Chapter 12: A Priceless Treasure

The scab on the tiger’s mouth had formed, making the gauze seem almost unnecessary. Qu Yan easily removed it and raised his hand toward the faint morning light. Today was indeed a fine day.

Beside him, Yan Zhuo opened his eyes, just waking up, his face looking somewhat weary.

When he folded back his ears and tail, there was no visible abnormality. It was only then that Qu Yan noticed his pupils were darker than usual, as if drawing anyone who looked too close into two black whirlpools—dangerous, the very gaze a wolf should possess.

What exactly was Yan Zhuo—a spirit or a monster? Qu Yan had pondered this before, but ultimately realized the answer was meaningless. Whatever Yan Zhuo was, as long as he was useful, that was all that mattered.

Only things that could be utilized had value. Qu Yan liked to control dangerous things; it sent a thrill through his soul.

Yan Zhuo blinked blankly, then turned his head to glance at the sun just peeking over the horizon. In a husky voice, he asked, “Why don’t you sleep a little longer? Did I wake you?”

Qu Yan noticed that Yan Zhuo was fond of blaming himself for mistakes like these. Such people were either overly kind or utterly foolish. Qu Yan disliked fools and despised the word kindness.

He lowered his eyes, his lashes hiding any emotion beneath them. “My leg hurts.”

Everything around them seemed to pause as if someone had pressed a pause button, even Yan Zhuo’s breathing halted.

Qu Yan suddenly thought that perhaps it was good that Yan Zhuo was kind—it made toying with him all the more interesting. “Have you ever heard of phantom limb pain? Patients feel the part of their limb that’s been amputated still exists and experience pain there. It’s described as stabbing, burning, or like being cut…”

As the sunlight grew stronger with time, Qu Yan curled his arm, shielding his eyes with one hand, his voice softening. “Maybe I’m having illusions too. I keep feeling like both my legs are intact, but a little pain is fine—it reminds me to face reality.”

“What should be done?” came a nervous, cautious question from beside him.

“What can be done to make you feel better?” Yan Zhuo asked again, his eyes brimming with an unmistakable concern.

Those dangerously intense eyes, yet harboring such an expression—Qu Yan quietly stared at him, feeling something stir deep within his heart.

He grabbed Yan Zhuo’s wrist; the sudden move startled the other. Maintaining a calm expression, Qu Yan pulled his hand toward the blanket. “Help me rub it.”

The warmth under the blanket contrasted with the chill of the two slender legs, making Yan Zhuo’s fingertips tremble. He turned to sit up, his palm sliding down. The ankle, weakened and excessively thin, could be encircled by one hand.

Qu Yan lay still, his gaze unflinching. “You’re the first person to touch me besides myself.”

He paused, then added, “Not counting those doctors.”

He was not one to show weakness; to him, this was tantamount to courting death. But Yan Zhuo… Qu Yan thought, Yan Zhuo was different.

Exposing a bit of vulnerability, giving just a little, and he could gain so much more in return.

He never made a losing deal.

“Is this okay? Does it hurt?” Yan Zhuo’s fingertips slid over the protruding ankle bone, pausing at the scar. Yan Zhuo had seen Qu Yan shoot hoops alone in an empty corner of the basketball court—the way he leaped lightly, the ball swishing through the net—and would raise an eyebrow with a faint smile.

That had been Yan Zhuo’s secret, a view only he had witnessed.

“Are you pitying me?” Qu Yan’s eyes flickered with something as he propped himself up in bed, staring intently at Yan Zhuo.

“No, you misunderstood.” There was no pity—perhaps tenderness would be more accurate—but Yan Zhuo never voiced it. His affection meant nothing to Qu Yan, only bringing trouble.

Given his odd state, it was already a blessing that he wasn’t rejected. He dared not ask for more. To stay by Qu Yan’s side and watch him was enough.

Qu Yan didn’t know what was on Yan Zhuo’s mind, only seeing the boy lower his head, strands of hair swaying before his forehead, oddly pitiful. Still, his hands never stopped; he continued massaging with devoted care.

