Yingqu Liuzi was pampered by her wealthy daddy.

The temperature drop in London came without warning.

Everything was fine the day before, but the temperature dropped early the next morning.

The weather forecast said it would be the coldest day since autumn began, with a high of only six degrees Celsius and strong winds that felt like knives on the face.

Shen Yu'an didn't pay much attention when she left home in the morning, and just threw on a jacket and went to school.

He thought he could handle it.

When he arrived at the studio, he took off his coat and started painting. Halfway through, he felt a bit cold, so he put his coat back on.

However, the studio wasn't very heated, and the windows were a bit drafty. After sitting there all morning, he felt a chill on the back of his neck.

He continued drawing in the afternoon, and started to feel a little dizzy, thinking it was because he hadn't slept well. He had been drawing very late last night and had gotten up early this morning, so it was normal for him to feel sleepy.

On his way back to his apartment from school in the evening, the wind made him shiver.

He pulled up the hood of his coat, zipped it all the way up, and walked briskly with his neck hunched. After walking for fifteen minutes, he was completely chilled by the wind, and his face and ears were red with cold.

Back in the apartment, the underfloor heating was on, making the room quite warm. Shen Yu'an changed her clothes and felt more comfortable, so she didn't pay much attention to it.

He cooked a bowl of noodles, ate it, and then painted for a while. Around 10 p.m., he took a shower and prepared to go to bed.

After lying down, he felt something was wrong.

He felt a little hot, but not hot; instead, he felt cold. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, turned over, his head felt heavy, and his eyelids felt heavy too.

I dozed off for a while, but then woke up from the cold.

He reached up and touched his forehead; his palm was cold, but his forehead was burning hot.

Shen Yu'an struggled to sit up in bed, glanced at his phone, and saw it was 12:30 a.m.

He got out of bed to look for a thermometer, but after searching through all the drawers, he couldn't find it and then realized that he had never bought a thermometer.

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. The water was cold, and after taking a sip, he felt a little uncomfortable in his stomach.

Back in bed, he wrapped himself tightly in the blankets and curled up into a ball.

My head aches, my whole body aches, and my bones feel sore. My nose is stuffy, my throat is dry, and it feels like my throat is being rubbed with sandpaper when I breathe.

Shen Yu'an closed her eyes, her mind a jumbled mess.

He recalled that the last time he had a fever was half a year ago, and he had also endured it alone in his apartment. At that time, he hadn't moved to this new home yet, and the heating wasn't working well. He wrapped himself in two blankets and sweated all night, but he was fine the next day.

He thought this time would be about the same; he'd be fine after a good night's sleep.

But this time it seems more serious than the last time.

My body was getting hotter and hotter, and the blanket was soaked with sweat, but when I lifted the blanket, I was shivering with cold.

One moment he felt so hot he wanted to take off all his clothes, and the next he felt so cold he wanted to wrap himself up like a silkworm.

Consciousness began to blur.

He didn't know if he was asleep or not; he was just in a daze, dreaming and waking up intermittently.

My dreams are a jumbled mess. Sometimes I'm at home in China, my mom is cooking in the kitchen, and I'm drawing in the living room.

Sometimes, on the streets of London, in the pouring rain, he would stand alone by the roadside, unable to find his way home.

I woke up again.

His phone screen was lit up, and he glanced at the time; it was past 2 a.m.

There were still a few unread messages on the screen, sent by classmates asking if he wanted to go to the supermarket together tomorrow.

He clicked on it in a daze, intending to reply, but deleted it after typing a few words because his mind couldn't process it.

He wanted a drink of water, but the water in his glass had gone cold. He didn't want to get up to pour it, because it would be too cold.

He pulled the blanket tighter, curled up into a ball, and stared at the unlit light on the ceiling.

My head hurts so much.

He felt like he'd been thrown into a washing machine, spinning around until he felt nauseous.

Shen Yu'an closed his eyes, and after a while, he felt that he might not be able to hold on any longer.

It's not the kind of unbearable feeling of "I'm going to die," it's the kind of unbearable feeling of "I'm really in so much pain."

