Chapter 47 Yan Yichen Has a Fever (2)

Meng Yier took out two pills according to the instructions, fetched a glass of water from the kitchen, and with some effort managed to help Yan Yichen sit up in bed. She placed the medicine in his mouth, then brought the glass to his lips. Yan Yichen was burning with fever, completely unconscious, unable to drink the water on his own. Meng Yier gently tipped the water into his mouth, but to her dismay, he spat out both the water and the pills.

She tried twice more to feed him, but it made no difference. She could feel his body temperature rising, as if the very air around him had grown hot. Anxiety began to creep into her heart—he was in no condition to take medicine like this. On the fourth attempt, just as she saw the pills about to be spat out again, Meng Yier hurriedly gripped his jaw, holding it firmly to prevent him from expelling the medicine again. A few seconds later, Yan Yichen coughed twice, finally swallowing the pills, and Meng Yier could at last breathe a sigh of relief.

She touched the towel she had laid across his forehead; it was now damp but no longer cool. She removed it, soaked it once more in cold water, wrung it out gently, and replaced it on his burning forehead.

After a while, Yan Yichen let out a few pained murmurs, his hands once again tugging at his shirt. She saw he had already unbuttoned his shirt entirely, revealing his well-defined chest and abdomen. Meng Yier’s cheeks flushed instantly. She turned her head away, unable to look, and reached out to cover him back up, but her hand accidentally brushed his firm waist and stomach—the searing heat beneath her fingers made her quickly withdraw.

Even after taking the medicine, Yan Yichen’s body was still alarmingly hot. Meng Yier knew the fever wouldn’t break so quickly. Thinking of this, she suddenly remembered how, when she was a child and down with a stubborn fever, her mother would cool her with ice packs.

Without hesitation, Meng Yier hurried to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and searched for ice. She quickly found two packs of ice cubes, then located a towel, soaked it, wrapped the ice inside, and returned to the living room.

She lifted the shirt she’d just used to cover him, took the ice-filled towel, and began gently wiping his burning skin. The chill from the towel brought relief to Yan Yichen’s feverish body; his tightly furrowed brow gradually relaxed as Meng Yier continued to wipe him down, and even his trembling body slowly calmed. Gradually, his harsh, rapid breaths eased into a steady, peaceful rhythm.

Only when she felt his body was no longer scorching did Meng Yier finally allow herself to relax. She sat down beside the sofa, watching Yan Yichen as he drifted into a deep sleep.

The flush on his face slowly faded, though his lips remained pale. His brows were still knotted, his face exhausted, yet despite this sickly appearance, he was still so handsome it made her heart flutter.

“With such a striking face, how could you be such a petty, sharp-tongued man? Truly, you can’t judge a book by its cover…” Meng Yier murmured to herself, lost in his almost unreal beauty.

A grumble from her stomach interrupted her wandering thoughts. She glanced at the clock—it was already midday. Remembering that he probably hadn’t eaten in a long time and was so weakened, she knew that the first thing he’d need upon waking was something to eat.

Almost unconsciously, Meng Yier walked to the kitchen. She recalled Aunt Gu’s advice: “When you’re ill, you need to eat light food.” Determined, she put on a pot of congee for him and made herself a bowl of noodles.

Once the meal was ready, Meng Yier returned to the living room. Yan Yichen was sleeping soundly. She instinctively reached out, placing her hand on his forehead to check if his fever had finally subsided.