On How To Defeat Dr. Qing Leng Chapter 19

Will this be too much trouble for you? [Location Share]

It’s no trouble. Consider it… thanks for the coat.

Wen Yelan’s reply slightly calmed Pei Yan’s soaring spirits. It was still about repaying a favor. However, regardless of the reason, his willingness to come was a huge step forward.

He shouldn’t push him too hard.

…

Wen Yelan stood below the villa, holding a plastic bag containing congee and medicine, his fingertips frozen red. He looked up at Pei Yan’s villa. This was the third time he had come here.

He could have called a delivery service to bring the items. But Pei Yan’s message, “I’m home alone and can’t even get a hot bowl of congee,” coupled with that pitiful puppy-dog expression and the photo of a 38-degree thermometer, made him unable to sit idly by.

When he was sick as a child, his parents were always busy with work or taking care of his brother, who needed more attention. He often curled up alone on a cold bed, listening to the muffled laughter outside the door, wishing someone would bring him a cup of hot water. He was too familiar with the taste of being abandoned in loneliness and sickness.

Moreover, Pei Yan’s illness was likely due to giving Wen Yelan his coat that night and standing in the cold wind in just a single layer for so long.

Thinking this, Wen Yelan released his bitten lip, suppressed the complex emotions in his heart, and walked inside.

He had just pressed the doorbell. Almost immediately, the door opened.

Pei Yan appeared at the entrance, wearing dark gray loungewear. His hair was slightly messy, his cheeks were flushed with an unnatural redness, and his eyes looked somewhat drowsy and weak. When he saw Wen Yelan, he seemed to try to force a smile but first turned his head and coughed twice, low and deep.

“You came…” His voice was hoarse and thick with nasal congestion. “Come in, it’s cold outside.”

Wen Yelan looked at his appearance, which was even more miserable than expected, and the words he had prepared were stuck in his throat. He nodded silently and stepped inside.

Everything seemed unchanged, including the slippers Pei Yan had prepared for him before—he hadn’t thrown them away. Wen Yelan felt a gentle tap in his heart and looked away.

“The medicine and congee.” Wen Yelan placed the bag on the cabinet in the entryway, with no intention of walking further in. “The congee is from a nearby shop. Drink it while it’s hot. Take the medicine according to the instructions.”

Pei Yan leaned against the doorframe, coughed again, and then slowly said, “Thank you. Sorry to make you come all this way.” He glanced at the bag. “Could you… pour me a glass of water? I feel a bit weak.”

Wen Yelan looked at him, sighed resignedly. Someone who had summited Mount Everest wouldn’t have poor physical fitness; Pei Yan was clearly exaggerating.

Wen Yelan hesitated but still put on the slippers. He poured a glass of warm water.

Returning to the living room, Pei Yan was already curled up on the sofa, covered with a thin blanket, eyes closed, and brows slightly furrowed, looking very uncomfortable.

Wen Yelan placed the water glass on the coffee table in front of him. “Water.”

Pei Yan opened his eyes, thanked him, and reached for the cup, his fingers seeming to tremble slightly from weakness. He took a few small sips of water, then looked at the congee Wen Yelan had brought. “I don’t have much appetite. Could you warm it up for me? The microwave is over there.”

Wen Yelan said nothing, picked up the congee, and walked toward the kitchen. While it was heating, he leaned against the counter, looking out at the bustling yet cold city night view, feeling a strange sense of irritation. He hated the feeling of being drawn into someone else’s life, especially when that person was Pei Yan.

The congee was heated. He brought it out and placed it in front of Pei Yan.

Pei Yan picked up the spoon, scooped a spoonful, blew on it, and put it in his mouth. Then he looked up and smiled at Wen Yelan. “It tastes good. Thank you, Wen… Yelan.”

His smile looked somewhat fragile due to his illness, lacking his usual assertiveness and aggression. Wen Yelan, however, looked away at the sound of the name, replying with a simple “Mm.”

“The things are delivered. I’m leaving.”

“Wait,” Pei Yan quickly called out, his tone carrying a hint of pleading. “Could you stay a little longer? I’m alone… and it’s a bit dull.” After saying this, he coughed again at the appropriate moment.

Wen Yelan paused. He hesitated before speaking. “I took a taxi. The driver is only waiting for half an hour.”

Pei Yan was visibly stunned by his words, then turned and started coughing, the corners of his eyes turning slightly red. Wen Yelan let out an almost imperceptible sigh, walked to the sofa further away, and sat down.

