Having been admitted on April 29th, nearly half a month of hospitalization allowed Ji Xun to watch the once-bare plane tree branches outside his window burst into a lush expanse of powdery purple clouds. Heavy clusters of blossoms weighed down the slender twigs, drooping until they touched the windowsill. Whenever a stray breeze blew past, a stray petal would wander into the palm of Ji Xun, who still struggled to lift his arms.
“Sigh—”
Ji Xun let out a long sigh, placing the petal resting in his palm over his eyes. His gaze pierced through the thin petal, staring at the sky outside the window.
The petal was like mist; seen through it, the sky transformed into a hazy, golden fog.
The weather was wonderful.
And painfully boring.
Lying down for so long had rusted his bones; with every subtle shift, they cracked and throbbed with pain.
Ji Xun sighed again and shifted his eyes, peering through the gap between the petals to look at the empty bed next to his.
He was staying in a VIP ward at the Ning City Hospital, which accommodated two beds: one belonged to him, and the other to Huo Ranyin.
Ever since he was hospitalized, Huo Ranyin had essentially treated the hospital as his home. Whenever he wrapped up his hectic schedule at the police station, he would crash on the other bed to rest.
During the initial period, Ji Xun lacked energy, sleeping far more than he was awake. Often, he was already asleep before Huo Ranyin even showed up, and before he woke, Huo Ranyin had already departed.
Yet, it was merely a matter of not seeing him physically.
He could still vividly sense Huo Ranyin’s presence.
Within those dreams that hovered between illusion and reality.
Except they weren’t illusions; they were real…
Ji Xun knew with absolute clarity that they were real, not figments of his imagination.
The insomnia that had plagued him over the past three years made it difficult for him to drop into deep sleep. Most of the time, he remained in a state of light slumber, fully aware of his surroundings even while asleep.
He could feel Huo Ranyin pushing open the ward door in the dead of night.
The man would walk in silently without making a sound, bringing only a faint, cool breeze mingled with the sweet scent of plane tree blossoms that lightly wrapped around him.
Then, on some nights, Huo Ranyin would sit by his bedside; on other nights, Huo Ranyin would lean down, gently encircling him in a delicate, hovering embrace; and on still other nights, Huo Ranyin would slide into bed, carefully settling in the tight space beside him, drawing close without ever touching his injured body.
During those moments, Ji Xun could hear Huo Ranyin’s faint, steady breathing.
He began to wonder.
When Huo Ranyin sat there, what did he look like? Did he sit meticulously with his legs crossed? Did he lean back to rest his neck like he was at home? Or was he utterly exhausted like last time, propping his elbows on the armrests while staring softly and peacefully at him through weary night eyes?
And when Huo Ranyin hovered close to embrace him, or lay side-by-side on the bed, was it because he missed him deeply?
Ji Xun missed Huo Ranyin, too.
The bustling, sunlit days were manageable.
It was only in the dead of night, when nothing remained but the subtle scent of blossoms drifting into his solitary dreams, that he suddenly realized something: in the four months from the start of this year until now, he and Huo Ranyin had solved cases and shared a life together. Aside from his trip to Fujian and his initial boarding of the ship, they were practically joined at the hip.
Therefore, when forced apart by his injury, he found himself entirely unaccustomed to living alone.
Even though this hospital room was saturated with Huo Ranyin’s traces and scent, he still missed him desperately.
Longing was like clusters of plane tree blossoms blooming quietly on branches—clustering, stacking, and nestling in his heart before seeping into his limbs during moments unbeknownst to anyone.
Still… those days were finally coming to an end.
Ji Xun noticed he had been staring at the neatly made white sheets next to him for a long time.
His physical condition had improved significantly. As his drowsiness waned, Huo Ranyin’s sweep-and-cleanup operation targeting Mr. Liu’s ship moved past the stage where every second counted. The two were finally able to catch up at normal hours in the evening—for instance, when Huo Ranyin returned around nine or ten, they could chat or watch some mindless TV shows and variety programs.
If he came back earlier, they could even share dinner.
With such a striking person sitting right in front of him, even bland hospital food tasted a bit better.
