butterflies in my stomach

Ming Shuyan returned with a cup of hot water.

This time, Ming Shuzhen didn’t refuse. She took a small sip, the warmth flowing through her, easing her stomach’s contractions.

Ming Shuyan sat on the burlap sofa beside her, neither checking her phone nor speaking—just staying there.

Ming Shuzhen felt uneasy, her game abandoned, itching to flee again.

But what excuse could she use now?

Leaning on the sofa, her body relaxed, but her heart was taut.

She blinked rapidly, feeling her reaction was excessive.

Why was she so resistant to Ming Shuyan? Before, she’d worried about seeming like a nepotism hire, avoiding being seen with her boss. But now, with no one around, why still shy away?

Her stomach twinged again—what was this strange sensation?

Panic surged. The heating pad, now warm, soothed her abdomen, but her stomach churned like a stormy sea.

She recalled a theory.

The butterfly effect—when drawn to someone powerfully attractive, the brain releases chemicals, triggering physical reactions, including discomfort like stomach nerve irritation from tension or excitement.

Zhong Shuo had mentioned it, and she’d scoffed, asking if it was a heart attack or stomach disease.

Now, clutching her roiling stomach, she looked pained.

Could she… like her boss?

Not just like—like *that* kind of like, the kind causing physiological stomachaches?

The thought startled her. Her first instinct: *No way, she’s a woman!*

What had Zhong Shuo called it? Lala?

“Want to listen to music?” Ming Shuyan noticed her pause the game and pale face, thinking the pain was intense, suggesting music to distract her.

Ming Shuzhen almost refused but nodded faintly. “Mm.”

Her voice was muffled, face scrunched. Ming Shuyan’s heart ached.

“You should see a TCM doctor when we’re back. If periods are this painful, they can help balance things.”

“…Oh,” Ming Shuzhen blinked, guilt and unease tangling inside her.

Ming Shuyan handed her a Bluetooth earbud, opened her playlist, and hit play.

Ming Shuzhen closed her eyes, nursing her stomach.

The music was soft, a young boy’s voice.

“When I met you girl my heart went knock knock.”

“Now them butterflies in my stomach won’t stop stop.”

Listening to the lyrics, her stomach ached more.

“Seeing you, my girl, my heart pounds, butterflies in my stomach fluttering, causing pain,” she mused, feeling the lyrics read her mind.

“Boss…” she murmured, spooked by herself.

“What’s wrong?” Ming Shuyan studied her worsening complexion. “Hurts bad? Should we go to the hospital?”

“No, no,” Ming Shuzhen knew she was physically fine. “It’s not that bad.”

Ming Shuyan sighed softly.

That sigh made Ming Shuzhen’s heart itch, tightening sharply.

Great—stomachache theory confirmed. Now a heartache theory?

The sigh clashed with Ming Shuyan’s usual demeanor. Ming Shuzhen told herself this wasn’t a crush.

“Can you go back to the hotel first?” she pleaded.

“Sure, I’ll go with you,” Ming Shuyan said, contacting the driver.

Ming Shuzhen shook her head frantically—she’d wanted to escape Ming Shuyan. If she followed, what was the point?

“No, no, Boss,” her voice weak. “I can go alone.”

“It’s fine,” Ming Shuyan said. Most of her work was remote; with her iPad, she could work anywhere. “I’ll go with you. I’m not comfortable leaving you alone.”

Ming Shuzhen’s eyes dimmed, near tears. “I can manage.”

“Let’s go,” Ming Shuyan insisted, tone final.

“…” Ming Shuzhen let herself be led.

After informing Liu Wenjing, they headed to the hotel.

Using her “discomfort” as an excuse, Ming Shuzhen stayed silent, brooding.

She wasn’t really resting—she was grappling with whether her heart-pounding, stomach-churning feelings for Ming Shuyan were real.

The car’s heater was strong. Though she closed her eyes tightly at first, drowsiness crept in.

Still conscious, she marveled that she was actually falling asleep.

