Is This The Right Way To Repay A Favor? Chapter 25

Applying Medicine

This kind of tacit understanding truly wasn’t a simple coincidence.

Jiang Zhou’s involvement in ball sports was entirely influenced by Shen Zhiyu.

Whatever sport Shen Zhiyu played, Jiang Zhou would go and learn it, even watching all of Shen Zhiyu’s related videos until they were worn out.

Regardless of the ball sport, Shen Zhiyu’s playing style was aggressive and fierce; his offense was like heavy artillery, his defense like a ghost, and he never held back on crucial points.

So, the moment Shen Zhiyu rushed backward, Jiang Zhou knew exactly what he was going to do. After the first point, the two teams played a few more rallies, and the Dream Team consecutively won two sets with a decisive score advantage.

The third set was a minor match point.

This volleyball competition was decided by a best-of-five format, with the team that first won three sets being the victor.

Cai Zhiyang had clearly lost the confidence he had when serving the first ball, and shamelessly begged Shen Zhiyu to go easy on them.

Dong Qianqian seized the opportunity to mock him fiercely, finally feeling satisfied.

The third set began.

Cai Zhiyang’s serve was no longer as powerful as the first time; a slow drop shot fell toward the area Jiang Zhou was responsible for.

Jiang Zhou stood with his feet apart, sinking his body, attempting to receive the ball with the most standard bump pass posture.

But whether it was due to exhaustion or the accumulated fatigue from recent insomnia, Jiang Zhou’s reaction was half a beat too slow. When he stretched out his arms to bump the ball, the angle of his left wrist was incorrect.

The instant the ball touched his arm, a dull thud sounded.

It wasn’t loud, but it carried an unsettling vibration.

Jiang Zhou’s left forearm felt as if it had been struck by an electric current; a sharp, stinging pain shot up his nerves.

Jiang Zhou endured the pain without making a sound. He watched helplessly as the volleyball was weakly bumped away, flying crookedly toward the sidelines.

The color instantly drained from Jiang Zhou’s face. Because of the sharp pain, and also because of the lost point.

The opposing Taoyuan Team erupted in cheers.

“Hand injured?” Shen Zhiyu had appeared beside him at some point, his voice coming almost right above Jiang Zhou’s head.

Jiang Zhou was so stunned by his sudden proximity and dark gaze that he instantly forgot the pain.

“No… I’m fine.” Jiang Zhou forced a smile and even tried to shake his left hand, attempting to prove it was just a minor knock.

But the shaking motion aggravated the injury, causing cold sweat to bead on his forehead, and his brows furrowed tightly.

“Rest well now, don’t move it.” Shen Zhiyu spoke, his voice devoid of discernible emotion, but his gaze never left Jiang Zhou’s face. “Did you hear me?”

Jiang Zhou nodded, confused.

But he was currently on the court; how could he rest and not move?

Soon, Jiang Zhou understood what Shen Zhiyu meant by that sentence.

Because for the rest of the match, Shen Zhiyu played even more fiercely and aggressively, his movements precise and sharp, crushing the opponents single-handedly.

The remaining three members of their team were completely reduced to mere decorations.

The third set ended in less than ten minutes.

Cai Zhiyang was thoroughly defeated and convinced, losing all his initial high spirits. “Brother Yu, you played too fiercely!” “Next time, I want to be on your team.”

“We’ll see about next time.” Shen Zhiyu turned back and called out to Jiang Zhou, “Let’s go back.”

Despite it being winter, everyone had worked up a sweat and lost all pretense of appearance. They all began walking back to their respective houses.

Jiang Zhou followed Shen Zhiyu.

The orange glow gradually faded, leaving only a wisp of smoke-like twilight floating in the increasingly gloomy sky.

Leaving the court, the air instantly cooled down.

The sharp pain in his wrist persisted. Jiang Zhou gripped his aching left forearm, finally having time to check it. His wrist was conspicuously swollen and glowed a stinging red.

Yet, Jiang Zhou unconsciously curved his lips, a hint of a smile appearing in his eyes.

Heaven was truly helping him.

He had been looking for an opportunity to injure himself these past few days, and he hadn’t expected the chance to arrive so suddenly.

This injury should be enough to offset things for a while.

The person ahead suddenly stopped.

Jiang Zhou was engrossed in his mental calculations and didn’t notice, bumping right into him.

A scorching warmth rushed toward him.

Jiang Zhou hastily stepped back, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

Shen Zhiyu suddenly reached out and grabbed his left hand.

Jiang Zhou looked up, meeting Shen Zhiyu’s deep, unfathomable eyes. Emotions he couldn’t read churned within them—a hint of anger, and also concern…

Jiang Zhou tried to move his left hand, but the other man gripped it tighter, refusing to let him pull away.

“Are you an idiot?” Shen Zhiyu asked coldly.

Jiang Zhou looked at him blankly, “?”

The cameraman following behind hesitated upon hearing this, wondering if he should step forward.

Xue Pengfei immediately issued an instruction over the walkie-talkie, “Don’t film this segment. Your team can go back first.”

As the assistant Jiang Zhou had placed within the production crew, Xue Pengfei was specifically responsible for controlling sensitive footage involving him, possessing absolute authority over on-site scheduling.

Hearing the instruction, the cameraman stopped filming and took an early break.

Shen Zhiyu tightened his grip on Jiang Zhou’s wrist by another two points.

Jiang Zhou gasped in pain, the blood completely draining from his already pale face.

“You still feel pain? That means you haven’t completely lost your mind.”

Shen Zhiyu tossed his hand away. “When did it start?”

Jiang Zhou hid his wrist. “What?”