Except… there was one issue. Although Huo Ranyin hadn’t brought it up again since his return, it lingered in Ji Xun’s heart like a thorn embedded in flesh—surfacing occasionally to prick him, leaving him half-numb and half-pained.
How on earth should he handle that matter?
Bring it up directly?
Under normal circumstances and standard logic, that was obviously the way to go; problems could only be solved when voiced.
Unfortunately, these weren’t normal circumstances.
Ji Xun felt that bringing up the issue while he was injured and hospitalized was far too sly.
…Huo Ranyin would probably brush it aside out of heartache.
Yet, letting it drag on without bringing it up directly felt equally wrong.
…Would Huo Ranyin think he didn’t take it seriously, raising even more guard and bristles?
Actually, discharge was right around the corner. What if he talked to Huo Ranyin right as he was about to be discharged?
A new thought popped into Ji Xun’s mind.
But what if Huo Ranyin still brushed it off casually?
A new concern immediately trailed the new thought.
A surface-level brushing off didn’t mean it was truly resolved.
Both of them were far too adept at lying.
It was entirely possible for Huo Ranyin to act nonchalant verbally while remaining prickly inside.
Of course, he could push the topic further and delve into a thorough discussion with Huo Ranyin.
However… what if Huo Ranyin had truly decided to let it go, and his persistent probing instead made him look like he completely lacked trust in Huo Ranyin?
That didn’t seem great either.
Looking ahead and behind, weighing option after option, thoughts surged in Ji Xun’s mind only to be shot down one by one.
At times, he wondered if he was being overly anxious; at other times, he felt that since spring had passed while he lay immobilized in bed, experiencing a bit of spring melancholy and autumn sadness over relationship troubles was a perfectly normal psychological shift.
Time spent immobilized without his partner’s company was far too dull. Deep in thought, he completely tuned out the outside world until a familiar voice called out to him:
“What are you thinking about?”
He blinked his eyes open. The plane tree flower trailed its skirt as it fell from his eyes, casting a faint lavender tint over the person who had just walked through the door.
Huo Ranyin.
“Thinking… about you,” Ji Xun answered honestly, speaking his mind.
The answer pleased Huo Ranyin.
Ji Xun saw the corners of the newcomer’s mouth curl up slightly before quickly flattening back out.
Did the corners of his mouth flatten out faster than before? Ji Xun couldn’t help flipping through his memory for comparison. It did seem a fraction of a second faster. Did that fraction of a second represent the weight of the prickles Huo Ranyin was carrying?
“You’re back pretty early today,” Ji Xun said.
“We had a breakthrough,” Huo Ranyin replied. “The higher-ups were pleased and let everyone off early to rest.”
“Finally,” Ji Xun sighed from the bottom of his heart.
Huo Ranyin shifted his gaze to the head of the hospital bed, where Ji Xun’s closed notebook lay.
“You started writing today?”
“Mm—” Ji Xun grunted in agreement.
“You haven’t even been discharged from the hospital, and you’re already writing?” Huo Ranyin didn’t feel Bureau Chief Zhou was exploiting his labor, but seeing Ji Xun start working made his brow furrow, feeling the editor wasn’t taking proper care of a seriously injured author. “Does it still hurt?”
Does it still hurt?
Of course it hurt.
How could it not?
Occasional throbs of pain still made Ji Xun’s nerves twitch, and sometimes the sharp stabs woke him from his light sleep.
These were inevitable—post-traumatic lingering effects on the body and mind.
“I’m recovering well; it barely hurts anymore,” Ji Xun replied with smooth ease.
He didn’t want Huo Ranyin to worry about his injury on top of his tiring and busy workload… Plus, he really wanted to show off a bit of his masculinity.
Yet the moment the words left his mouth, he abruptly saw the corners of Huo Ranyin’s lips pull downward.
A plain, unmistakable expression of displeasure.
Ji Xun realized, a beat too late…
Huo Ranyin had suffered the exact same injury before.
Whether it hurt or not, Huo Ranyin experienced it in the most literal sense.
He then realized with absolute clarity…
Lies were far too simple for them.
And seeing through lies was just as effortless.
Off to a terrible start.
Ji Xun let out an inner lament.
