Chapter 7: Seeking a Doctor for a Fever—Am I Qualified to Treat Illness?

After Wen Ling repeatedly assured her that she was feeling fine, Qiao Hongyun returned to the room next door, though she still reminded Wen Ling to speak up immediately if any discomfort arose. Feeling utterly drained, Wen Ling offered a perfunctory response and retreated to her room.

The next day, Wen Ling felt as if she were being crushed by a phantom weight. Her forehead burned, and the persistent coughing accompanied by aching, listless limbs served as a harsh reminder: she had actually caught a cold.

In a haze, she fumbled for her phone, intending to call Qiao Hongyun, but a lapse in judgment led her to dial a number that had sat in her contacts for three years without a single interaction.

Zhou Yinhe was known for his love of sleeping in; nothing on earth could wake him. Wen Ling, harboring no expectations, hadn't even prepared what to say, yet the line connected. As the sound of the call being picked up reached her ears, her fever-addled mind went blank. A raspy voice came through from the other end.

"Who is it?"

Zhou Yinhe had not slept all night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Wen Ling falling into the water, followed by the expression she wore when she had pitifully yet stubbornly tried to explain herself to him. When the phone rang, he had been staring at the text messages he had sent her three years ago. Over these three years, he had lost count of how many times he had called or texted her during drunken nights or moments of emotional collapse, only to find the number disconnected. When it finally went through, a man had answered. He had gone mad, tracking the location of the number until he eventually bought it from that man, keeping it on a phone he rarely used.

"Speak," he commanded, his voice sharp with the irritability of a sleepless night.

"Zhou Yinhe," Wen Ling murmured, "cough, cough, I have a fever. I feel terrible."

Her voice was slow and weak, punctuated by coughs. It was clear to anyone that she was ill. Zhou Yinhe pursed his lips, remembering his own foolishness over the past three years. He forced himself to sound cold. "If you have a fever, find a doctor. Do you think I’m a physician?"

Hearing this, the tears Wen Ling had been holding back since he answered the phone spilled over, stinging her eyes as they tracked across her face. She closed them, her voice bitter. "You weren't like this before. Whenever I was sick, you were the one who took care of me."

"You said it yourself—that was the past. Do you think I’m that stupid? To let you trick me again three years later?" Zhou Yinhe gritted his teeth.

Wen Ling bit her lip to keep from sobbing, then gently hung up the phone. She buried herself under the covers and cried for a long time before she could muster the strength to sit up and call Qiao Hongyun.

Qiao Hongyun rushed over, followed by the nanny who had looked after Wen Ling since childhood. Qiao fretted, "Oh, my poor Ling, it's my fault for not insisting on checking on you last night."

Wen Ling buried her face in the pillow, rubbing it until a patch of fabric was damp. She turned her head and said, "Auntie, it's not your fault."

Qiao Hongyun sighed heavily. "You have a mild lung infection. I’ll have someone prepare medicine and an IV drip for you." She turned to the worried-looking nanny, Auntie Zhou. "Sister Zhou, please have the chef brew some pear soup. It will help soothe her lungs."

Auntie Zhou nodded and hurried out of the room.

Qiao Hongyun felt Wen Ling's forehead and sighed again at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. "When you said you wanted to come to China, your mother wouldn't agree; she was afraid you’d get hurt. Look at your eyes now—if your parents found out, they would be heartbroken."

"They haven't seen me in ages. They’re always jetting between countries; they wouldn't be heartbroken," Wen Ling said, pouting with a sense of grievance.

"Don't talk nonsense. How could they not love you?"

Wen Ling didn't want to talk anymore. A wave of resentment surged within her, making her heart feel as if it were steeped in vinegar. *What did I do wrong? My breakup was dictated by the plot! Why blame me? If you want to blame someone, blame the author. I’m just a supporting character living in a novel; what choice do I have?*

With a rebellious spirit lingering in her heart, Wen Ling pouted and wiped her tears away roughly.

"Oh, my dear Ling, don't be so crude. Can't you learn from those elegant ladies in period dramas? Even wiping away tears should be done gracefully," Qiao Hongyun said, noticing her unhappiness and trying to cheer her up.

Wen Ling was indeed amused, and Qiao Hongyun let out a sigh of relief before stepping outside to answer a phone call.

Left to her own devices, Wen Ling comforted herself, thinking about how she would tease Zhou Yinhe once she managed to win him back, which finally brought a smile to her face.

Qiao Hongyun returned with the medication, and Auntie Zhou helped her set up the stand by the bedside. Qiao administered the IV. Auntie Zhou patted Wen Ling gently through the blanket and whispered, "Sleep a little longer. Auntie will stay here and watch over you."

Feeling comforted, Wen Ling’s mood brightened, and she said softly, "Thank you, Auntie Zhou."

As Wen Ling drifted into a peaceful sleep, Zhou Yinhe paced his bedroom in a state of agitation, picking up his phone and putting it back down repeatedly. His emotional turmoil left his eyes bloodshot. With a snarl, he looked up, and in a fit of rage, he hurled his phone against the wall. The impact left a crater in the wall, and the screen shattered into pieces.

Housekeeper Xu, who had been tasked by Mrs. Zhou to look after her son, came running at the sound. He knocked on the door, asking anxiously, "Ancestor? What's wrong?"

Zhou Yinhe didn't answer, his gaze locked onto the phone as if he could bore a hole through it.

Housekeeper Xu had to use a spare key to enter. He saw the ruined phone on the floor and looked up at the wall, stunned by the depth of the dent—it was clear how much force had been used.

"Ancestor, what has gotten into you?"

Mrs. Zhou had always called her rebellious youngest son "the ancestor," a habit that had spread to everyone in the Zhou household except for the stern Mr. Zhou.

"Give me your phone," Zhou Yinhe said, sitting on the floor with his hand outstretched.

Housekeeper Xu hesitated but handed it over. As soon as he took it, Zhou Yinhe dialed a number.

"Jiang Jibai."

Seeing the name of Zhou Yinhe’s housekeeper on the caller ID, Jiang Jibai picked up, surprised to hear Zhou’s voice instead.

"Why are you calling from your housekeeper's phone? Where's your own?" Jiang Jibai asked, puzzled.

"Smashed it," Zhou Yinhe replied bluntly. "Help me check where Wen Ling is staying. And while you're at it, check if she’s called a doctor."

Jiang Jibai was surprised for a moment before he caught on, laughing lazily. "Why don't you check yourself? The people you have around you are far more capable than mine. Besides, doesn't Wen Ling have her own private doctors and staff?"

Back when Wen Ling lived at her grandfather’s, she had brought a whole retinue from the U.S.—private doctors, housekeepers, nannies. It wasn't that keeping so many people was a huge expense, but everyone had found it excessive.

"Just tell me if you'll check or not!" Zhou Yinhe said coldly.

Hearing the lack of patience in his voice, Jiang Jibai yielded. "Fine, I’ll check for you. I’ll call you back shortly."

"Make it quick."

With that, Zhou Yinhe hung up. He looked at Housekeeper Xu and said, "I'll return your phone in a moment. Have someone buy me a new one and transfer every single thing from my old phone to the new one."

Housekeeper Xu picked up the mangled phone from the floor. At the doorway, he looked back and said, "Ancestor, please don't smash mine, too."

"If I smash it, I’ll compensate you! I’ll buy you ten!"