Miao Ruiming smirked faintly but said nothing.
Then, as he shifted slightly to inspect the back of Yao Ziyang's neck, he paused.
'...Warm.'
The skin at the nape of Yao Ziyang's neck radiated a distinct heat, subtle but noticeable. Miao Ruiming's brow furrowed, drawn closer by instinct. It wasn't feverish—not quite—but something about it called to him. The air around it smelled… sweet. Unbelievably sweet.
His breath caught.
He leaned in, almost without thinking. Just a little closer. Just to observe. Just to—
'...Bite it?'
The thought slammed into his mind like a freight train.
Miao Ruiming blinked.
'What the hell am I doing—?'
Just as his face drew within inches of Yao Ziyang's neck, the dazzling man flinched—then softly, naturally, brought his hand up to cover the spot and moved away with a calm wariness, eyes wide but he still kept his polite smile. Inwardly, he nearly screamed and cursed at the doctor.
"Dr. Miao…"
Yao Ziyang asked gently, though a bit shaky.
"Is something wrong?"
Before Miao Ruiming could answer, Dong Yingming had already climbed the bed in an attempt to get between them, careful not to crush his man in said bed.
The larger man shoved Miao Ruiming back, one hand flat against his shoulder, not hard enough to be violent—but more than enough to show his rage.
"The hell do you think you're doing?"
He snapped, his voice dangerously low.
"I let you near him because you're his doctor. Not because you can't control yourself."
Miao Ruiming stumbled a step back, stunned and just as confused by his own behavior.
"I—I apologize!"
He said quickly, raising both hands in retreat.
"I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean to— It was… something about the scent. It was involuntary. I swear."
Dong Yingming's eyes narrowed.
"You leaned in to bite him."
Miao Ruiming flushed, horrified, not just at the accusation—but at how true it was.
"I didn't actually—! I would never harm a patient."
His mind raced.
'Why did I want to bite him? That's not something a human doctor thinks. And that scent… that warmth... this isn't normal.'
He looked at Yao Ziyang again, who had already relaxed and was sitting there sipping water, not the least bit disturbed it seemed. If anything, he seemed bemused.
"I think… he should stay in the hospital longer…"
Miao Ruiming said, his tone suddenly serious.
"There are still too many unknowns. His recovery is progressing beyond expected parameters, and his body—"
He reached out, gently taking Yao Ziyang's hand.
Soft.
Miao Ruiming almost inhaled at the feel. It was like touching the edge of some sacred silk.
He didn't realize he'd held on a second too long until—
Crack.
Dong Yingming's hand clamped down on Miao Ruiming's wrist like a vice. The strength of it made Miao Ruiming gasp and instantly let go, wincing.
But Dong Yingming didn't release him immediately. He used his free arm to pull Yao Ziyang toward his chest, wrapping protectively around his shoulders like a living shield.
Then he leaned forward, voice low and ice cold.
"I let you touch him because you saved his life. Because you're the only one who knows how to keep him alive. But don't misunderstand, Dr. Miao. If it were up to me, I would've gouged out your eyes the second I saw the way you looked at him when you walked in."
Yao Ziyang blinked, a bit surprised, but he didn't resist the embrace. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with it.
Miao Ruiming swallowed hard, tension climbing down his spine. He bowed his head, stepping back. Only then did Dong Yingming let him free.
"You're right. I've overstepped. I'm sorry."
Then, turning quickly toward the door, he added awkwardly.
"I'll… get him that pudding he asked for."
And then he was gone before Dong Yingming could reject his offer.
As the door clicked shut behind him, silence returned to the room.
Dong Yingming let out a slow exhale, trying to push back the heat in his chest that wasn't entirely anger. He looked down.
Yao Ziyang was looking up at him with bright, amused eyes.
"You're acting like a jealous boyfriend."
"I'm acting like someone protecting what's his."
Dong Yingming muttered without shame.
Yao Ziyang chuckled.
"You're really cute when you're being territorial."
Dong Yingming twitched.
"I'm not cute."
"You're also very warm…"
Yao Ziyang added, leaning subtly into him.
"I like it."
