Chapter 4

But it didn’t take long for him to abandon the fantasy.
Someone as cold as that rarely accepted kindness. He had never once helped classmates bring cafeteria food. On days the lab rotated treating everyone, the only thing Xi Siyan contributed was a WeChat transfer several times the normal amount… as if nothing truly mattered. Always alone. He turned in exams as early as possible, packed up three minutes before class ended, disappeared the moment the bell rang… even receiving love letters felt like a waste of his time going home.
Even if such a guy were into men, Zhong Yuan didn’t think he could handle it.
And then he saw this.
He had noticed Xi Siyan the moment he threw away the umbrella and ran—as if fleeing for his life. Then, not far away, Xi Siyan grabbed a boy who looked small and thin and held him while scolding him, loud enough to drown the world’s noise.
That unrestrained desperation, that body language that said “you’re not allowed to even look at him”—it felt unfamiliar, and yet somehow inevitable.
The way Xi Siyan always looked like he was rushing home suddenly had a reason.
Zhong Yuan shrugged, held his umbrella, and left, thinking the world was strange—and yet still unfolding according to its own logic.
If someone had a face that pure, young, and beautiful… even Xi Siyan probably couldn’t escape.
Inside the car, Jing Miao belatedly realized his socks and shoes were soaked.
He fished out tissues and wiped at the tops of his shoes.
Xi Siyan lowered his gaze and reached for his shoes. “Stop wiping. They’re soaked. How did you even walk?”
Like a child who’d done wrong, Jing Miao lowered his head and confessed at once. “I ran. The water splashed up. Sorry, gege.”
“I’m not blaming you.” Xi Siyan smoothly took off his shoes and socks for him, then used a towel from the car to dry his feet. “Are you cold, Miaomiao?”
“I’m not cold, gege.”
Uncle Yang watched through the rear-view mirror, full of complicated feeling. The young master he’d watched grow up—the only son of the Xi family, who had never suffered hardship—now served someone else with such natural ease.
He could only shake his head silently. “Young master, should I take you back to the Mingyue Lake villa, or to your apartment?”
“To the hospital. Miaomiao’s stomach was bad last night. He threw up twice.”
After drying his feet, Xi Siyan switched to a new towel to wipe the dampness from his hair.
“No!” The boy who had been obedient a moment ago suddenly screamed. “Don’t go to the hospital! Don’t! Don’t!”
Jing Miao struggled to press the door switch.
But the child lock was engaged; no matter how hard he fought, it was useless.
Xi Siyan wrapped him in his arm and coaxed quickly, “Okay, okay, we won’t go. Be good, Miaomiao.”
Jing Miao kept struggling, trying to crawl up and grab at the driver. He was no match for Xi Siyan and ended up twisting in his arms, yelling,
“Gege lied to me! I won’t go! Let me out! Stop the car!”
Uncle Yang said helplessly, “Young master…”
Xi Siyan had no choice. “Back to the apartment first, Uncle Yang.”
He pulled Jing Miao onto his lap and soothed him, stroking his back. “We won’t go, we won’t go. If Miaomiao doesn’t want to, we’ll go home. Be good, okay? Gege won’t lie to you.”
Only then did the struggling gradually quiet down. “Gege really won’t lie to me?”
“Then tell gege—does your tummy still hurt?”
He laid his palm over Jing Miao’s abdomen. There was a slight warmth under his hand.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore, gege. Miaomiao won’t eat so much crayfish again.” He pouted as he answered obediently.
Xi Siyan smiled. “Good. But if you throw up again when we get home, we have to go to the hospital, okay? If Miaomiao won’t behave, then tonight gege won’t sleep with you.”
Jing Miao panicked instantly. “No, no—I’ll behave. Gege, don’t not sleep with me.”
“Good.” Xi Siyan touched his forehead lightly to Jing Miao’s and pinched his cheek.
The car came to a slow stop.
“Young master, we’re here.”
“Sorry to trouble you, Uncle Yang.” Xi Siyan swung his bag over one shoulder, preparing to carry Jing Miao out.
Uncle Yang stopped him. “Young master, Madam’s birthday is next month. Will you go back?”
Xi Siyan paused. “I’ll bring Miaomiao with me. If she agrees, I’ll go back.”
Uncle Yang’s face lit up. “Of course! Of course she’ll agree. Madam has long… long said you could bring the young master home. There are plenty of people at home who can help care for him.”
“Alright.” Xi Siyan nodded. “I’ll go back. But we won’t stay over—Miaomiao isn’t used to it.”
Uncle Yang choked up. “Okay…”
Jing Miao clung to Xi Siyan like a koala, long thin legs wrapped around his waist. Xi Siyan supported him with his left hand and unlocked the door with his right thumb.
He was too light. And Xi Siyan had held him for so long it had become habit—now he could carry this grown man with the mind of a seven-year-old in one arm while doing anything else.
Last year, Xi Siyan’s mother, Su Wan, had taken Jing Miao away. When Xi Siyan found him and brought him back, Jing Miao not only had fractures—he also suffered severe stress reactions for a long time and couldn’t be separated from Xi Siyan at all.
At the worst, if Xi Siyan took a shower behind one closed door, Jing Miao could attempt suicide right outside it.
Xi Siyan was forced to take two weeks’ leave and stay home with him twenty-four hours a day. Jing Miao couldn’t walk, so Xi Siyan carried him everywhere.
It felt like everything began tipping into extremes from that moment.
After bringing him home, watching him change clothes, and warming Jing Miao’s feet against his own stomach, Xi Siyan finally felt hungry.
He got up and cooked with practiced motions, talking to Jing Miao about trivial things.
Jing Miao lay on the sofa watching his back. Whatever Xi Siyan said, he found interesting.
“Today I found a book gege hid at the very bottom of the cabinet. It’s math! So interesting. Miaomiao can do the problems in it. Gege, can we do them together tonight?”
Xi Siyan froze.
He turned on the stove to boil winter melon, then walked over to the book on the coffee table.
On the surveillance footage, this was what he had seen Jing Miao writing.
It was a *Math III Graduate Entrance Exam Practice Book*—a guidebook Xi Siyan had bought back when he was preparing for his own exams.
He flipped it open and realized Jing Miao had finished nearly half.
Those complicated theorems and formulas; those integrals that could fill a full sheet of scratch paper…
Jing Miao had worked them all out using only the blank margins at the corners of the pages.