For a moment, the only sounds in the living room were Pei Yan quietly sipping congee and the occasional cough. The atmosphere was subtly awkward.

“How are the project preparations coming along?” Pei Yan, surprised that he actually stayed, asked with a hint of joy in his voice.

“Going through procedures. Equipment lists and personnel are being confirmed,” Wen Yelan answered concisely.

“Mount Shishapangma… the conditions are also very harsh. Are you…” Pei Yan paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully. “Is your ankle fully recovered?”

“It won’t affect anything,” Wen Yelan said softly, clearly unwilling to continue the topic.

Another silence fell.

Pei Yan finished the congee, put the bowl down, and seemed to feel a little better. He leaned back on the sofa, looking at Wen Yelan’s tense profile, and suddenly said in a low voice, “That night… I’m sorry.”

Wen Yelan’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” Pei Yan’s voice carried the weakness and regret of illness. “I was just… very angry. Angry that you view yourself that way, and also angry at myself… that I always seem to treat you in the wrong way.”

Wen Yelan lowered his eyes, looking at his hands resting on his knees, his fingers slightly curled. He didn’t respond.

Pei Yan sighed, decided not to press further, and instead rubbed his temples. “My head is still a bit dizzy.”

Wen Yelan finally looked up at him. “Have you taken your temperature?”

“It was 38 degrees just now,” Pei Yan pointed to the thermometer on the coffee table. “I don’t know what it is now.”

Wen Yelan stood up, washed his hands with cold water in the bathroom, dried them, walked over, shook the thermometer, and handed it to Pei Yan. “Take it again.”

Pei Yan obediently took it and tucked it under his armpit.

During the five minutes of waiting, neither spoke again. Wen Yelan just sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the tall green plant.

When the time was up, Pei Yan took out the thermometer, glanced at it, inhaled lightly, and handed it to Wen Yelan. “39.2 degrees. It seems to have gone up a bit.”

Wen Yelan frowned as he took it and looked. It was indeed 39.2°C. He put the thermometer away. “That’s a bit high. Do you want to go to the hospital?” He took out the cold medicine he had brought, popped out a few pills according to the instructions, and handed them to Pei Yan along with the glass of water.

Pei Yan shook his head, looking slightly guilty. “I’ll be fine after a sleep. My staff will be back soon anyway.” He drank the water from Wen Yelan’s hand, then looked at him. “Thank you.”

Wen Yelan nodded and stood up. “You should rest well. I’m leaving.”

This time, Pei Yan had no reason to keep him. He just watched him walk toward the door and said softly, “Be careful on your way.”

Wen Yelan didn’t look back and closed the door.

The moment the door closed, the sickly, exhausted expression on Pei Yan’s face slightly receded. He leaned back on the sofa and quickly took out the heat patch from his clothes, tossing it aside—that was a close call.

His gaze swept over the slippers Wen Yelan had taken off. The corner of Pei Yan’s mouth curved into a subtle smile. Although the process was convoluted, at least he had come in and taken care of him.

Pei Yan walked over with a smile to put the slippers away, then thought better of it and placed them back neatly.

Outside the door, Wen Yelan’s heart was far from calm. He should hate this feeling, but the vulnerable side Pei Yan showed when he was sick, so different from his usual assertiveness, and that apology, had indeed pried open a tiny crack in his hardened defenses. Especially the fact that he realized, for a moment, he felt very relaxed in Pei Yan’s home.

Perhaps it was because of those slippers that belonged to him—a sense of belonging he hadn’t experienced in over twenty years.

…

Over the next few days, Wen Yelan was busy with the final preparations for the Mount Shishapangma scientific expedition project. Various procedures, equipment checks, personnel coordination, and emergency plans kept him occupied. He practically lived in his office.

During this time, Pei Yan’s WeChat messages came intermittently.

The fever is gone. Thank you for the medicine and congee. Attached was a photo of an empty medicine box.

My head is still a bit dizzy today. Didn’t go to the company. The accompanying picture was the gray, hazy sky outside the window.

I think I’m starting to cough again. A picture that was quickly retracted.

Wen Yelan usually only replied with an “Mm” or “Rest more.” Occasionally, when he mentioned his symptoms, Wen Yelan would add, “Take your medicine on time.”

He told himself this was merely basic human courtesy and the politeness required when dealing with the representative of a major project funder. He deliberately ignored the subtle ripple of emotion stirring in his heart.