He was alone in London, without family or friends to call in the middle of the night. Everyone he knew was busy with their own lives and would be asleep by now, so he didn't want to bother them.

But his hand moved on its own.

He picked up his phone and opened his chat history with "Mr."

The last time they spoke was a few days ago. He said, "So heartwarming," and the other person replied, "Get some rest."

Shen Yu'an looked at the nickname and paused his thumb on the screen for a moment.

He didn't want to trouble others.

How could someone so busy, so rich and powerful possibly answer his call in the middle of the night? Besides, it's just a cold and fever, nothing serious. If I send him a message, he'll probably think I'm being dramatic.

But he was really in pain.

Shen Yu'an bit her lip, put down her phone, and then picked it up again.

It was repeated twice.

Finally, he started typing.

My hands were shaking, and I typed very slowly. I typed, deleted, and typed again, and in the end, I only sent one sentence.

"Sir, I think I have a fever."

After sending the message, he stared at the screen for a few seconds, feeling incredibly embarrassed. This person wasn't his personal doctor, nor was she anyone to him. What kind of person would he be sending such a message in the middle of the night?

He was about to retract the message when the screen lit up.

The other party replied.

It wasn't text, it was a phone call.

Shen Yu'an paused for a moment, then answered the call.

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded different than usual; it was faster and no longer the leisurely tone I'd heard.

"Xiao An, what's your fever level?"

Shen Yu'an's voice was hoarse: "I don't know, I don't have a thermometer."

"What other symptoms are there?"

"My head hurts, my body aches, I feel cold, and my throat hurts too," he said, his voice becoming increasingly nasal.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Don't be afraid." The voice was very soft and gentle. "I'm here, I'll be right there."

"No, no—" Shen Yu'an quickly said, "I just wanted to let you know, you don't need to—"

"They've already left."

The call wasn't disconnected.

Xize's voice came through the receiver, intermittent, mixed with the sounds of footsteps and a door closing.

"The car heater is on, don't hang up, tell me if you feel unwell."

Shen Yu'an held his phone, listening to what was happening on the other end.

"Are you covered up with the blanket?" Xize asked.

"Um."

Have you had some water?

"I drank it, it was cold."

Is there a kettle by the bedside?

"No... in the kitchen."

"Don't get up, wait for me."

Shen Yu'an hummed in agreement, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and curled up in the blanket, holding his phone to his ear.

"Sir," he called softly.

"Um?"

"Please drive carefully."

A soft laugh came from the other end of the phone, a laugh tinged with helplessness and heartache.

"What time is it? Why are you still worrying about me?"

Shen Yu'an closed his eyes and listened to the faint voice on the other end of the phone.

He didn't know how much time had passed; maybe twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.

He was half asleep when he heard a voice on the phone say, "We've arrived."

He heard footsteps on the phone, but the sound became hollow, probably indicating that someone had entered the building.

Then there was the sound of the elevator, the creaking sound of an old-fashioned elevator.

The footsteps grew closer and stopped outside the door.

Doorbell rang.

Shen Yu'an tried to get up to open the door, but his body felt as heavy as lead. He struggled to get out of bed, his legs were weak, and he felt dizzy after taking only two steps, so he grabbed the wall for support.

He stumbled to the door and opened it.

Xize was standing outside the door.

He was wearing a dark gray overcoat over a turtleneck sweater that looked like loungewear, and his hair wasn't combed neatly as usual, with a few strands hanging down his forehead.

His face looked calm, but there was something in his gray-blue eyes that Shen Yu'an had never seen before.

It's heartbreaking.

That uncontrollable heartache written in their eyes.

Xize was carrying a leather medical case in one hand and a bag in the other.

He looked down at the boy inside the door, his gaze falling on Shen Yu'an's flushed face, chapped lips, and watery eyes that were swollen from the fever.

Shen Yu'an was wearing pajamas and standing barefoot on the floor. She looked small and pitiful, like a kitten that had been soaked by the rain.

He looked up at Xize, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

"Sir...you really came."

As soon as he finished speaking, his legs went weak and he fell forward.