Chapter 11

As he eased the soft body into his arms, even though Pei Yusheng instinctively avoided the boy’s bruised, mottled injuries, the child still shivered noticeably against him.

Pei Yusheng frowned, scrutinizing him. In the dim light, the boy’s smooth skin was slick with cold sweat, eyelashes and temples matted with a mixture of sweat and blood. His face was pale, eyes tightly shut—he had fainted.

“…Tch.”

One arm cradled the limp body while Pei Yusheng used his free hand to gently press across the boy’s chest, stomach, and back, checking for serious injury. His attention returned briefly to the wrists—he remembered the old wounds, recalling how he had once stopped the boy from opening ten bottles of soft-set wine to prevent aggravating them.

Yet here he was, right after leaving the club, having thrown himself into a brutal fight.

The pressure of Pei Yusheng’s hands was light, but the faint, near-voiced hum of discomfort that escaped the boy, a soft “mm,” made him instinctively curl into the warmth of the man’s embrace, trying to avoid the touch while simultaneously seeking it.

“Mm…”

Thrown into his arms, warm and delicate, the boy was both infuriating and endearing. Pei Yusheng had assumed, watching him fight so ferociously, that he feared nothing and no one—but unconscious, he clung to comfort like a small child, shrinking at the slightest pressure.

Especially around his lower abdomen and back, even the gentlest touch drew a reflexive curl inward, exposing his fragility. It was heart-wrenching and amusing at the same time.

Pei Yusheng took another careful look at the injuries. Every inch of the boy’s once-fair skin was now mottled with fresh and old bruises, even his tentative probing left clear marks.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at his own fingers. Usually confident in the control of his strength, Pei Yusheng now felt an unfamiliar uncertainty. Yet even when he looked away, the impression of his touch lingered vividly in his mind: bright, red, undeniably his own.

He hadn’t expected the boy to be so sensitive, so fragile. The body in his arms was lighter and thinner than he imagined—so delicate it seemed a gust of wind could tear it apart.

Adjusting to cradle him around the waist, Pei Yusheng’s gaze darkened. The embrace was full, but it left desire unsated. Not now—not with the boy injured. He was lucky that no bones were broken, but the layers of bruises and cuts were enough to hurt. And sensitive as he was, even the gentlest touch caused him to flinch.

The unconscious boy, resting in his arms, now displayed his true gentleness—apart from occasional twitches to avoid pain, he was completely still. Pei Yusheng adjusted him, wrapping an arm under the knees to hold him horizontally, then reconnected his earpiece to call the driver.

The alley was too narrow for the car to enter. Pei Yusheng carried him all the way to the street, from dim gray to the brighter lights outside, the boy still cold, fingers icy, unable to generate warmth.

A black Mercedes G-Class waited, the driver bowing respectfully. Pei Yusheng refused the handoff, saying only, “Drive to Huashan Hospital.”

Inside the spacious rear seat, Pei Yusheng carefully settled the boy, avoiding his injuries, adjusting him to a comfortable posture.

“Mm…”

A faint, slurred murmur, and the boy’s cool cheek brushed against the nape of Pei Yusheng’s neck, delicate as jade. Pei Yusheng’s arms held him steady, eyes shadowed with dark intensity.

Finally, after some adjustment, the boy remained unconscious, his shallow, steady breathing brushing against Pei Yusheng’s jaw. Even that scant warmth seemed to scorch him.

After a while, Pei Yusheng’s attention was drawn to a hard object pressing against his hip. He reached, retrieving from the boy’s side pocket a few small items: two hard candies and a paper strawberry folded from candy wrappers.

The candies were cheap, the wrappers crinkling easily, the strawberry exquisitely folded, still sweet in scent. After witnessing the boy’s fierce skill in combat, his candy habit added a layer of surprising innocence.

Night deepened, the streets almost deserted. The G-Class moved smoothly, imperceptibly. Yet the boy’s injuries and sensitivity made him curl instinctively, wanting to fold into himself. Pei Yusheng maintained his careful hold, keeping him safe.

The unconscious boy’s fragility contrasted sharply with his earlier ferocity. Occasionally, a whimper of pain escaped, making Pei Yusheng feel a rare pang of regret—he might have intervened sooner.

His gaze fell to the black wristband clinging to bruised skin, mottled with dried blood, like a leather shackle. Pei Yusheng gently tried to wipe it, but the boy’s thin fingers lifted, grasping his fingertip.

His hand was cool and soft.

Pei Yusheng looked down, and the boy’s eyes, slightly unfocused but unblinking, met his.

He had always known the boy’s eyes were beautiful—like a startled fawn’s—and had noticed them from the very first meeting. Now, this close, that impression deepened even further.

Being looked at like that, Pei Yusheng unconsciously slowed his breathing.

He was about to speak, intending to soothe him, when the boy parted his pale pink lips and whispered hoarsely:

“Daddy…”

Pei Yusheng: “…”

Pei Yusheng: “?”

