The Love Drama

The woman handed a bowl of warm congee to her bandaged husband. “It’s pork and century egg. See if you like it.” She had brought it up from the restaurant downstairs early that morning.

The fat man took a spoonful, tasted it, and praised, “Not bad at all.”

They exchanged a knowing, supportive smile.

But from the neighboring bed came a loud, tragic sigh.

“Why buy so much? How can I possibly eat all this?” In front of Zhuo was a small hospital tray table piled dangerously high with breakfast—from fried dough sticks and steamed buns to sweet bread and scallion pancakes, it was a full buffet spread. Yuan Anqing had specifically sent a nurse to deliver it all. He could leave Zhuo for a short time to do errands, but not too far—that would be too unsafe for his own blood pressure.

Zhuo placed an empty extra-large soy milk cup on the table and groaned. “I really have no appetite today.”

No appetite?! The spy woman remembered that when the food trolley first arrived, Zhuo’s table was so full it could barely hold it all. Now, only four or five paper bags remained.

Yuan Anqing had only eaten two dinner rolls; the rest of the mountain of food had gone straight into Zhuo’s stomach.

No appetite? He’s full!

Yet the Savior, as if entirely blind to the destruction, frowned slightly. “You ate so little? You look thinner.”

The spy couple: “…”

Zhuo’s massive frame nearly spilled over the edges of the hospital bed. Thinner? WHERE?!

“I’ll starve to death if that’s what it takes to earn your affection,” Zhuo sighed dramatically.

How could he starve?! One meal equaled four ordinary adults’ daily portions!

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Yuan Anqing reached out and tenderly stroked Zhuo’s forehead. “Eat a little more, for my sake.”

Zhuo pressed his lips together in faux hesitation, then actually reached for the remaining breakfast bags.

He can STILL eat?!

“No wonder your partner is so tall,” the fat spy remarked, trying to mask his horror. He thought he had a big appetite, but compared to Zhuo, he couldn’t compete.

“Tall means his blood circulation has to work harder. He gets tired easily,” Yuan Anqing said, smoothly defending Zhuo’s image.

Zhuo took a bite of a meat bun, then put it down, looking miserable. “Does he think I eat too much?”

The fat man wisely remained silent.

“Well, I saw his nephew yesterday. I’m not as slim as his nephew,” Zhuo sighed again, looking at Yuan Anqing with big, teary eyes.

“You look far better than his nephew,” Yuan Anqing comforted him.

“I do look better than him…” Zhuo thought for a moment, then added smugly, “Better-looking, and bigger.”

“But even though his nephew is ugly, maybe being ugly is his only flaw?” Zhuo continued sighing, pivoting back to the drama. “Maybe he has a good personality, good character, and knows his manners.”

Then he looked directly at the spy couple. “Is your ugly nephew coming to visit today?”

“Hey, can you be reasonable?” The woman frowned. “Whether you feel insecure about your boyfriend or not, why drag my nephew into it? Talking about him like that right in front of his uncle and aunt—that’s just incredibly rude.”

“I’m not insulting him,” Zhuo said, batting his eyelashes as if genuinely wronged. “It’s an objective fact that he’s ugly. Saying he has a good personality and character is praising him.”

The woman took a deep, steadying breath. “You sound like you’re aggressively offering my nephew to your boyfriend as a concubine.” She wasn’t actually that angry—she was a spy—but Zhuo was laying it on too thick. As the “loving aunt,” if she showed no reaction to the insults, her cover would seem fake.

“A concubine? How could he be a concubine?” Zhuo suddenly snuggled closer to Yuan Anqing, clinging to his arm as if seeking desperate support. “As long as I’m alive, my boyfriend won’t look for anyone else. He only loves me.”

Yuan Anqing cooperatively held him close, stroking his hair.

“But if I die from my injuries…” Zhuo couldn’t finish the tragic monologue because Yuan Anqing placed a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t say things like dying,” Yuan Anqing soothed him, his corporate voice dipping into a low, intense whisper. “Even if you die, I’d still only like you.”

Zhuo pulled Yuan’s hand away, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t feel at ease if no one accompanied you in life. I’m just a nobody—if I die, I die.”

