On How To Defeat Dr. Qing Leng Chapter 8

Wen Yelan was woken up by the extremely jarring sound of an electric drill.

The severe headache and the faint, cramping pain in his stomach made the process of regaining consciousness exceptionally difficult. He struggled to open his tired eyes, and the familiar ceiling came into view. Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, illuminating fine dust motes floating in the air.

The incessant drilling and hammering from the upstairs renovation rattled his temples.

He struggled to sit up, rubbing his aching forehead. Fragmented memories from last night flooded his mind: being forced to drink at the banquet, Pei Yan’s appearance, the fiery white liquor, the violent vomiting, the cold garage, the dim hallway…

And… it seemed Pei Yan had brought him back? Then, what happened? Did he mistake someone for someone else?

Wen Yelan’s heart tightened abruptly, and he instinctively looked around.

Finally, his gaze fixed on the bedroom doorway.

Pei Yan was leaning against the doorframe, still wearing the suit from yesterday, though the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and the cuffs were casually rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms. There were faint dark circles under his eyes, suggesting he hadn’t slept well, but his gaze was strikingly bright. He was staring intently at Wen Yelan, a curve on his lips that was hard to decipher—was it teasing or something else?

“Awake?” Pei Yan’s voice was husky, carrying the roughness of someone recently roused, yet it clearly cut through the noise of the renovation. “Your complex is quite lively, starting work so early. Your soundproofing is practically non-existent.”

Wen Yelan froze completely, his mind blank.

Why was he still here?!

In an instant, those vague, unsettling fragments from last night rushed more clearly into his nerves, especially concerning the old wooden box and the letters… Did Pei Yan… see them?

A huge wave of embarrassment and panic instantly seized him, sending blood rushing to his face, which flushed uncontrollably before quickly receding, leaving him paler than before.

“You… why haven’t you left?” His voice was dry and hoarse, tinged with obvious alarm and resistance.

Pei Yan took in his momentary panic and chuckled, annoyed. “Dr. Wen, is this your hospitality? I worked hard to haul you, the drunkard, back from the banquet, served you medicine and mouthwash, and had to listen to you babble nonsense for half the night, only to crash on the sofa. Now that morning has broken, you’re kicking me out?”

Wen Yelan was rendered speechless by his words, so mortified he wished he could sink into the floor. He lowered his eyes, his fingers unconsciously gripping the corner of the quilt, and whispered, “…Thank you. I apologize for the trouble. I’m awake now, you can go back.”

“Go back?” Pei Yan stepped into the bedroom. “Use me up and then discard me? Wen Yelan, you weren’t like this last night.”

He deliberately leaned closer, lowering his voice to tease him, his tone laced with ambiguous mockery. “You’ve collected so many love letters, what’s one more from me?”

Wen Yelan snapped his head up, his pupils contracting. That deep-seated inferiority and vulnerability he desperately wished no one would ever know…

He violently threw off the covers and stumbled out of bed, almost falling. He didn’t know exactly how much he had revealed last night, but he had only one thought: he couldn’t be looked down upon again.

He forced a curve onto his lips. “What, Young Master Pei is interested in writing me one too? Too bad, I usually don’t accept them from men.”

However, he overestimated his physical condition. The hangover and stomach pain made his legs weak. He tripped and was about to fall.

Pei Yan quickly reached out and caught him, his arm firm and strong, steadily supporting his swaying body. The distance between them instantly closed. Wen Yelan could even smell the faint mix of tobacco and cologne on Pei Yan.

Show-off, Wen Yelan thought.

Pei Yan tightened his grip, his brow slightly furrowed. He hadn’t expected Wen Yelan to react this way, outright admitting it? If the drunkard hadn’t told the truth last night, he might have actually been fooled. Pei Yan looked at Wen Yelan’s reddened eyes and pale, fragile face, and suddenly didn’t want to expose him.

“Alright, stop messing around.” His tone unconsciously carried a hint of coaxing. “Doesn’t your stomach hurt? Isn’t your head spinning? Falling would be enough to finish you off. It was just a joke. Dr. Wen, your charm is great, I’ve already experienced it.”

Wen Yelan struggled in vain. Exhausted, he could only lean on Pei Yan’s arm, breathing rapidly. The cramping pain in his stomach had indeed intensified due to the emotional agitation, causing cold sweat to break out on his forehead again. He turned his head away, refusing to look at Pei Yan, his lips tightly pursed, his whole body radiating resistance.

Seeing him like this, Pei Yan felt a mix of tenderness, bitterness, and a touch of annoyance. He knew his joke had gone too far, touching the other man’s most sensitive nerve.

He sighed, helping Wen Yelan sit down on the edge of the bed, his tone softening. “Fine, I’ll be the good guy till the end. Get yourself ready, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

Wen Yelan lowered his head, silent, his shoulders slightly tense. He didn’t understand why Pei Yan was still so patient with him after he had ‘admitted to being promiscuous.’ Was this some new game?

He truly hated getting entangled with people like this.

The drilling sound had stopped at some point, and the room fell into a dead silence. Only the sunlight flowed quietly, illuminating the dust dancing in the air, and highlighting the frustration on Wen Yelan’s face and the vulnerability hidden deep in his eyes.

