Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

He Xu lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of voices and clinking dishes coming from downstairs.

Rachel's laughter drifted up from the floorboards, crisp and bright, carrying a natural, unburdened warmth.

He Xu turned over and buried his face in the pillow.

The pain in my lower back is still there, but it's a bit better than before, probably because I'm lying down and the pressure is less.

He didn't know how long he had been lying there.

It could be ten minutes, or it could be twenty minutes.

Then there was a light knock on the door, and it opened a crack.

Jiang Yanbai walked in carrying a tray, moving very quietly, as if afraid of waking him.

On the tray was a bowl of stewed beef, with a small dish of bread and a cup of steaming water.

He placed the tray on the bedside table and glanced down at He Xu—the man was lying on his side, one hand on the pillow, his eyelashes drooping, his breathing even, as if he was about to fall asleep.

Jiang Yanbai didn't wake him. He simply placed the tray down, then stepped back to the doorway and whispered, "The food is here. Remember to eat when you wake up."

After the door closed, the footsteps faded away down the corridor.

He Xu opened his eyes, turned his head to look at the bowl of stewed beef that was still steaming on the bedside table, then looked at the glass of water, and then buried his face back into the pillow.

He couldn't quite describe his current mood.

The mother and son downstairs were still talking, their laughter and conversation drifting up intermittently—Rachel was asking Jiang Yanbai how his work was going, and Jiang Yanbai was complaining about how stubborn the mixing engineer at the recording studio was.

Rachel laughed and said, "You and your dad are exactly alike."

He Xu listened to those voices and felt they were very far away from him.

-

He Xu didn't know when he fell asleep.

He remembered lying on his side, and then his consciousness seemed to be pulled down by something, sinking into a gray, boundless chaos.

When he woke up again, he didn't know how long he had slept; he only knew that he had been woken up by pain.

The pain wasn't the dull, aching pain you feel during the day that you can suppress with an ice pack.

A sharp, burning pain radiated from his side, spreading outwards, as if his body were on fire.

He tried to turn over and change his position, but as soon as he moved, he froze.

I can't move.

The muscle on my side felt like it was locked up by something; even the slightest pull would trigger a sharp pain.

He lay in bed, maintaining that side-lying position, and found that he couldn't even turn over.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and waited for the excruciating pain to slowly subside.

He opened his eyes and found himself completely soaked.

cold sweat.

My back, chest, and forehead were covered in a fine layer of cold sweat, which soaked my T-shirt and bed sheet, making them sticky and cold against my skin.

He raised the back of his hand and touched his forehead—it was burning hot.

I have a fever.

He Xu lay on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling.

He felt like a turtle that had been flipped over, its limbs dangling in the air, unable to turn itself over, and helpless.

He opened his mouth, wanting to call for help, but his throat was so dry it felt like it had been sanded, and he could only manage a faint wisp of air, which he couldn't even hear himself.

He tried again, this time a little louder, but it was still hoarse, as if it were being forced out from deep in his throat.

"……River……"

The name was cut off as soon as it was uttered.

He tried again, this time making the sound even louder.

"...Jiang Yanbai..."

The only answer he received was the sound of the wind in the distance outside the window.

He Xu lay on the bed, turned his head, and looked at the bedside table—the bowl of stewed beef had gone cold, and the fat had congealed into a white film, floating on the surface of the dark broth.

The water glass next to it was still there, and the water inside hadn't been touched.

He can't reach it.

He stared at the bowl of stewed beef that had gone cold for a few seconds, and suddenly felt his eyes sting.

He didn't know where that sour feeling came from.

It's clearly just that I can't move, can't make a sound, am extremely thirsty, and am in so much pain that I want to curse.

These were things he had experienced before, and they weren't really anything serious.

But tears still welled up on their own.

It silently slid down from the corner of her eye, flowing along the curve of her cheekbone into the pillow, leaving a small, dark, damp stain.

He Xu tried to raise his hand to wipe it, but his arm fell back onto the bed as soon as he lifted it, as if his body had completely given up cooperating.

So he lay there on his side, his face buried in the damp pillow, tears streaming down his face.

There was no sound, no sobbing, only that continuous, quiet dampness.

He didn't know why he was crying.

It might be because of the pain, the fever making you dizzy, or simply because you can't move, can't make a sound, and feel like a useless person.

He Xu lay there, tears streaming silently down his face, for an unknown amount of time.

Then he heard very light footsteps outside the door, stopping at his doorway.

The door was pushed open a crack, and the light from the corridor shone through the gap, casting a narrow, warm yellow band of light on the floor.

Rachel's voice drifted in through the crack in the door, carrying a gentle, tentative concern: "Hey? Are you awake? I was just passing by and wanted to see if you'd eaten—"

She stopped halfway through her sentence.

Because she saw He Xu lying on his side on the bed, facing the wall, through the crack in the door.

I also saw that his body was trembling at an abnormal frequency.

The door was pushed open completely.

Rachel walked in quickly, her steps light and hurried. She knelt down beside the bed and gently touched He Xu's shoulder: "Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

He Xu did not move.

His face was still buried in the pillow, his shoulders slightly tense.

The wave of shame that surged up from being suddenly seen made his body instinctively shrink back.

But the pain in his side held him back, preventing him from moving.

"...It's nothing." His voice came muffled from under the pillow, so hoarse it was almost inaudible. "Go back to sleep."

Rachel didn't leave.

She placed the back of her hand on He Xu's forehead.

Her brows furrowed immediately when her palm touched his burning skin.

"You have a fever." Her voice was even lower than before, but her tone remained calm and composed. "When did your fever start?"

"……have no idea."

"How long has it been since you last drank water?"

"……have no idea."

Rachel didn't ask any more questions.

She stood up, moved quickly and lightly, walked out of the room, and returned in less than two minutes.

He now had a thermos of warm water, a neatly folded towel, a strip of fever reducer, and a thermometer.

She placed the tray on the bedside table, moved the bowl of now-cold stewed beef aside, and then knelt down again by the bed, her voice softening: "Darling, turn around and let me see you."

He Xu did not move.

His face was still buried in the pillow soaked with tears, his shoulders were slightly hunched, and he was curled up into a small ball.

Rachel paused for a moment as she looked at him—she noticed the damp stains on the pillow, which were particularly noticeable under the warm yellow bedside lamp.

She didn't ask any further questions.

She simply placed her hand on He Xu's shoulder and gently patted it through the blanket: "It's okay, no need to move."

"I know you're in pain and uncomfortable. But you need to bring your fever down first, otherwise it will feel even worse."

Her voice was always soft, carrying a warm, maternal love.

"Can you sit up? You don't need to sit up completely, I'll help you lean against the headboard, and then I'll feed you water and give you your medicine."

He Xu remained silent for a long time.

Rachel waited until she thought he wouldn't answer and started thinking of other ways.

Then he heard He Xu's voice coming from under the pillow, muffled, nasal, and with a softness he himself didn't realize, almost like surrender: "...I can't move."

"Then let's not move, I'll think of something," Rachel said, taking the glass of warm water from the bedside table.

When her palm touched his back, through the thin, sweat-soaked T-shirt, she felt a patch of burning hot skin.

Her brow furrowed slightly, but her tone remained calm: "Darling, turn over slowly, no rush. I'll support you, it'll be fine if you go slowly."