The Feverish Night

After completing his daily exercise regimen, Qin An could faintly discern the outlines of muscles forming beneath his skin. After showering, he found Qin Yage pacing outside his door, clutching a pillow, her twin ponytails swinging back and forth.

“Yage, is something the matter?”

Hearing his voice, she startled like a frightened rabbit.

“You barely touched your chopsticks at dinner. Are you feeling unwell?”

Qin Yage shook her head silently, but her grip on the pillow tightened, its surface now wrinkled beyond measure.

Qin An gently touched her pale, bloodless cheek. “Can’t sleep alone?” he asked softly.

She shook her head at first, then nodded shyly.

[There’s no way I can say I want to sleep with big brother!]

Qin An opened the door and led the silent girl inside. Before he could say anything, she threw herself onto the bed, buried her head under the quilt, and left her bare feet sticking out.

Qin An just smiled without speaking. Silence seemed the best choice now.

He turned off the light and climbed onto the bed wearing only shorts.

Like a seasoned hunter, Qin Yage detected his scent the moment he drew near. She pressed against his back and wrapped her arms around his waist. But her hands were restless—first tracing the faint outline of his developing six-pack, then traveling upward like a curious child exploring new territory.

Gradually, her slippery little fingers found two small protrusions. On instinct, she pinched them. Qin An’s body jolted as if shocked by electricity.

He turned around abruptly, startling her. In the past, she would have buried herself in his arms and hidden until sleep took her. But this time, she refused to back down. She met his gaze, her face flushed bright red.

Qin An simply pulled her into a gentle embrace, stroking her back with a slow, rhythmic tenderness—like petting a cat. Soothing by his warm hands, Qin Yage soon drifted into slumber.

Her eyelashes were long, but she slept restlessly, her body and lashes trembling. Qin An held her tighter, hoping to calm her.

In the middle of the night, Qin Yage felt increasingly hot. Her throat was parched, as dry as cracked earth, nearly smoking.

She wanted to get up for a glass of water, but her body was weak, her head dizzy. Rising took great effort; when she stepped off the bed, her steps faltered, and she nearly fell.

Dragging her leaden legs, she shuffled toward the door, but collapsed before reaching it.

Qin An woke with a start. Reaching for her, he found only empty space.

He spotted his sister on the floor. He leaped from the bed. Her body was scorching hot, and she muttered incoherent nonsense.

He touched her forehead—clearly a fever. She had been acting strangely since returning from the amusement park. He guessed she had caught a high fever from fright.

The medical system at the time was inadequate. Even if he took her to the hospital, there might not be a doctor on duty—and even if there were, they might not treat her. Besides, the hospital was far away. He feared his sister’s brain would be damaged before they arrived.

He carried her back to the bed, then fetched the alcohol he used to disinfect wounds. Gently, he applied it to her face and neck. Her skin was so smooth that his fingers, slick with alcohol, glided over it as if on an ice rink.

Still uneasy, he dabbed some on her body. Then he filled a basin with cold water, soaked a towel, wrung it out, and placed it on her forehead. He moved with utmost care, as if handling a rare treasure that could shatter at the slightest mistake.

After a while, her fever subsided, though he remained worried.

Whenever the towel lost its cooling effect, he would dip it again, wring it out, and repeat.

He lost track of how long he had been doing this before exhaustion finally claimed him.

Morning sunlight streamed into the room. Qin Yage rubbed her sleep-filled eyes. The first thing she saw was her brother sleeping with his head on the edge of the bed. Next, the basin with half a bucket of water beside him. Finally, the nearly empty bottle of alcohol on the table.

She touched the towel that had fallen from her forehead, a glimmer of understanding in her eyes.

Her brother’s sleeping face looked childish, making her want to pinch his cheeks.

But her gaze landed on his lips—pale and dry.

“What does a first kiss feel like?” she murmured, her fingers tracing his lips.

“Nah, big brother’s first kiss should be mine!”

“Hmph, if it’s not mine, I’ll bite you to death!”

“Only I can touch big brother’s lips!”

With that, she leaned in slowly until her forehead touched his, their noses meeting. She had been this close to him before, but now her heart pounded like a little thief’s.

Then their lips met. Qin Yage smiled with satisfaction, as if tasting the sweetest candy in the world.

“Good morning, big brother.”