The silence stretched on.

Pei Yan stood there, watching Wen Yelan—watching his slightly trembling eyelashes, his tightly pursed lips, and the hand resting on his arm, knuckles white from tension.

After a long while, Pei Yan spoke softly, his voice extremely hoarse: “…I’m sorry.”

Wen Yelan seemed not to have expected the apology; his body trembled almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t respond, still keeping his head down like a lifeless statue.

Pei Yan took a deep breath, walked over to him, and crouched down, trying to meet his eyes. His tone was serious and sincere, unlike anything Wen Yelan had heard before. “Wen Yelan, look at me.”

Wen Yelan didn’t move.

Pei Yan reached out and gently touched his arm; it was cold to the touch. He softened his voice. “Those letters, I put them back where they were. I didn’t mean to mock you, I just…” He paused, seemingly unsure how to explain. He didn’t want to say he knew the truth; that would undoubtedly be rubbing salt in Wen Yelan’s wound. “I was an asshole. I shouldn’t have touched your things without permission, and I certainly shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. How you choose to live is your business.”

Wen Yelan remained silent, but his tense shoulders seemed to relax slightly.

Seeing him like this, Pei Yan felt a painful tightness in his chest, and a strong urge to protect him and do something surged up. He stood up, trying to shift the topic with a light tone. “You were up all night and didn’t eat anything. It’s no wonder your stomach hurts. Do you have anything to eat here? I’ll make you some breakfast.”

Wen Yelan finally raised his head, his eyes somewhat blank, and he instinctively replied, “…No. I don’t cook.”

His refrigerator was almost empty, save for mineral water, frozen dumplings, and a few packets of instant noodles.

Pei Yan was not surprised. He glanced around the overly neat, cold, and sterile apartment, and sighed. “Come on, change your clothes. I’ll take you out for something warm.”

Wen Yelan seemed about to refuse.

Pei Yan didn’t give him the chance, stating directly, “Consider it a chance for me to apologize, and also to thank you for not throwing up in my car last night. Besides,” he pointed to Wen Yelan’s still bloodless face, “if you don’t eat something soon, I’m afraid you’ll faint in front of me. I don’t want to be your human support beam again.”

His tone carried a hint of compelling assertiveness, yet it was strangely not unpleasant.

Wen Yelan looked at him, silent for a moment. The weakness brought on by the hangover left him with no energy to argue. More importantly, after this whole ordeal, he suddenly felt an extreme sense of exhaustion and… a strange sense of relief.

In Pei Yan’s eyes, he was already a promiscuous playboy who accepted anyone, so it felt as if the most shameful part of him had already been seen, and there was nothing left to hide.

He finally nodded, almost imperceptibly.

…

Half an hour later, in a seemingly clean and tidy breakfast shop near the complex.

Pei Yan watched Wen Yelan, who was slowly sipping millet porridge across the table, his brows slightly furrowed the entire time.

The shop was crowded and noisy, and the tables and chairs were slick with black grease. Pei Yan clearly rarely ate in places like this; he looked somewhat constrained and uncomfortable, but most of his attention was focused on Wen Yelan.

Wen Yelan ate very little. He only drank a small portion of the bowl of millet porridge, picked up one small steamed bun, ate only half of it, and then put down his chopsticks. His complexion was still poor.

“That’s all you’re eating?” Pei Yan couldn’t help but ask. “Not to your taste? Should we try another place?”

Wen Yelan shook his head. “It’s enough. I don’t have much appetite.” His stomach was still fragile after the turmoil of last night and couldn’t handle much food.

Pei Yan looked at his thin cheeks and sharp jawline, and recalled his empty refrigerator and the phrase, “I don’t cook.” That subtle, sharp pang of pity resurfaced. How did this person take care of himself? Did he usually live on frozen food and takeout?

He remembered Wen Yelan’s resilience carrying heavy equipment on Mount Everest, his composure facing blizzards and danger, his cold eyes when he rejected him, and then contrasted that with the quiet, fragile man sitting in a noisy breakfast shop, suffering from a hangover and stomach pain…

The huge contrast left Pei Yan with mixed emotions.

He suddenly wanted to know what kind of experiences would mold a person into such a contradictory character—cold and tough externally, yet vulnerable and humble internally, seemingly unable to even take basic care of himself.

“You…” Pei Yan opened his mouth, wanting to ask something, but didn’t know where to start. He knew it wasn’t the right time. Those deeply hidden wounds required extreme patience and gentleness to touch.

He finally just pushed a plate of refreshing-looking side dishes toward Wen Yelan, his tone as natural as possible. “Try this, it might stimulate your appetite. Next time you drink, remember to eat breakfast on time the next day.”

Wen Yelan looked up, glanced at him, seeming a little surprised, but quietly said, “Thank you.”

Sunlight streamed through the breakfast shop window, illuminating the table between the two men. Outside was the hustle and bustle of city life; inside was a silence filled with unspoken thoughts.

Pei Yan watched Wen Yelan’s slightly trembling eyelashes as he lowered his gaze, and secretly made a decision.

Some ice needs slow, gentle heat to melt.

And he had all the time and patience in the world.