“Anyway, after I’m gone, even if you find someone else to replace me, I won’t be around to see it. So just… just stay with me for this last stretch of time,” Zhuo played the part of the dying romantic perfectly.

The atmosphere between them was incredibly mournful, tragic, yet suffocatingly intimate—sometimes it felt exactly like a final farewell before death.

The woman and her husband were also lovers in real life. They had had their sweet moments too. But they absolutely couldn’t understand the Savior and Zhuo.

Their “love” didn’t seem like functional adult romance at all. It was more like middle schoolers who had watched way too many soap operas, eager to be passionate and heartbroken every single day, throwing around grand vows of life and death like they were free candy.

Well, he was the Savior—he could have anything he wanted, including a delusional romance.

The spy woman concluded that Zhuo was probably just a tool for the Savior’s twisted love games. The Savior didn’t really love him that much; he was just addicted to playing the dominant, tragic role. If this Zhuo ever realized that, he would be a truly pitiful person. But if he actually thought the Savior genuinely loved him, then he was a complete fool.

Zhuo was carrying on as if his life depended on it, and Yuan Anqing quickly hugged him, planting a chaste, desperate kiss on his cheek.

Yuan Anqing’s voice was very soft, supposedly only for Zhuo to hear. “Eat the rest of the breakfast. It won’t taste good cold.”

Zhuo’s tail tip swayed in happy circles under the sheet.

Yuan Anqing then pressed Zhuo’s tail down and said in a normal, authoritative volume, “Hurry up and eat.” His tone was commanding.

Zhuo sniffled, nodded submissively, and followed the order. This wasn’t acting. Zhuo really felt that Yuan Anqing treated him well—especially well.

But to the spy couple in the next bed, that’s not how it sounded at all. Given their understanding of Zhuo’s toxic relationship with Yuan Anqing, they only thought this big, imposing guy had been thoroughly brainwashed by PUA tactics.

After Zhuo finished inhaling the rest of the food, Yuan Anqing gathered the immense pile of wrappers and took it out to the hall to throw away.

Zhuo watched Yuan Anqing’s retreating back, his tail tip swaying lovingly. But the absolute second Yuan Anqing was completely out of sight, Zhuo rolled his eyes and his entire demeanor shifted.

The spy couple: “…”

“My boyfriend and I definitely won’t have children,” Zhuo said, wiping his mouth aggressively with a napkin. “But if we did, I’d definitely teach the kid to have some dignity and not to shamelessly latch onto another man’s partner.”

The young couple breathed heavily through their noses. They really wanted to punch this bastard!

Zhuo was about to taunt them further, but as soon as he opened his mouth, his hyper-sensitive hearing picked up the voice of Yan Jin—the “nephew” from yesterday—out in the hallway.

Yan Jin didn’t come into the room; he had intercepted Yuan Anqing by the trash cans.

Zhuo was immediately worried about Yuan Anqing, so he focused all his attention on their location. Naturally, he could hear every word being spoken.

Zhuo frowned. He wasn’t worried about any actual seduction, but that person was standing a bit too close to Yuan Anqing—well beyond a safe distance. If Yan Jin suddenly attacked, Yuan Anqing could easily get hurt.

On the other side of the hall, after throwing away the trash, Yuan Anqing ran into Yan Jin.

When Yan Jin saw him, he flashed a bright, sunny smile that was eerily similar to Zhuo’s. “Mr. Yuan.”

“Hello.” Yuan Anqing nodded coldly, not intending to make small talk.

Yan Jin didn’t seem to mind the chill. He asked, “Is your boyfriend’s injury any better?”

“A little better, but his spirits are incredibly low. He’s very listless and depressed,” Yuan Anqing lied effortlessly, pushing up his glasses.

Listless? Yan Jin recalled how violently aggressive Zhuo had been yesterday. Either this Zhuo was an Oscar-level actor, or the Savior had an incredibly thick, delusional filter for his boyfriend.

“I envy you two,” Yan Jin sighed, leaning against the wall. “He’s hurt, and you take such good care of him. I’m not that lucky.”

Yuan Anqing fell silent.

Logically, as a normal human, he should ask what had happened, but he really didn’t want to. Even though Yuan Anqing was currently immersed in a romance himself, he had zero interest in being a love guru for a stranger. He didn’t have the emotional stamina for it.