Clearly still not fully conscious, the boy buried his face back into Pei Yusheng’s chest after speaking. Through the fabric, the chill of his cheeks came through, along with the coolness of Pei Yusheng’s side.

Despite being covered in bruises, he still made the effort to lift his arms and cling to Pei Yusheng.

Soft strands of hair brushed against the man’s jaw, and Pei Yusheng kept a stoic expression, listening to the muffled, slurred “Dad…” that slipped out.

“…Tch.”

He remained expressionless as the boy snuggled and pressed closer. What he had imagined for so long was finally happening, yet it brought no joy—if anything, it was slightly vexing.

Considering the boy’s condition, Pei Yusheng didn’t dwell on it. Soon, the boy drifted back to sleep, remaining quiet for the rest of the journey, though his hand clung tightly to Pei Yusheng’s coat and refused to let go.

Outside, the scenery blurred under the moonlight as the car sped past. Familiar night, familiar darkness, and though the boy’s body wasn’t warm, his presence dispelled the biting chill that had lingered all night.

Pei Yusheng rested his jaw atop the boy’s soft head, listening to the steady, shallow breaths. For the first time in a long while, he felt a rare sense of calm.

Despite the late hour and sparse traffic, by the time they reached the hospital, it was nearly 4 a.m. Pei Yusheng carried the boy inside, where a young doctor with silver-rimmed glasses approached.

“Second Young Master Pei?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Zhao Mingzhen,” the doctor said succinctly. “Follow me.”

Zhao’s grandfather had once been the Pei family patriarch’s attendant; Zhao rushed over immediately when called. With few people around at this hour, the examination was arranged quickly. Pei Yusheng oversaw a full-body check for the boy, including a brain CT due to his previous concussion.

As expected, no bones were broken. But the boy had numerous external injuries, and residual bruising under the scalp posed some risk, requiring rest and avoidance of strenuous activity.

Zhao Mingzhen’s next words surprised Pei Yusheng further:

“The patient shows moderate hypoglycemia and anemia, along with serious malnutrition—low body temperature, cold hands and feet, and easy dizziness. Special attention is required.”

Hypoglycemia?

No wonder he always carried candy.

Pei Yusheng thought. The boy seemed obedient, yet carried so many hidden issues.

After discussing care instructions in detail, someone knocked on the office door. The night nurse hesitated at the entrance.

“Excuse me… did the patient in bed sixteen come here?”

Bed sixteen was where the boy was resting.

“No,” Zhao said, puzzled. “Why?”

The nurse stammered: “He… he seemed to wake up, asked for water, but there was none in the room. I went to get some, and when I returned, the bed was empty…”

Both men were shocked. The boy’s injuries were serious enough that he shouldn’t have been able to move on his own.

Pei Yusheng’s tension spiked. “When did he disappear? Who was watching him? Who last saw him? Did you see anyone suspicious on your way here?”

The nurse trembled under his questioning, finally stammering out the story.

Zhao Mingzhen asked cautiously, “Second Young Master, should I notify security to intercept him?”

Pei Yusheng refused, eyes still glued to the monitor. Though the footage was grainy, it clearly showed the boy—frail, pale, yet determined—rising from the bed, steadying himself against the doorframe, and walking straight through the hallway to the elevator, then appearing in the lobby, heading for the exit.

Only in unconsciousness could he reveal honesty. Awake, he wore a mask of strength.

Pei Yusheng sent instructions to the driver to follow at a distance and keep watch.

“Click.”

The bedroom door opened; partially drawn curtains let in faint dawn light. The boy staggered inside, moving slowly and mechanically.

A dull ache throbbed at the back of his head, his mind a tangle, every breath a sharp pain across his chest.

“Cough… cough… cough…”

His vision darkened, and he steadied himself against a table, fighting the chill of the night wind. He hated hospitals; even a single extra second there felt like torture.

Covered in bandages, he could not shower, so he wiped down with a towel and changed clothes.

By the time he checked the clock, it was 5:30 a.m.—only half an hour before he had to leave for work. Sensitive as he was, he avoided contact, rushing onto the first train to the office.

Exhaustion weighed him down. Dizziness and ringing in the ears persisted, now mundane companions. He slumped against the sofa, the smell of disinfectant from the hospital clinging to him like a second skin, tight around his wrist alongside the chain bracelet.

He struggled for breath, fingers fumbling toward the chain as if it were his last lifeline. The dried blood flaked into his palms.

In his fading consciousness, he dreamed again of the chain—woven by his father, worn for over ten years.

From the start, his parents were busy abroad, leaving him behind; he only saw them at Lunar New Year. As a small child, tears and phone calls never solved anything, but instinct drove him to seek comfort. The chain represented reunion, closeness, a promise he clung to as the world pressed in.

Now, coughing violently, chest tight as if a boulder weighed on him, he reached into his pocket for a cigarette, heart racing in desperation.

Where… where is it?