Dong Yingming stared down at him, something soft cracking beneath the surface of his firey anger. Cooling him down to just mildly irritated.
"You're not supposed to like being manhandled."
"It's not manhandling if it's someone I like doing it."
Yao Ziyang said with a cheeky smile.
Dong Yingming looked away quickly, ears tinged faintly red.
"...You should rest."
Yao Ziyang closed his eyes, still smiling.
Dong Yingming pulled the blanket higher over him, and this time, didn't move away. He stayed seated by the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving him, possessiveness burning low and deep in his chest.
'Mine…'
He thought.
'And no one will ever take you from me.'
…
The door creaked open again not long after Miao Ruiming had left, and in stepped Chang Xiao, holding two steaming takeout bags in one hand and a drink tray tucked beneath his elbow.
The scent of freshly made congee, sesame pancakes, and scallion buns wafted in with him, a welcome interruption to the tension still lingering in the air. Hearing the noise, Yao Ziyang sat up again. Seeing it wasn't Miao Ruiming with his pudding, he reached for his water with disinterest.
Chang Xiao paused at the threshold, eyes falling on Yao Ziyang, who sat up in bed with the blanket pulled neatly over his lap, a slight pinkness in his cheeks as he held a warm cup of water. His silvery-blond hair was haloed by the sunlight, dark eyes bright and curious—and for just a heartbeat, Chang Xiao stood frozen, mildly stunned.
"…Damn."
He muttered softly before composing himself and walking in.
"Here."
Chang Xiao said with his usual half-lazy tone, handing one of the bags to Dong Yingming, who took it with a quiet nod.
"Breakfast. You didn't eat last night, Boss. You're going to drop dead before your little beauty has recovered properly."
Yao Ziyang tilted his head, amused.
"Littlebeauty? That's a new one."
Chang Xiao grinned.
"What else am I supposed to call you now? With that face? You look like you were carved by a master craftsman with too much time and too much love."
Yao Ziyang flushed.
"Have I really changed that much?"
"Yep."
Chang Xiao said honestly, stepping back and appraising him again.
"You used to look... human. Pretty, but still human. Now you look like something that stepped out of a painting. If you told me the sun rose just to light you up, I'd believe it."
Dong Yingming made a low noise in his throat, unimpressed and slightly more irritated.
"Chang Xiao…"
A warning.
"Fine, fine."
Chang Xiao waved his hand in mock surrender. Then, a sly grin curled across his lips.
"I guess it makes sense, though. You really do look the part now."
Yao Ziyang blinked.
"The part?"
Chang Xiao turned toward him, voice light but probing.
"You know. MadamDong."
Silence followed for a second.
Yao Ziyang's eyes widened—but then he looked away quickly, his face flushing an even deeper pink. He bit his lower lip and smiled into his cup, trying to hide it.
He didn't protest.
He didn't scoff.
He didn't even act haughty.
Chang Xiao caught it all in one sweep of his sharp eyes—and a question he had was made clear.
He grinned wide.
"Well then…"
He said, stepping back toward the door and grabbing his own breakfast.
"I'll eat outside. It'd be a crime to be the third wheel in a honeymoon suite."
Dong Yingming shot him a withering look.
"It's a hospital."
"Still smells like romance to me…"
Chang Xiao called over his shoulder with a chuckle, already slipping out the door.
"Let me know if you two need candles and soft music."
The door shut with a quiet click.
Outside, Chang Xiao leaned back against the hallway wall before going outside to the garden. He lit a cigarette with a soft exhale, and began to open his breakfast carton.
In his chest, his heart felt lighter than usual.
He took a slow drag, looking out toward the hospital window from the garden and murmured under his breath.
"Come on, Boss. You've suffered enough. Let yourself have this one… and don't screw it up."
…
Miao Ruiming strode down the gleaming white hallway of A City Medical Hospital's private wing, the cup of milk pudding trembling slightly in his hand.
He wasn't trembling, of course. He didn't tremble. But the cup was. Maybe it was the air conditioning.
Or maybe it was the fact that he, Miao Ruiming—thirty-seven years old, best in his field, laureate of both eastern and western medicine, and a man so composed that even during surgeries he could calmly recite poetry in his mind—had just almostbitten a patient.
