Something in his chest tightened sharply.
She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be in his room, in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, looking like that—so small, so exhausted, so unguarded.
Yet the sight of her…It did something to him.
A strange, quiet calm washed over him, settling in his chest like he had stepped into a place untouched by noise. A place he had forgotten existed. His breath, which had been steady out of habit, eased into something softer.
He crouched beside the bed.
His eyes traced every detail of her face.Her lashes trembling faintly.Her lips parted slightly with her uneven breaths.The curve of her cheek, warm with fever.
His fingers hovered above her forehead, hesitating for the briefest moment before brushing against her skin.
Hot.
Too hot.
His composure cracked, not visibly, but in the tightening of his jaw, the sudden heaviness in his gaze. His protective instincts surged with a force that startled him.
"Lin Che…" he murmured, barely a whisper, testing if she would stir.
She didn't.
Instead, she nuzzled deeper into the blanket—his blanket—and for a split second, something almost dangerous flickered in his chest. A warmth he had not felt in years.
He stood abruptly, pulled out his phone, and dialed.
His voice, when he spoke, was low, controlled—but laced with urgency.
"Send a physician to my room. Immediately."
When he ended the call, he looked at her again.
This time he didn't stop himself.
His hand reached for the edge of the blanket, gently tucking it closer around her shoulders.
His eyes softened in a way they never did in front of anyone else.
He didn't understand why this woman—this girl from a quiet village, this girl who kept appearing in the unlikeliest corners of his world—had the ability to unsettle him, calm him, and pull him in all at once.
But as he stood there, watching her sleep in his bed, the strange truth settled heavily in his chest.
He didn't want her to leave.
Not tonight.Not like this.Not when she looked as though she belonged there more than he ever had.
And for the first time in years, Gong Feng felt something he couldn't name tightening around his heart.
The physician arrived only a few minutes after being summoned, almost breathless, as though he had sprinted across the entire East Wing. Whenever the call came from this side of the mansion, it usually meant something had happened to the young master, and no one wished to be the person who arrived late. But the moment he stepped inside Gong Feng's room and followed the direction of the young master's faint nod, his eyes widened in quiet confusion.
On the bed was not Gong Feng.
Instead, a young woman lay curled beneath the blankets, her cheeks flushed an unhealthy pink, her forehead lightly damp with sweat, her breathing uneven. Her hair stuck to her skin in fine strands, and even in the dim lamp's glow, she looked exhausted beyond reason.
Before the physician could voice even a single question, Gong Feng's voice cut quietly through the room.
"Check what's wrong with her."
The physician swallowed his confusion—and every instinct urging him to ask questions—and immediately obeyed.
He stepped beside the bed, pulling his small satchel open. Lin Che did not stir at all, except for a faint, barely audible sound when he lifted her wrist. Her eyelids fluttered but never opened. Her skin felt far too warm.
He checked her pulse, her breathing, the condition of her eyes, even the tension in her muscles. It took only a few seconds for him to piece together the cause.
When he straightened again, he found Gong Feng standing only a step away, his expression unreadable yet unmistakably tight.
"Young Master," the physician said softly, "she has a fever. Likely from fatigue."
There was a subtle shift—barely perceptible, but there. Gong Feng's brows lowered by a fraction, as though he had not heard correctly.
"…Fatigue?"He did not say the rest aloud. They were guests at the Gong mansion. Why would she be exhausted to this extent?
"It is not severe," the physician added quickly. "Some medicine will bring it down before long. She simply needs rest."
Gong Feng nodded once, curt but controlled, and took the small box of medication the physician handed him. The older man bowed and excused himself instantly, grateful to escape the tension simmering under the young master's calm exterior.
When the door closed, the room returned to its soft silence.
Gong Feng stood beside the bed for a long moment, his gaze fixed on her sleeping face. Her eyelashes trembled faintly, her lips parted as she breathed. The flush on her cheeks made her look strangely delicate, almost fragile—nothing like the stubbornly spirited girl he had encountered again and again these past days.
Fatigue, he repeated inwardly.Her clothes had tiny stains on them. Some dried droplets of broth. A few faint oil marks. Her hands, he now noticed clearly, had tiny splashes that looked like burns.
A heaviness pressed into his chest.
He set the medicine down on the bedside table, exhaled slowly, and leaned closer.
"Lin Che," he said quietly, as if testing whether she could hear him.
She didn't respond. She only made a faint noise—somewhere between a whine and a sigh—and shifted deeper into the blankets.
For a man who handled billion-yuan contracts without blinking, this was somehow the first moment in years where he felt genuinely helpless.
Still, she had to take the medicine.
He opened the small packet. A few small pills rolled into his palm.
"Lin Che," he tried again, tapping her shoulder lightly. "Wake a little."
Her eyelids fluttered. She barely cracked them open."Hnn…"
That was all.
He lifted one pill to her mouth.
"Just this. Open," he instructed.
He had never done this before and it felt almost like he was trying to coax a child
She obeyed—barely. Her lips parted the smallest amount, enough for him to place the pill on her tongue.
For half a second, it seemed successful.
Then her entire face contorted.
Her eyebrows shot downward. Her nose scrunched. Her cheeks puffed slightly.
And then—
"Pff—!"