Chapter Ninety-Six: Lindu, Part Three

When Mr. Jin returned from meeting his client, he found that the television was still on and the house was completely empty. Assuming they had gone out, he instructed his bodyguards to order takeout and have everything delivered so they could eat at home later.

At that moment, An Feng was still hooked up to an IV drip, lost in a deep sleep. By his side stood a rather adorable young nurse, keeping watch. The hospital seemed quite idle today, so they had left a nurse behind to look after him.

Yet, the young nurse couldn't seem to take her eyes off An Feng’s sleeping face, which sparked all kinds of fanciful thoughts.

“How long has he had a fever?” the nurse asked, though it was unclear if it was for the sake of filling out a report or out of personal concern.

Qian Yin and Leng Xue had no idea and simply waved their hands. Mo Lan didn’t know either; all she could recall was that An Feng had gotten out of the car with her to take some pictures of the fire, then kept driving. Once they arrived at the villa, she wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep.

“I don’t know,” Mo Lan replied quietly. He had seemed just fine—how could he have a fever? Had he been caught in the rain, or eaten something bad? She couldn’t make sense of it; how could such odd things happen?

“You three are his friends, and you don’t even know something like this? Weren’t you all together?” The nurse glanced up at Mo Lan, then returned her gaze to An Feng.

“I’m his girlfriend, and I genuinely don’t know when he developed a fever. When you have a fever, do you know exactly when it starts?” Mo Lan, sensing something off in the nurse’s tone, looked up at the girl, her words sharp and unyielding.

The nurse’s head shot up, her face flushing bright red. She was at a loss for words, and yet her gaze remained fixed on An Feng.

Beside them, Qian Yin and Leng Xue could already smell the scent of jealousy mingling with the tension. Was this nurse new? Did she not understand the ways of the world? To so easily stir up a rivalry—impressive.

Mo Lan didn’t understand much about medical staff; otherwise, she would have chased this girl out long ago for being so slow and inattentive. She didn’t seem like a professional nurse—probably just an intern.

A professional nurse would usually go off to rest, given how busy their days were. Who had the time to concern themselves with a patient’s personal affairs?

A little over half an hour later, An Feng woke up. Glancing at the IV in his hand and at Mo Lan sitting by the bed, he asked, “Mo Lan, what happened to me?”

“You had a high fever, but you’ll be fine soon. Once the drip’s finished, you can go home,” Mo Lan started to reply, but the nurse dashed in first, even reaching out to touch An Feng’s hand.

An Feng frowned and jerked his hand away, refusing her touch. “Stay away from me. You can leave now. If I need anything, I’ll call you.” He was clearly displeased—what was this girl’s problem, stepping up when he hadn’t called for her?

Mo Lan, having felt a bit annoyed herself, relaxed considerably when she saw that An Feng didn’t care for the nurse either.

The young nurse’s expression shifted rapidly from embarrassment to chagrin as she left the room.

Leng Xue quietly approved of An Feng’s reaction. Some people just liked to get too close, not realizing how much trouble their presumptions could cause others.

If Qian Yin had been the one being pestered, any girl who tried to get close would’ve been beaten up on the spot. He would’ve made it clear: men with girlfriends aren’t to be flirted with. Qian Yin would never let anyone make Qian Yin jealous or suffer, not in this lifetime.

“I can’t believe it—this is the first time I’ve ever had a fever,” An Feng said, rubbing his head in astonishment after the nurse left. In his memory, he had never had such a high fever before.

The three others burst out laughing. Who could remember such things so clearly? Still, they rarely got sick themselves. It was amusing that An Feng’s first real fever happened while he was with the three of them.

“You’re too funny! Are you feeling better now?” Mo Lan was laughing so hard her stomach hurt. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever had a high fever herself, but she’d always been healthy.

An Feng kept quiet; he was feeling much better now. Could he leave the hospital already? He didn’t like staying there—the smell of hospitals made him uncomfortable. In fact, he frowned at the thought, feeling nauseous.

Mo Lan noticed his expression right away. She moved closer, touching his forehead. He didn’t seem feverish anymore. “Are you still feeling unwell?”

“I just don’t like hospitals. Let’s go home. I feel like I’m going to throw up,” An Feng replied awkwardly. Having already been teased once, it seemed he was about to be laughed at again.

Sure enough, the three of them burst into laughter once more, their joy filling the room with warmth and sunshine, driving away the gloom usually found in hospitals.

Just then, the doctor came in. Seeing everyone laughing, he was momentarily stunned. Who could be so happy in a hospital? After all, people died here every day; most doctors rarely saw such cheer.

The three stepped aside so the doctor could examine An Feng. The IV was nearly finished. After a quick check, the doctor said, “You can go home now. If you feel unwell again, come back to the hospital. Make sure to keep a close eye on his condition.” With that, he hurried off—clearly a busy man.

After settling the paperwork, they were discharged immediately. Once in the car, An Feng drew a deep breath, relishing the fresh air outside. It felt wonderful.

Seeing his reaction, the other three couldn’t help but laugh again. The famous Detective An, afraid of hospitals!

But then, why had he willingly stayed at the hospital all night when Mo Lan and Qian Yin were injured? That was something none of them could figure out.

“What are you all laughing at? Hurry up and drive, I’m starving!” An Feng protested, annoyed that the three hadn’t had their fill of laughter yet. If they kept on, would he inherit their estates from laughing themselves to death?

Mo Lan finally stopped laughing and sat with An Feng in the backseat. Qian Yin, sitting up front, was still grinning widely. Leng Xue drove, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Honestly, aside from breakfast and a bit of fruit, they hadn’t eaten all day. They were hungry too.

Back at the villa, Mr. Jin was growing impatient. Where had those four gone? The takeout had arrived ages ago and was still sitting cold on the table.

“Boss, if you’re hungry, you should eat first. Maybe they’ve already eaten outside,” one of the bodyguards suggested, seeing Mr. Jin’s anxious, hungry expression.

“I’m not hungry,” Mr. Jin replied grumpily, not wanting the staff to notice his mood. He turned his attention back to the news.

Finally, the four returned. Upon entering, they saw Mr. Jin watching TV and the two bodyguards squatting by the door, waiting for them.

A mountain of takeout boxes covered the table, all sorts of delicious food—though cold now, with no aroma left.

“Where have you been?” Mr. Jin demanded, turning as soon as he heard their footsteps.

“Our great Detective An had a fever, so we went to the hospital,” Qian Yin teased.

“What!” Mr. Jin and his two men exclaimed in shock, their faces filled with disbelief.

How could someone so healthy suddenly come down with a fever? Their thoughts echoed exactly what Qian Yin and the others had wondered earlier.