“Harming yourself. When did that start?”

How could he know?

Jiang Zhou’s eyes darted away, and he stammered, unable to speak.

Shen Zhiyu grew slightly impatient, guessing, “Since you started liking that person?”

“That person?”

Shen Zhiyu was in a very bad mood. “Are you a parrot?”

Jiang Zhou: ……

It seemed his guess wasn’t about himself.

The conversation about university that night must have led him to the wrong conclusion.

“Yes,” Jiang Zhou admitted.

He wasn’t lying about this.

The self-harm behavior truly began in university.

University was the age of burgeoning youth. Without the constraints of teachers and elders, the surroundings were filled with restless hormones, and students were falling in love.

Jiang Zhou had received confessions, from both men and women. He never responded. His roommates often joked that he was wasting his good looks, having a handsome face but being uninterested in anyone, only burying himself in his studies.

Jiang Zhou originally thought so too.

Until one night, his roommates were discussing sensitive private matters, talking about *doing it*. The topic was bold, the details explicit.

That very night, Jiang Zhou had a dream. He dreamed of Shen Zhiyu, dreamed of his palm sliding down his waistline, his voice muffled and husky whispering in his ear, filled with a breathy rasp.

Jiang Zhou felt like he was drowning in a soft suffocation, his body light and airy, the ceiling spinning, the chandelier turning into a swaying moon, salty sweat mixed with reckless desire.

He woke up in the middle of the night, feeling a shameful stickiness on himself for the first time.

It was from that day on that Jiang Zhou learned how to use the so-called cost of self-harm to offset those dirty, forbidden fantasies.

“Terrible taste!”

“And a screw loose!”

Shen Zhiyu dropped these two sentences and turned to leave first.

Yuan Chong, who was innocently implicated and cursed, sneezed several times in the bar. “Who the hell is cursing me!”

—

Jiang Zhou walked back to Youran Residence preoccupied.

Shen Zhiyu knew his secret of self-harm, but mistakenly believed the target of his affection was Yuan Chong.

That’s good, Jiang Zhou thought.

This way, Shen Zhiyu wouldn’t want any further involvement with him, and he himself could retreat to his original position, continuing to admire and guard from afar.

He even began considering whether he should proactively withdraw from the program before Shen Zhiyu asked him to.

Jiang Zhou returned to Youran Residence.

Shen Zhiyu had gone to the bathroom to shower; the sound of rushing water could be heard.

Jiang Zhou also returned to his room. The red light on the camera installed in his room had disappeared; it was no longer filming.

Jiang Zhou quietly went back to his room. He had specifically asked Xue Pengfei to notify the production team this morning to turn off all cameras in his room and not to edit any indoor footage later. The monitoring red light was already off.

He didn’t call a doctor or treat the wound. He just struggled to hold up his swollen left hand, washing it in the bathroom for nearly an hour before coming out.

The moment he pushed open the bathroom door, he was startled by the extra figure in the room, freezing in place.

Shen Zhiyu was sitting on his bed, looking down at his phone.

Hearing the sound, Shen Zhiyu looked up from the screen.

Jiang Zhou had just finished showering. His pajamas were loosely tied, the collar exposing a patch of skin. His hair was still dripping wet, water droplets sliding down his cheeks, passing his neck, and continuing downward…

Shen Zhiyu’s gaze unconsciously followed the trajectory of those water droplets, finally returning to Jiang Zhou’s face.

Perhaps because he had stayed in the bathroom for too long, his cheeks were flushed with a moist redness, and his lips, unlike their usual paleness, showed a faint trace of blood color.

He looked soft, and very kissable.

Shen Zhiyu felt a slight heat in his chest, his throat tightened, and even his fingertips felt inexplicably itchy. He looked at Jiang Zhou, his voice low and muffled: “Come here.”

Jiang Zhou, who had just been recalling the scene from his first dream about the other man, instantly stiffened all over. His blood seemed to rush to his cheeks, burning intensely.

“?”

Jiang Zhou moved toward Shen Zhiyu with stiff steps.

At this moment, Jiang Zhou even had time to feel fortunate. It was a good thing he had asked the production team to turn off the cameras in his room, otherwise, if they saw a scene like this, it would be impossible to explain.

“Is… Is something wrong?” Jiang Zhou stopped two steps away from Shen Zhiyu.

Shen Zhiyu shifted his gaze, forcefully suppressing the restlessness in his heart.

“To apply medicine to the idiot,” he said, looking at Jiang Zhou’s injured left hand, his tone slightly mocking.

Only then did Jiang Zhou notice a small medicine box placed beside Shen Zhiyu.

Jiang Zhou hid his hand behind his back, somewhat resistant. “No… No need.”

Hearing this, Shen Zhiyu raised his eyes and looked over with a heavy gaze.

Under the silent pressure of that look, Jiang Zhou slowly extended his right hand.

“Then I can do it myself. Thank you, Brother Yu…”

Shen Zhiyu leaned forward slightly and directly grabbed his injured left hand.

Jiang Zhou winced in pain, sucking in a small breath.

Shen Zhiyu exerted a little force, and Jiang Zhou stumbled forward two steps, falling onto the bed beside him.

The distance between the two was extremely close; Shen Zhiyu’s breath enveloped him.

Jiang Zhou tried to shift backward, wanting to move away just a little.

He only retreated half an inch before the space behind him suddenly became empty, and he nearly fell off the bed.

Shen Zhiyu quickly grabbed Jiang Zhou, pulling him into his arms.

The warm chest of a man pressed against his face. Jiang Zhou instantly held his breath, not daring to move.