ASHES CH5: High Fever

Sometimes, Luo Zhi was actually curious.

Was he a character in a story with a predetermined fate, where no matter what he did or how he did it, he could never change the established trajectory?

Or perhaps he had committed some heinous crime in a past life and owed everyone, so he had to be punished and pay his debts in this life.

Otherwise, how could a person end up living like this?

If he hadn’t done anything wrong, what exactly was the reason that made everyone he met despise him, wishing he would just disappear quickly?

…

“Xiao Zhi?”

Ren Chenbai held his arm: “Are you alright?”

Luo Zhi lowered his gaze.

He steadied himself, suppressing his sudden thoughts, and looked at Ren Chenbai’s hand covering his arm.

That hand was slender and strong, stopping him cleanly, making his shirt, which was covered in blood and dust, look even uglier and dirty to the extreme.

…Even now, Ren Chenbai still didn’t know that Luo Zhi had seen what happened that day.

The day after the pastries were thrown away, Ren Chenbai still came to visit him.

Ren Chenbai had always taken good care of Luo Zhi, bringing him comic books and game cartridges, telling him about things outside, his gentle brow holding a seemingly innate calm and tolerance.

Ren Chenbai reached out, gently rubbing his head, telling him the pastries were delicious.

He couldn’t help but press for details about the filling. In those few seconds of brief silence when those gentle eyes showed slight astonishment and awkwardness, he nonchalantly changed the subject.

…

Call it self-deception or drinking poison to quench a thirst, Luo Zhi instinctively didn’t want to expose Ren Chenbai.

After all, even if it was an act, this was one of the few people in the world willing to speak properly to him.

As long as he avoided any contact with Ren Chenbai in any setting, Luo Zhi could rely on his ability to deceive himself, allowing himself to only remember the days in the Ren family that were so good they felt like a dream.

“I saw the trending searches… I was a bit worried.”

Ren Chenbai said: “I’ll take you back home to stay for a while, to avoid the spotlight.”

Luo Zhi shook his head.

He didn’t know if he had caught a chill, but right now it felt like someone had stuffed a block of pig iron into his brain; shaking it even a little caused a searing pain in more than half his head.

It wasn’t a very sharp, stabbing pain, but a chaotic pain mixed with dizziness, nausea, and a heavy consciousness. Even his temples were throbbing, feeling like some hidden blood vessel underneath could burst at any moment.

Luo Zhi could go anywhere. He still had a little money; staying in a hotel for a while, then renting an apartment, or leaving the area to clear his head, were all good plans.

The only place he couldn’t go was the Ren family.

He didn’t want any more embarrassing things to happen in the Ren family home.

To Luo Zhi, it was one of the rare places that still held warmth and kindness for him, and he didn’t want to overwrite that warmth with new memories.

“Brother Chenbai, thank you,” Luo Zhi said, “I don’t want to go.”

He only just realized he might have a fever, or perhaps heatstroke, or some other problem. In short, his arms and body were severely weak, and no matter what, he couldn’t break free from Ren Chenbai’s grip.

Luo Zhi was forcibly held, his head drooping slightly to one side. He realized his breath was scalding, burning his throat and making his voice hoarse.

“I would feel sad if I went. Besides, I have places I can go.”

Luo Zhi paused, forcing his vocal cords to continue: “I’ve encountered a little trouble these past few days, but life isn’t so tough that I can’t go on…”

“How will that do?” Ren Chenbai asked softly by his ear.

That was the ear Luo Zhi had injured. Most of the time, he couldn’t hear very clearly from this side, but this sentence suddenly pierced his eardrum clearly, then continued to seep into his brain with a bone-chilling coldness.

Luo Zhi looked up somewhat blankly.

Ren Chenbai seemed not to have expected him to hear it. His gentle, open brow stiffened for a moment, then calmly relaxed: “…It’s so uncomfortable living outside, and your health is bad. Stop throwing a tantrum and come back with me.”

His tone was very natural, as if “How will that do?” wasn’t a rhetorical questioning of “life isn’t so tough that I can’t go on,” but just an ordinary prefix to the following sentences.

As if in that casual moment, the terrifying, icy, chilling intent was nothing more than an illusion from Luo Zhi’s own fever-addled state.

Perhaps it really was just an illusion.

If being ostracized by the Luo family could be traced back to those past events, and if being cyberbullied across the internet could be linked back to Jian Huaiyi, the hidden manipulator in the shadows… at least Luo Zhi absolutely couldn’t think of anything he had done to offend Ren Chenbai.

He had always been obedient in the Ren family, never causing trouble or acting out, practically an invisible, transparent person.

When he was really bored, he just baked cakes and pastries with Ren Chenbai’s mother, or found a chance to sneak into the study and read books all day.

There was no conflict between the businesses of the Luo and Ren families. Ren Chenbai was the sole heir of the Ren family, serving as the standard negative control group for all those messing around second-generation rich kids.

Ren Chenbai was the most outstanding of their generation—calm and decisive in business, gentle, mature, and reliable in private. Even Luo Jun couldn’t avoid being frequently compared to him.

Such a favored child of heaven didn’t need to be like Jian Huaiyi, always anxious about stolen things and constantly worrying that everything would be taken back, thus constantly engaging in an endless struggle to the death with Luo Zhi.

Luo Zhi tried twice more to pull his arm back.

Ren Chenbai still held onto him tightly.