'What the hell is wrong with me?'
The soft tap of his shoes echoed quietly. A nurse passed by and bowed respectfully; he nodded back automatically, gaze distant.
He could still see that paleneck, the warm flush at the nape, the impossibly sweet scent that seemed to curl around his lungs like incense from a divine altar. It wasn't cologne. It wasn't herbal. It wasn't even human.
He had leaned in like an animal. And worse—he liked it.
His jaw tensed.
'It's chemical. It has to be chemical. Maybe some kind of post-illness endocrine imbalance? A scent-triggering glandular anomaly? That would explain the strange recovery rate too. Or maybe the spring water activated something dormant... or mutated something…'
He shook his head.
"No. That's not it. That's not it either."
Then there was Dong Yingming.
Miao Ruiming could still feel the bruising weight of the Underworld boss's hand crushing his wrist. He winced slightly, rotating it as he turned a corner.
The possessiveness, the cold rage—that man was dangerous. But more than that, he had looked at Yao Ziyang like he was something sacred.
And Yao Ziyang…
Miao Ruiming's thoughts caught. He could still see the way the young man had looked up at Dong Yingming with quiet affection. Like he was used to it. Like he welcomed it.
'He didn't flinch. He didn't protest. Not even once. That kind of treatment—'
It made no sense.
Yao Ziyang. Former vice president of Yao Corporation. Embezzled charity funds. Fell from grace. Landed in prison.
But the man he'd just examined was not some greedy, corrupt liar. He looked like heavenincarnate, eyes dark as obsidian, hair a gleaming, almost metallic gold.
No illness could do that. No medicine. No resurrection.
He clutched the pudding a little tighter, and muttered to himself.
"Just what are you?"
As he reached the door of the hospital room again, he paused.
He could hear quiet laughter through the crack of the door—light and unguarded. Yao Ziyang's voice. Then a soft chuckle from Dong Yingming.
Miao Ruiming stared at the door for a moment. He wasn't sure if he wanted to walk in and continue being the doctor, or if he'd rather run a full genetic sequence and lock himself in his lab for three months.
Instead, he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and stared at the pudding in his palm like it held answers.
"…You better like this."
He muttered, and gently knocked.
The room smelled like sweet flowers and steamed rice. Inside was unusually warm, not just from the sunlight streaming through the windows, but from the atmosphere. Yao Ziyang, reclined comfortably, tried his best not to giggle as he held a spoonful of a warm herbal soup toward Dong Yingming's tightly pressed lips. He looked better than before, having shaved his beard and wearing a peach-patterned band-aid on his cheek. For some reason, it made Miao Ruiming feel bitter.
"Come on, just one more bite, ah…"
He teased playfully, grinning up at him.
"Say ah, Brother Dong. I'll make airplane noises if I have to."
Dong Yingming narrowed his eyes, but his stern face couldn't hide the softness behind it. He hesitated, then opened his mouth just slightly and leaned forward. His arm crossed tightly over his chest as he sat on the edge of the bed, the other curled around YaoZiyang's wrist, guiding him.
"This food is for you, give me the spoon before you spill."
He muttered around the bite, chewing while holding Yao Ziyang's thin wrist still lifting the spoon.
"I'm not hungry."
Yao Ziyang tried again, his voice light and playful.
"Just eat it, that way it won't spill. You've been watching over me all this time, aren't you still hungry? Even now, your poor stomach is growling."
"I'll eat again later. You shouldn't exert yourself. Let me feed you."
Yao Ziyang puffed his cheeks and lowered the spoon with a pout, but before he could retort, there came a gentle knock at the door.
Knock-knock.
He turned, curious—and then he saw Miao Ruiming, framed in the doorway with a cup of milk pudding cradled in his hand. He looked calm, professional—composed—but the moment his eyes landed on Yao Ziyang, something flickered behind them.
In his hand was a single, plastic-wrapped pudding cup, glistening with condensation. The glint of the container caught the light, but more importantly—the smell reached Yao Ziyang instantly. Sweet. Creamy. Familiar.
Yao Ziyang blinked. Then his entire face lit up.
"Pudding!"