He must truly be close to death — how else to account for such a preposterous delusion?
“You’re awake?” Chen Baoxiang poked her head in from outside.
Zhang Zhixu looked toward her at once, eyes filled with a desperate plea for rescue.
But Chen Baoxiang walked to his bedside and asked Zhang Yuanchu with complete naturalness: “Have you had your morning meal yet?”
“I ate before coming over.” Zhang Yuanchu replied warmly. “I was delayed on the road and worried the congee might get cold, so I had it warmed up in your kitchen.”
“We’re all family here — no need for such formalities.” Chen Baoxiang covered her mouth, laughing.
“…” Zhang Zhixu shifted himself slightly further away from her.
He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and pinched himself firmly on the thigh.
Hiss—
“What are you doing instead of eating properly, child?” Zhang Yuanchu piled several more pieces of meat into his bowl. “Eat more — you’ve lost a lot of weight recently, you need to build your strength up.”
“Baoxiang, you eat too — don’t you love meat best?”
“Yes, I will.”
The two of them harmoniously helped themselves to dishes together, then turned their heads to look at him.
Zhang Zhixu instinctively reached out and helped himself to dishes along with them.
Zhang Yuanchu nodded approvingly, and continued piling food into his bowl while going on at length about his injuries and asking after his wellbeing, making plans for the whole family to go on an outing together once the examination results were posted, and then saying that since he happened to have some free time recently, he could go fly kites with him.
Chen Baoxiang sat beside them, listening and nodding along.
Just as they were getting into the spirit of it, Zhang Yuanchu suddenly stammered to a halt, his mouth opening and closing, a flash of bewilderment crossing his expression.
Zhang Zhixu looked at him, puzzled: “What is it?”
Zhang Yuanchu took the opportunity to clutch his own throat and stand: “A fish bone is caught. I’ll go to the kitchen and drink some vinegar.”
“Allow me to show you the way.” Chen Baoxiang rose with a smile to see him out the door.
The moment they stepped outside and rounded the corner, her expression changed abruptly. “What happened?”
Zhang Yuanchu stood with clasped hands, his posture very dignified, though his voice was distinctly sheepish: “The slip of paper you gave me got wet from the soup — the writing is completely smudged.”
“Didn’t I tell you to memorize it in advance?”
“There was too much of it. I keep needing to glance at it to remember the next line.” Zhang Yuanchu was mildly indignant. “And it is not as if I’m complaining, but what sort of lines did you have someone write for you? Didn’t you see that Fengqing looked completely terrified?”
“I don’t care — you agreed to do as I said, so you need to finish delivering all those lines.” Chen Baoxiang’s expression turned ominous. “Otherwise everything I promised you can also be considered void.”
Zhang Yuanchu was absolutely furious — he had lived to this age and once held high station, and now he was being held over a barrel by a young girl.
But then he thought of the generous terms Chen Baoxiang had offered.
He composed his smile again and returned to the room to continue piling food into Zhang Zhixu’s bowl.
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