The grip wasn’t particularly strong, but it also brooked no resistance. At least the current Luo Zhi didn’t have enough physical strength to resist.

Ren Chenbai lowered his head slightly, his dark eyes looking at Luo Zhi, reflecting Luo Zhi’s current shadow in his pupils.

During this brief time, quite a few people nearby had already started looking over.

Even aside from anything else, just the clothes Luo Zhi hadn’t had time to change out of were eye-catching enough in the mall.

After all, he was a negative example caught in the crosshairs of public opinion, and it didn’t take long for someone to recognize Luo Zhi’s face. The hostility in reality wasn’t as unrestrained and vengeful as online—at least no one rushed up to smash Luo Zhi’s head in—at most, they just pointed and whispered with disdainful looks.

But this feeling wasn’t very good either.

What was it like? It was like fine threads wrapping around one after another, cutting into a person’s skin, and then seeping into their flesh and blood bit by bit.

It wasn’t exactly painful, but those distant and mocking looks would be etched into memories he didn’t even realize he had.

…

Then, whenever he encountered another cast glance or another passing pedestrian looking his way, this feeling would jump out instantly.

Ren Chenbai’s mother kept many books on psychology in the study, and Luo Zhi had flipped through a few. He remembered that at times like this, he shouldn’t focus his attention on his surroundings anymore. So he shook his feverishly dizzy head vigorously, raised his gaze, and looked at the figure in front of him.

“Brother Chenbai, I’m not feeling very well,” Luo Zhi said. “I want to go to the hospital.”

Luo Zhi’s throat was almost burned hoarse, and he wasn’t even sure if he had managed to speak the words: “Let me go first, and when I…”

Ren Chenbai let go of his hand, crossed his arms, and stepped back.

Luo Zhi froze for a moment. His vision was already starting to blur a bit, as if covered by a faint white mist, but he could still clearly see Ren Chenbai’s crossed arms, looking as if the matter had nothing to do with him.

There were already quite a few people pointing and gossiping around them, but Ren Chenbai clearly had no intention of handling it for him.

…When this thought appeared, Luo Zhi even smiled self-deprecatingly.

He always harbored some unrealistic fantasies about the people and things around him. Among these fantasies, the most self-righteous and shameless parts were probably all about Ren Chenbai.

Luo Zhi wasn’t entirely clear on his attitude towards Ren Chenbai either.

Perhaps it was an older, reliable friend he had depended on since childhood, perhaps the most excellent standard he wanted to catch up to in his heart, or perhaps the only remaining obsession regarding “family.”

He wisely didn’t look up, giving up on confirming the other’s gaze, merely holding the railing and walking step by step towards the elevator.

Ren Chenbai stood behind him, watching Luo Zhi stumble down the escalator.

Luo Zhi subconsciously groped his way, walking slowly through the crowd until his figure disappeared outside the mall.

…

Luo Zhi made his way to the parking lot.

He was already so unwell he couldn’t stand. After repeatedly trying and failing to open the car door, he finally remembered he hadn’t unlocked it. When he finally found the keys from his pocket, his weak, trembling fingers could no longer support even this last bit of force.

The keys fell from his fingers and slid under the car.

Luo Zhi squatted down.

There was one good thing about having a fever.

The chaos of the high heat swallowed all emotions. He didn’t even feel any irritation over this series of setbacks; he just leaned down and tried to reach out and grab them.

The keys were perfectly positioned a few centimeters beyond his furthest reach.

Luo Zhi patiently tried bit by bit. He curled up in the shadows, his burning forehead pressed against the car’s cold metal. The damp chill of the garage coaxed the coolness in his bones to shiver out.

A hand picked up the keys for him.

With one arm, Ren Chenbai held Luo Zhi, letting him lean against his shoulder to rest. With his right hand, he fished out the keys and placed them in Luo Zhi’s hand.

His movements and force were exceptionally gentle, almost making Luo Zhi hazily recall their childhood when Ren Chenbai held him after he got heatstroke outside, feeding him iced mung bean soup with white sugar bit by bit.

…The memories and gentleness stopped right there.

After handing him the keys, Ren Chenbai stepped back, waiting for Luo Zhi’s next move.

It took Luo Zhi a bit of extra time to somewhat sluggishly realize that the subtext of this action was, “If you don’t come back with me, then figure it out yourself. I won’t help you.”

He obviously couldn’t drive in this state.

Actually, he shouldn’t have come to the parking lot; he should have just hailed a cab on the street. But his brain really couldn’t turn anymore; he was just relying on instinct to get as far away from that place earlier as possible.

Luo Zhi lifted his thick, dark eyelashes soaked in cold sweat, curved his eyes, and smiled at Ren Chenbai.

Luo Zhi held onto the car to stand steady and softly said thank you.

For some unknown reason, Ren Chenbai, standing in front of him, actually froze and stared at him for a moment.

Luo Zhi didn’t let this opening slip by. Not caring whether he looked disheveled or not, he pressed the key to unlock, pulled the car door open, scrambled in on his hands and knees, and immediately shut the door quickly.

Luo Zhi locked the door and windows tightly, waved at Ren Chenbai—whose astonished gaze outside the window hid a trace of anger—and pulled down the sun visor.

After completing this action, he had also exhausted his last bit of strength.

Luo Zhi’s vision completely returned to darkness. He didn’t even have time to adjust to a slightly more comfortable position before his body quietly slumped over the steering wheel.