After a few seconds of mental preparation, he forced himself to ask, “What happened?” The spy’s tragic backstory was probably fabricated—just a lie to get closer—but he needed intel.

Inside the ward, Zhuo listened intently, making sure he didn’t miss a single word.

Yuan Anqing nodded to show he understood but offered no comment, his expression completely unchanged.

“I met my ex-boyfriend in high school,” Yan Jin said, starting his monologue. He stopped walking, forcing Yuan Anqing to stop too. “He didn’t get into college, but I did. I had a full scholarship…”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Yuan Anqing cut in. He really, truly didn’t want to hear more of this. “You dropped out of college because of your boyfriend, right?”

Yan Jin nodded, then added sadly, “Ex-boyfriend.”

Yuan Anqing took a deep breath. “And after dropping out and sacrificing your future, the relationship fell apart?”

Yan Jin nodded again, tears welling in his eyes.

Yuan Anqing began aggressively massaging his temples.

Yan Jin was a bit confused. Wasn’t Yuan Anqing supposed to be a romantic fool who loved dramatic tragedies? Why was he looking so profoundly disappointed and annoyed? Didn’t he love the whole “love above all else” trope?

“You think I’m stupid too, don’t you?” Yan Jin asked, trying to play the victim.

“No.” Yuan Anqing wasn’t judging Yan Jin’s fictional life choices; he just literally couldn’t bear to continue listening to this cliché drivel. If enduring this kind of conversation counted as part of his Savior job, he was sure he should resign.

He never felt this exhausted when watching those trashy TV dramas with Zhuo. Probably because Zhuo talked too much—more than the actual characters—so most of Yuan Anqing’s attention was captured by his boyfriend’s commentary, not the plot.

Yuan Anqing didn’t think Yan Jin was stupid. He just couldn’t empathize with melodramatic relationship problems. In other words, even if this backstory was true, it was Yan Jin’s own life and his own choice. There was no need for a passing stranger like him to get involved.

Yuan Anqing couldn’t empathize, let alone offer comfort. So he simply asked what he thought was a practical, relevant question: “Can you still re-enroll in school?”

Yan Jin blinked. He felt the focus of his tragic story should be on the terrible romance, not his academic future.

Their atmosphere grew incredibly awkward.

Even Zhuo, who was eavesdropping from down the hall, felt anxious for him. Yuan Anqing should have waited for the spy to finish, then stood in solidarity with him, asked if he had moved on, and pretended to take the emotional bait to get more information.

“Sorry,” Yuan Anqing apologized stiffly. “I’m not good at comforting people.”

“No, it’s my fault for oversharing,” Yan Jin shrugged helplessly.

Then he noticed Yuan Anqing looking at him with an intensity that suddenly made him very nervous.

He saw a flash of brilliant, molten gold in Yuan Anqing’s eyes. Yan Jin staggered backward, feeling instantly dizzy.

“Did you skip breakfast and have a low blood sugar spell?” Yuan Anqing asked smoothly, grabbing Yan Jin’s arm to steady him.

“Maybe?” Yan Jin pressed his temples, feeling a sudden wave of sheer panic and mental fog.

“Go eat something quickly.” Yuan Anqing steadied him, then immediately let go and turned to walk back to the ward.

Yan Jin held his head and frowned, stumbling away.

Yuan Anqing hurried into the ward, terrified Yan Jin would recover and come over again to talk about his fake love life. After sitting down heavily by Zhuo’s bed, he sighed in relief, leaned over, and rested his head directly on Zhuo’s massive chest, lying there like a deflated balloon.

The spy couple beside them: “??”

They had only been apart for two minutes to throw away trash. Was this dramatic reunion really necessary?!

Zhuo stroked Yuan Anqing’s head affectionately.

Yuan Anqing couldn’t hold it in any longer; he had just peeked at all of Yan Jin’s memories in the hallway. He had read them all like a book to save time.

“You’ve worked hard,” Zhuo said softly, genuinely feeling sorry for him. He could tell from the brief conversation just how socially exhausted Yuan Anqing had been.

The spy couple was even more confused. The Savior had only gone to throw away the trash, hadn’t he?!