Three days before leaving for Tibet, Wen Yelan finally took time to return to his apartment to pack. As he was stuffing clothes and climbing gear into his duffel bag, the doorbell rang.

He was puzzled about who would visit him at this hour. Looking through the peephole, he froze—it was Pei Yan.

The person outside was wearing a black overcoat, tall and straight, but his complexion seemed paler than when Wen Yelan last saw him, with faint dark circles under his eyes.

Wen Yelan hesitated, then opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you,” Pei Yan spoke first, his voice still slightly hoarse. “I heard you’re leaving soon. The Foundation has some documents that require your final confirmation and signature.” He handed over a file bag.

Wen Yelan took the file bag. “You could have sent an assistant or the electronic version.”

“I was passing by,” Pei Yan said succinctly, his gaze sweeping over the luggage spread out on the floor behind him. “Packing?”

“Yes.” Wen Yelan stepped aside. “Come in. I’ll look at the documents.”

Pei Yan walked in, surveying the small apartment, which was still sparse to the point of being almost empty, on his second visit. There seemed to be more books than last time, piled in the corner, and half-packed luggage occupied most of the living room.

He immediately noticed the blue down jacket from last time.

Wen Yelan walked to the desk and carefully flipped through the documents. They were all standard supplementary clauses for the funding agreement and confirmation of the material list—nothing problematic. He took out a pen and signed where necessary.

Pei Yan stood quietly beside him, watching. Wen Yelan kept his head down, focused on the documents, unconsciously biting his lower lip. He was wearing simple loungewear, his figure slender, but his back was held very straight.

“You don’t look too well either,” Pei Yan suddenly said. “Have you been very tired lately?”

Wen Yelan signed the last name, closed the file, and handed it back to Pei Yan. “I’m fine. Just a lot of things to do.”

Pei Yan took the file but didn’t immediately leave. His gaze fell on a strip of stomach medicine Wen Yelan had casually placed on the corner of the desk. “Stomach bothering you again?”

“No, it’s a spare,” Wen Yelan replied flatly.

“Oh.” Pei Yan paused, then suggested casually, “Have you eaten? A new Cantonese restaurant opened nearby. The food is light, suitable for… soothing the stomach. Let’s grab a quick bite. I haven’t eaten either.”

Wen Yelan was about to refuse, but seeing the tired look on Pei Yan’s face, he swallowed the words. He had been busy all day and hadn’t eaten yet; his stomach felt uncomfortably empty.

“…Wait for me.” He turned and walked toward the bedroom. “I’ll change my clothes.”

Watching the bedroom door close, the corner of Pei Yan’s mouth lifted slightly. The effect of feigning weakness was working well.

The restaurant environment was elegant, and the dishes were indeed light and delicious. The two sat opposite each other. The atmosphere wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t as tense as before.

Pei Yan didn’t eat much, occasionally using the serving chopsticks to place easily digestible dishes on Wen Yelan’s plate. Wen Yelan was initially resistant, but seeing the naturalness of the gesture, he simply thanked him quietly and didn’t refuse.

“The communication conditions at Mount Shishapangma are worse than at Mount Everest Base Camp. Our Foundation has coordinated a more stable satellite communication system, which will be transported there with you,” Pei Yan said, slowly sipping his soup while discussing work.

“Mm, thank you.” Wen Yelan nodded. This would indeed solve a major problem for the expedition team.

“How are the altitude sickness contingency plans? I heard that last time on Mount Everest…” Pei Yan stopped at the right moment, not finishing the sentence.

“The preparations are more thorough this time.” He didn’t want to talk about Mount Everest.

“That’s good.” Pei Yan looked at him. “Please be safe.”

The meal was relatively peaceful. When it came time to pay, Wen Yelan tried to split the bill, but Pei Yan blocked him, citing Foundation reimbursement.

After dropping Wen Yelan off at his apartment building, Pei Yan looked at him. “Do you need a ride on the day you leave?”

“No, the Institute arranges unified transportation,” Wen Yelan refused.

“Alright.” Pei Yan nodded. “Then… safe travels. Let me know when you arrive safely.”

“…Mm.” Wen Yelan acknowledged him and turned to go upstairs.

Pei Yan watched his retreating figure disappear into the stairwell before turning to leave.

This interaction was smoother than expected. Wen Yelan’s attitude was still cold, but at least he was no longer constantly bristling like a hedgehog. His image of being sick and continuously weak seemed to have successfully elicited a degree of concern based on Wen Yelan’s kindness and sense of responsibility.

That was enough, for the current stage.