After getting out and catching a chill, Ming Shuzhen felt heavy-headed, confirming a cold.

Ming Shuyan wanted to take her to the hospital, but she, lazy and wanting sleep, resisted.

Somehow, Ming Shuyan summoned a doctor in a white coat with a medical kit to the hotel.

The doctor checked her temperature and tongue, saying, “Just a cold from the wind. No need for shots—meds will do.”

She prescribed medicine. Ming Shuyan brought water, watching Ming Shuzhen take it.

“Doctor,” Ming Shuzhen, groggy but with a light nasal tone and slight throat pain, confirming a simple cold, asked, “Can a cold cause stomachaches or heartaches?”

“Hm?”

“Like,” she struggled, “my stomach’s cramping, and my heart feels squeezed…”

The doctor frowned. “Colds don’t cause that. For heart issues, get a scan to be safe.”

Ming Shuzhen nodded, knowing her heart was fine—she’d had a full checkup before joining Red Brick.

Hearing about heart pain, Ming Shuyan grew concerned. “I’ll book you an appointment.”

“No need,” Ming Shuzhen said, mouth agape, head aching from the cold, feeling weak.

But she couldn’t resist. Ming Shuyan took her to the hospital.

Luckily, in a smaller city, same-day appointments were possible.

Ming Shuzhen, pushing through, followed Ming Shuyan to cardiology.

The cardiologist, a patient woman, asked, “How long have these symptoms been happening?”

With Ming Shuyan beside her, Ming Shuzhen was vague. “Just today.”

The doctor placed a stethoscope on her chest. “Get an ECG first.”

Likely hearing nothing unusual.

Ming Shuyan supported her to the ECG. “Still hurting?”

Ming Shuzhen shook her head—no pain now. She wondered if she’d triggered some system glitch. Blaming Zhong Shuo’s butterfly theory, she thought without it, she wouldn’t have overthought.

Both were on edge.

The ECG results came instantly, as did a cardiac ultrasound, both showing no issues.

With no current discomfort, they gave up and returned to the hotel.

There, Ming Shuyan adjusted the room’s temperature and humidity with the remote. “Sleep early, sweat it out under the covers.”

Ming Shuzhen lay flat, blanket pulled to her nose, barely breathing, eyes peeking out, darting around.

“Boss…” she called softly.

Ming Shuyan rushed to her bedside, leaning down. “What? Need water?”

Ming Shuzhen shook her head, hesitating before saying, “Sorry.”

“Hm?” Ming Shuyan touched her forehead. “No fever.”

She relaxed her shoulders. “If you’re worried about delaying the inspection, don’t. It’s just a job—not worth killing yourself over.”

Ming Shuzhen, just feeling sentimental, laughed. “A boss who doesn’t want their staff to overwork?”

Ming Shuyan glared. “Others, I don’t know. With you, no need.”

Ming Shuzhen blinked, processing her words.

Her apology was for lying initially. She’d wanted to avoid Ming Shuyan, but her boss’s care—heating pads, hot water, hospital trips—amplified her strange feelings.

If anyone else treated her this way, she’d feel only gratitude. With Ming Shuyan, she felt panicked, wanting to escape.

Maybe the cold, plus Zhong Shuo’s theory, made her fear her body’s reactions. Without thinking, she blurted, “Boss, I’m a bit scared.”

Mistaking it for homesickness or illness-induced insecurity, Ming Shuyan said, “It’s okay. Keep the wall light on. Call me if you need anything.”

Ming Shuzhen pouted, shaking her head, unsure how to express herself, afraid of scaring Ming Shuyan if she did.

She pulled the blanket over her head.

Ming Shuyan, puzzled, tugged it down. “Not stuffy?”

“So stuffy,” Ming Shuzhen mumbled, gazing at her. After a tiring day, Ming Shuyan’s makeup had faded, hair slightly curled, wisps framing her face. At this distance, a faint fragrance lingered.

Her heart clenched again, face falling.