, taking a long time to focus. He saw Zhou Heng, and his lips moved.

"Young Master..." The voice was so soft it sounded like he was talking in his sleep.

Zhou Heng nodded.

"I'm here."

Xiao Jue gripped his clothes tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"...Don't go."

Zhou Heng lowered his head, his forehead touching the top of his head.

"I'm not leaving."

Xiao Jue closed his eyes again, curled up in his arms like a wounded cub. His trembling gradually subsided, but his breathing was still rapid and hot, each breath landing on Zhou Heng's chest.

Zhou Heng held him, and he didn't know how much time had passed. The light outside the cave went from dark to bright, and then from bright to dark again. Xiao Jue slept soundly in his arms, occasionally waking up with a few muffled calls before falling back asleep.

Zhou Heng's hand remained on his back, stroking it gently.

Xiao Jue's lips were chapped and peeling, and he made a dry, hoarse sound in his throat. Zhou Heng gently put Xiao Jue down, wrapped him in the outer robe, and climbed out of the cave himself.

It was already dark outside. The moon was obscured by clouds, and it was pitch black all around, making it impossible to tell which way was which. Zhou Heng stood at the cave entrance for a while, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, before groping his way down the mountain.

He remembered hearing the sound of water when he came up the mountain; it was small and thin, like a mountain spring. He walked in the dark for a while, his footsteps on loose stones and dead branches, and he almost fell several times.

We finally found it.

The spring water seeped from a crack in the rock, flowing down the mountainside and forming a small puddle. Zhou Heng squatted down, scooped up some water, and took a sip. It was icy cold and had an earthy taste, but at least it was water.

He looked around, trying to find something to hold the water. There was nothing there but rocks and withered branches.

He touched his body and suddenly felt something—the charcoal pencil that Xiao Jue had found for him before, which he had been carrying in his pocket.

The pen tube is hollow.

Zhou Heng pulled out the charcoal pencil lead and used the thin bamboo tube to collect water.

After filling the tube, he took it and walked back. He would walk a few steps, stop to catch his breath, and then continue walking.

Back in the cave, Zhou Heng climbed in and fed him water little by little through a bamboo tube.

Xiao Jue's lips touched the water, and he instinctively sucked on it, like parched seedlings meeting sweet rain. He drank very quickly, choked, and coughed violently.

Zhou Heng supported him and gently patted his back.

"Slow down, slow down."

Xiao Jue finished coughing, opened his eyes, and glanced at him. Then he closed his eyes again and leaned against Zhou Heng's chest.

Zhou Heng put him down and got up to fetch water.

One trip, two trips, three trips.

The bamboo tube was too small; a full container was only enough for Xiao Jue to drink two sips. Zhou Heng didn't know how many trips he had made. His legs were trembling, and his hands were trembling too.

Xiao Jue was curled up there. Zhou Heng picked him up, fed him water, put him down, and went out again. After repeating this several times, Xiao Jue's lips were no longer so dry, and his breathing became more even.

The fever hasn't subsided yet.

Zhou Heng touched his forehead; it was still frighteningly hot. He remembered how others had taken care of him when he had a fever before—a damp cloth was placed on his forehead and changed repeatedly until the temperature came down.

He tore a piece of his clothing and took it to the spring to soak it. The water was so cold that his fingers went numb. He clutched the wet cloth in his hand and ran back. Back in the cave, he placed the cloth on Xiao Jue's forehead.

Xiao Jue shivered from the chill, his brow furrowing before relaxing. The cloth quickly warmed up. Zhou Heng took it off, soaked it again, and applied it back on. He ran back and forth until his legs were weak.

After an unknown amount of time, he touched Xiao Jue's forehead.

It doesn't seem so hot anymore.

He touched it again, then touched his forehead. It really wasn't so hot anymore.

Zhou Heng slumped to the ground, all his strength seemingly drained. He leaned against the cave wall, panting heavily. Xiao Jue lay beside him, his breathing much more even, his brows relaxed.

Zhou Heng reached out and brushed aside the stray strand of hair on his forehead.

When Zhou Heng's fingers touched Xiao Jue's skin, Xiao Jue's eyelashes fluttered, as if he were about to wake up. Zhou Heng's hand paused there, waiting for a moment. Xiao Jue didn't wake up, but simply snuggled closer to him, pressed his face against Zhou Heng's leg, and fell into a deep sleep again.

Zhou Heng placed his hand on the top of his head and gently stroked it.