Chapter 10: "It Will Hurt a Little, Please Bear With It"

The sun was sinking slowly, its brilliant afterglow painting the horizon in crimson, creating a breathtaking tableau that captivated the soul. Golden-red light fell upon the man’s profile, as if a flame burned there, making his handsome features even more striking—gentle and heartbreakingly attractive.

Qiao Zhen sat on the steps, staring blankly at Qin Yichi’s gentle, coaxing manner; he seemed a far cry from the brash, energetic youth she’d seen on the basketball court. He said, “Be good, give it here. Let me rub it for you.”

He carried a black crossbody bag slung over one shoulder, packed with iodine and ointment—likely prepared for the basketball match. Qiao Zhen hesitated for a moment. She’d tended Qin Yichi’s wounds before; it was perfectly normal, nothing out of the ordinary… The place was quiet, almost deserted, so after steeling herself, she silently stretched out her right leg. “Then be quick about it.”

Qin Yichi crouched before her, bowing his head slightly; his tousled hair hid the shadowed depths of his gaze. He gave a low “mm” in response. After a moment, perhaps finding the position uncomfortable, he shuffled closer, dropping onto one knee—a posture that radiated an inexplicable intensity.

He gently lifted the hem of Qiao Zhen’s long skirt, revealing a slender, fair stretch of calf. Luckily, she wore low-cut shoes. Qin Yichi rubbed the ointment between his hands and pressed it carefully onto her swollen ankle. His hands were large and gentle; when they touched her skin, it was as if an electric current ran through her, tingling to her very fingertips.

The ointment was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat of his hands—a striking difference. “Mmm~” Qiao Zhen couldn’t help but let a soft moan slip from her lips, her fingers curling.

Hearing the sweet sound, Qin Yichi’s fingers went suddenly still, his heart thudding in his chest. After a long pause, he carefully smoothed the salve, his motions gentle, as though wiping precious porcelain.

“Does that feel better?” Qin Yichi looked up at her, his voice low and hoarse.

Qiao Zhen braced her hands on either side, eyes squeezed half-shut, breathing in short, shallow bursts. “Mm, it feels really good.”

Qin Yichi pressed more firmly, his thumbs seeking out pressure points and sore spots with skilled, practiced hands. When he hit a certain spot, the tension in Qiao Zhen’s mind snapped; her gaze lost focus.

A veil of tears shimmered in her eyes, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Ow… it hurts, go softer…”

He must have pressed on the sprain; pain surged through her, making her gasp involuntarily. Qin Yichi’s movements slowed, turning even gentler as he kneaded in circles. “It’ll hurt a little. Try to bear it, can you?”

Qiao Zhen bit her lip and nodded obediently, replying sweetly, “I can.”

With Qin Yichi’s steady hands, a flush of rosy pink began to bloom across her pale skin, her eyes growing red-rimmed. Her shoulders trembled, and her long lashes fluttered like moth wings.

Even her breathing grew ragged.

She whimpered softly, barely holding back the tears; her eyes glistened with unshed moisture, sparkling like a fragile, pitiable little creature. The sight was enough to tempt anyone into mischief, to make one want to bully her even more.

Qin Yichi’s gaze flickered; he withdrew his hand, applied another layer of cooling ointment. His long, jointed fingers pressed gently down—her calf was so slender he could encircle it with one hand. Her skin was soft and flawless, like a small white cloud that one could not resist poking or pinching—or even biting.

A dark, stormy shadow flickered through Qin Yichi’s eyes.

With just a few strokes, he’d left faint pink marks on her.

Qiao Zhen looked up at him, eyes brimming with grievance, and called his name in a soft, feathery voice: “Qin Yichi.” The end of her sentence curled up, tickling the heart like a pure white feather. She was like a gentle little bunny.

Qin Yichi looked at her. “Does it still hurt?”

He’d already been as tender as possible.

She shook her head, sniffled, and cast her eyes down. “No, it doesn’t hurt. It… it tickles…”

Too hard, and it hurt; too soft, and it tickled. Impossible to please.

Qin Yichi chuckled silently, still kneeling, and deepened his pressure slightly, neither too hard nor too soft, his expression growing more focused. His voice was deep and warm, his tone slow: “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you feel better.”

The sky grew darker, the golden sunset gilding the two of them in brilliant light, adding a dramatic stroke to the scene. The autumn wind swept in softly, rustling the camphor leaves overhead; scattered green leaves twirled in the air, drifting down around them.

Qin Yichi’s careful, attentive touch did not go unnoticed by Qiao Zhen. Her breath was uneven, her calf and ankle tingling with residual heat, even her ears burning.

She’d tended Qin Yichi’s injuries countless times before—so many, she’d lost count, as many as the stars in the sky.

Before Qin Yichi’s father passed away, he was drunk and gambling every day, beating his wife and son for no reason with bamboo rods, whips, belts… Qin Yichi was always covered in wounds, blood everywhere, like a stray dog beaten on the side of the road, utterly miserable.

They lived across the hall from each other. Qiao Zhen had watched it all, her heart aching. She would feed him sweets and cradle the medicine box, disinfecting, bandaging, applying ointment for him. Her small face was taut with determination as she said, “Brother Chi, if you ever get hurt, you must come to me!”

They were both so young then. Qiao Zhen wasn’t shy at all, smearing ointment on his back, legs, even… his bottom.

Time flew by, and now he was so tall, his face sharply defined and colder than before—more rebellious, more intimidating. But inside, he was still so gentle.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approached, growing louder.

“What the hell!” Niu Yifeng stood stock-still, staring at them in shock and shouting.

“Big Ox, what are you yelling for? Don’t make a fuss…” Another boy frowned and followed Niu Yifeng’s gaze.

He stopped dead, his expression changing. After a few seconds of stunned silence, he burst out even louder: “No way!!!”

Five or six friends stood nearby, their eyes wide in collective disbelief, staring at the scene before them.

What on earth was this!

Qin Yichi, kneeling on one knee, massaging his pretty childhood friend’s leg? And so gentle, so indulgent!

Was this really the same Qin Yichi—the one who always kept his distance from girls, wild and untouchable, fierce as a demon?

Countless stunned eyes burned into them. Qiao Zhen shrank her neck, whispering, “Qin Yichi, your friends are here…”

A blush spread across her earlobes.

Qiao Zhen bowed her head as low as possible, wishing she could vanish on the spot.

Help, help, this was so humiliating, so awkward! Who knew what people would think of them now—oh no, oh no.

Qiao Zhen squeezed her eyes shut in despair, wishing she could burrow into the earth, or even move to another planet.

Qin Yichi finally looked up, glaring at the boys as if they’d interrupted something important. He spoke offhandedly, “What is it?”

Niu Yifeng stammered, “We won the basketball championship, the college gave us prize money, so we’re all going out for all-you-can-eat, but we couldn’t find you!”

He hadn’t answered messages, had vanished into thin air. They’d thought something had happened, so they’d come back to the court to look for him—only to stumble upon him flirting sweetly with a girl!

Flirting! With! A! Girl!