Chapter 66: The Young Master Has Fallen Ill

Xianyu Zhen was perplexed. The Nangong family’s genes were unique, making their bodies exceptionally robust. How could one of them possibly fall ill?

She followed into the bedroom. Jiang Mohe placed Nangong Ao in the bathtub, running cold water as he stripped off Ao’s clothes.

Aunt Rong wrung her hands anxiously, muttering, “Oh dear, which scoundrel did this this time? It’s simply dreadful!”

Xianyu Zhen caught sight of Nangong Ao’s face and bare upper body—his skin was flushed a deep red, and as the cold water touched him, it sizzled and steamed, just like dropping a red-hot iron into water.

Jiang Mohe continued undressing him. Xianyu Zhen turned away as Cui Hao ran in, clutching a metal bucket filled with ice.

With a clatter, he dumped the entire contents into the tub. Jiang Mohe tested the temperature of the water and said gravely, “It’s not enough!”

Cui Hao grimaced. “That’s all that was in the freezer.”

“There’s more in the cellar!” Aunt Rong gave his shoulder a slap and urged, “Go, quickly!”

Cui Hao grabbed the bucket and dashed downstairs. Aunt Rong, worried about his haste, hurried after him to supervise.

Jiang Mohe glanced back and saw Xianyu Zhen with her back turned, pulling a bath towel from the hook and spreading it across the water’s surface.

Only then did he say, “Come and help me.”

She glanced back, saw that Young Master Ao’s body was covered with the large towel, and approached.

Jiang Mohe’s face was slick with sweat, dripping steadily; his hands, supporting Nangong Ao, trembled slightly.

All the ice Cui Hao had brought had already melted. Clearly, Nangong Ao’s body temperature was dangerously high.

“Turn on the showerhead,” he instructed.

She hastened to obey, letting cold water stream down over Jiang Mohe, easing some of the oppressive heat.

When Cui Hao and Aunt Rong finally lugged more ice from the cellar and poured it into the bath, Nangong Ao’s skin gradually returned to a normal color.

Once the crisis had passed, Aunt Rong called Cui Hao downstairs for a scolding.

“How are you taking care of the young master? Why did he have another episode?”

Cui Hao hung his head, both aggrieved and ashamed. “I don’t know…”

“What do you mean, you don’t know!” Aunt Rong was furious, her voice several times louder than usual. “You’re his personal secretary—how could you not know his body isn’t like other people’s?”

“I…” Cui Hao was at a loss for words.

That evening, he had accompanied Nangong Ao to a banquet. Unexpectedly, Zhai Muli was also there and came over to exchange pleasantries.

Everyone knew that Nangong Ao and Zhai Muli didn’t get along, so Cui Hao was extra cautious. Then Secretary Cai, who was with Zhai Muli, deliberately spilled a drink on him.

Cui Hao was angry, but given the circumstances, he couldn’t make a scene. Nangong Ao sent him to tidy up in the restroom. By the time he returned, Nangong Ao was preparing to leave.

On the way back, Nangong Ao began to feel unwell. By the time they reached home, he could barely get out of the car. Only then did Cui Hao call for Jiang Mohe’s help.

As for what exactly happened at the banquet, Cui Hao was entirely in the dark.

After hearing the explanation, Aunt Rong stopped berating him. Even someone as shrewd as Nangong Ao hadn’t noticed anything was amiss, which meant their adversary was truly devious. How could someone as naive as Cui Hao be expected to guard against such cunning?

“Thank goodness!” Aunt Rong tapped him on the head, exasperated. “Thank goodness the young master is all right. Otherwise, you’d be answering for it with your life!”

Cui Hao’s eyes reddened with remorse; he was already blaming himself enough.

Upstairs, Jiang Mohe had helped Nangong Ao into bed. His fever had subsided, but he was still unconscious.

The usually elegant and striking young master now lay pale and motionless, lips drained of color, as if he’d endured terrible torment. Even Aunt Rong couldn’t bear the sight, and Xianyu Zhen felt a pang of distress for him.

He had been perfectly well when they parted that afternoon—how had this happened so suddenly?

It was the first time Xianyu Zhen had witnessed such a scene. A normal person couldn’t survive a spike in body temperature that severe.

No wonder the Nangong family was considered “different.” Traits like “unusually low body temperature,” “resistance to cold and hunger,” “physically superior and slow to age,” and “falling into hibernation near freezing temperatures” were not things ordinary people possessed.

Why exactly were their genes so unique? Xianyu Zhen suspected the family’s secrets went far beyond what Lady Nangong had revealed.

For instance, what could cause such harm to the young master? Did all members of the Nangong family suffer the same vulnerability? She was certain she herself was an exception.

After scolding Cui Hao, Aunt Rong sent him away and returned upstairs to check on Nangong Ao.

Xianyu Zhen urged, “Aunt Rong, it’s late. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stay and watch over him.”

“You’re very kind, Miss,” Aunt Rong sighed helplessly.

She was getting old, her blood pressure was high, and she couldn’t stay up all night. With Su Cha away, who else but Xianyu Zhen could be trusted to watch over the young master?

Nangong Xin, after school, had started sneezing from her cat allergy and gone to the doctor. With her delicate temperament, she’d insisted on being admitted for observation, and Su Cha had no choice but to accompany her.

Still, Aunt Rong was relieved that Nangong Xin wasn’t here. Otherwise, the third young lady would have caused a scene and made things even more difficult for them.

Worried she might doze off, Xianyu Zhen went downstairs to brew a cup of tea for herself.

Noticing a few books on the table in Nangong Ao’s room, she picked one up and began leafing through it at random, passing the time as she kept watch by his bedside.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her.

She turned to see Jiang Mohe. He had changed into dry clothes.

She glanced at the bandages on his hand, guessing he’d been burned by Nangong Ao’s fever, and asked, “Is it serious?”

“It’s nothing,” Jiang Mohe replied with a shake of his head.

He pulled up a chair and sat on the opposite side of the bed, evidently planning to keep vigil with her.

His presence was reassuring. If the young master’s temperature spiked again in the night, she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it alone.

Still, sitting together in silence was a bit awkward. She tried to make small talk. “Is Nana asleep?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Was she well-behaved?”

Again, he nodded. “Yes.”

After that, Xianyu Zhen couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Conversation over.

Autumn came early to the imperial city, and Xianyu Zhen felt a chill, drawing her limbs closer for warmth.

Her eyes flew open suddenly—she realized she’d fallen asleep at some point on the small sofa in the bedroom. The blanket had slipped partly off her.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Nangong Ao was still sleeping peacefully, Jiang Mohe no longer at his side.

It was just before dawn. The sheer curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows were drawn back slightly, and a few strands of morning light filtered through the glass, casting soft beams on the silver-gray wooden floor.

A figure stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing. The faint ember of a cigarette glowed between his right fingers, flaring and dimming, while his other hand rested casually in his pocket.