Actually, Qu Yan’s knees still had some sensation. Whenever Yan Zhuo’s hand passed over, a feather-light tickle crept up, an almost imperceptible feeling that irritated him. He clicked his tongue inwardly and tugged Yan Zhuo’s hair toward himself. “I lied to you.”

Yan Zhuo didn’t catch on immediately. “What?”

Qu Yan impatiently released his grip, glancing at his thin legs beneath the blanket. “There’s actually no sensation at all.”

Yan Zhuo stopped moving, only his fingertips unconsciously stroking the delicate skin. “So it doesn’t hurt at all?”

Qu Yan nodded, answering matter-of-factly, “Not even if it wanted to.”

He wished it would hurt—in some way, it would confirm he wasn’t useless. But even the heavens refused to grant him that torment.

They ate noodles for breakfast. While Yan Zhuo prepared in the kitchen, Song Chengfeng sat beside Qu Yan quietly asking, “Who exactly is this guy?”

Having known Qu Yan for years, he had never seen Yan Zhuo around.

Before Qu Yan could answer, Song Chengfeng added, “Don’t try to feed me the same line as yesterday.”

“Why should I tell you?” Qu Yan set down his half-finished strawberry milk. “Guess.”

Song Chengfeng figured Qu Yan wouldn’t reveal anything. His eyes wandered to Yan Zhuo in the kitchen, thoughtful. “Could he be a bodyguard you hired?”

The guess made sense. By Song Chengfeng’s reckoning, Qu Yan had countless enemies. He had long suggested hiring a bodyguard, but Qu Yan was indifferent—until now, when he suddenly changed.

Qu Yan nearly laughed, stifling it as he nodded. “Yeah, you guessed right.”

Sure enough, Song Chengfeng praised Qu Yan’s luck. “How much did you pay him? I have to say, he’s dedicated—he hasn’t run off even in this situation.”

He genuinely admired him; if it were him, he would have long given up on Qu Yan.

Qu Yan watched Yan Zhuo bring out the noodles and said quietly, “A priceless treasure.”

Yan Zhuo’s affection, his greatest reliance, the easiest thing to manipulate—was indeed priceless.

Qu Yan chuckled softly.

Song Chengfeng: “…Here we go again. Qu Yan always laughs like this when he’s losing his mind.”

Yan Zhuo stood by the dining table, and from his angle, it looked like Qu Yan and Song Chengfeng were having a pleasant conversation, with Qu Yan even smiling happily.

He put down what he was holding and walked over. “Time to eat.” With that, he pushed Qu Yan’s wheelchair away, ignoring Song Chengfeng.

Song Chengfeng watched the two, who had risen early and seemed energetic, with envy. He rubbed the dark circles under his eyes and sighed silently. Raising a child was far harder than he imagined—not only waking up crying suddenly but also wetting and soiling themselves. People said children were angels or flowers, but to him, they were truly little devils.

He now deeply regretted impulsively taking on such a burden. Why not just throw the little one out? Let him go back where he came from—at least that would be a clean start and finish, Song Chengfeng thought with no guilt.

The noodles were plain, simple broth noodles with no toppings. The only highlight was a single marinated egg at the center, brought back by Yan Zhuo—the only one.

He scooped the egg into Qu Yan’s bowl without a word, as if it were a routine act.

Qu Yan leisurely took a bite of noodles, then broke the egg in half with his chopsticks, placing one half into Yan Zhuo’s bowl.

Suddenly, Yan Zhuo’s bowl contained something extra. He looked up, and Qu Yan’s lips moved silently: “A morning thank-you gift.”

Morning… thank-you gift? Was that for rubbing his leg? But that was useless, wasn’t it?

The marinated egg was found by Yan Zhuo; he cooked the noodles too, yet he seemed to forget all that, his gaze warming as he looked at the half egg.

He glanced discreetly at Song Chengfeng, who was eating heartily, feeling a twinge of displeasure. Why was this person still here? If he weren’t, he could finally show his ears and tail.

Then, perhaps, Qu Yan’s thank-you gift would be a gentle stroke of his tail.