Isn't This a Contract Marriage? Why Are You Sneaking Kisses! - Chapter 7

Only three people remained in the hospital ward.

Ji Yunshen finally turned around and roared at Shen Silie with a dark, gloomy expression.

“Shen Silie, what on earth did I do to offend you lately? You don’t reply to my messages, you don’t pick up my calls, and when I ask you to come out, you just ignore me completely.”

“And now you didn’t even tell me you were in a car accident!”

“Shen Silie! What the hell are you trying to do!” Ji Yunshen’s voice grew angrier as he spoke, his body radiating fury.

Shen Silie’s breath trembled. It took a long time for him to finally speak.

“I’ve been busy lately. I didn’t have time.”

His voice was very soft, and his fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the bedsheets. He only caught Ji Yunshen’s gaze for a fleeting second before quickly looking away.

Ji Yunshen noticed the movement of Shen Silie’s hands, and the anger in his eyes intensified.

Lying.

Ji Yunshen reached past Shen Silie’s body, grabbed the phone, opened the contacts, and scrolled down rapidly. He found the newly saved name, blocked it, and deleted it in one seamless motion.

The phone was tossed back, brushing against Shen Silie’s leg.

Without looking back, Ji Yunshen turned and walked out.

Leaving Fei Qingya and Shen Silie to stare at each other in awkward silence.

“Is he insane?” Fei Qingya scratched her head and cursed under her breath. “What’s with all that aggression?”

Shen Silie lowered his eyes and said nothing.

The ticking of the clock echoed, amplified in the dim consulting room.

In the corner of the sofa, Shang Jichen sat with his legs crossed, one hand resting on the armrest and the other on his lap, his fingers tapping rhythmically.

His hair was loose and unstyled, with several strands scattered across his broad forehead. The wristwatch he usually wore on his left hand was missing.

His posture was relaxed and languid, but the habitual gentle smile on his face had vanished. His thin lips were pressed into a straight line, and his emerald eyes were like a frozen pond—full of fatigue and indifference.

He looked like a wounded beast returning to its territory—not comfortable, but sufficiently relaxed.

“Is the frequency of the nightmares still high this month?” A gentle male voice broke the silence.

Shang Jichen’s fingers stopped tapping. He slowly lifted his eyes, his gaze piercing through the amber light of the room to land on the doctor opposite him.

The man facing him had regular features and wore gold-rimmed glasses. Time had been kind to him, leaving only a few fine lines at the corners of his eyes.

“The same as always,” Shang Jichen replied casually.

Fang Xingzhi nodded, his pen gliding quickly across his notebook, leaving a line of neat handwriting: Persistent nightmares, severe sleep disorder.

“Have you made any new friends recently? Perhaps you could try some social interaction outside of work,” Fang Xingzhi suggested like a concerned elder.

The room fell into a long silence. Fang Xingzhi was used to these gaps and simply continued recording notes.

“I met someone.”

Shang Jichen uncharacteristically initiated a topic.

Fang Xingzhi’s brow twitched. He immediately looked up, giving Shang Jichen his full attention, signaling him to continue.

With a few brief sentences, Shang Jichen sketched out the scene from that day. When he finished, another long silence followed. Fang Xingzhi waited patiently without rushing him.

“He’s very timid. Quiet, doesn’t talk much. He didn’t even cry out when he was in pain, just wiped his tears away secretly. Even though he did nothing wrong, he didn’t dare look at me.”

Shang Jichen’s voice softened, his tone trailing off into a daze.

“The scent is exactly the same as its.”

Memory pulled him back to that afternoon in the hospital ward. Shang Jichen had stared at those honey-colored eyes and whispered: “Yue-Yue.”

The moment overlapped with an afternoon from years ago.

A little white cat stood by his computer keyboard, extending a furry paw with a red crescent birthmark, slowly pressing out three letters: y-u-e.

The little cat, having injured its leg again, curled up in his arms, obediently letting him apply medicine. Its head drooped, tears falling drop by drop, but it never made a sound.

The memory faded to an end.

The little white cat lay in his arms, its body growing cold bit by bit until there was no more movement, no more warmth.

He held his “Little Moon,” watching those honeyed eyes sink with the moon, darkening forever.

Because of his existence.

Because of his selfishness.

He had lost a family member yet again.

Shang Jichen’s consciousness drifted back. He looked down at his bare left wrist; the absence of his watch made him feel unsettled.

His fingertips lightly brushed the uneven skin. The scar that once reached deep into his bone had healed slowly over time. Having no habit of taking photos, he had never kept a picture of it.

Its appearance had long since blurred amidst the pain.

Leaving only an indelible old wound.

Fang Xingzhi was suddenly stunned. Buried memories resurfaced, and his expression darkened instantly.

He remembered that bastard who, after his wife died, vented all his malice on the child, leading step by step to the subsequent tragedy.

Fang Xingzhi rubbed his aching brow and sighed softly, “And after that? Are you in contact with that boy?”

“Perhaps you could reach out to him and try to be friends,” Fang Xingzhi said. “You should give yourself a chance to try and move forward.”

Shang Jichen’s gaze lowered. He shook his head slightly and looked out the window again.

The cold air hit the glass, blooming into a hazy white frost that blurred the scenery outside.

“This is fine…”

Shang Jichen put his coat back on and left the consulting room.

His footsteps receded outside the door.

Fang Xingzhi put down his teacup, his gaze inadvertently falling on the photo frame in the center of his desk.

A blonde, green-eyed woman stood in the middle, her smile like a flower. On the left, a tall, handsome man. On the right, a man looking ill-at-ease, most of his face hidden behind thick black-rimmed glasses.

In the photo, the woman’s eyes were directed at the camera. The man on the left was looking at the woman, while the man on the right cast a sidelong glance toward the left.

Fang Xingzhi looked at the photo, his eyes swirling with bitterness and longing as he lingered on those two figures for a long time.

“If I had been a little braver back then and taken you away, would we have avoided ending up like this?”

The soft murmur was swallowed by the sound of a bell.

But there are no “ifs” in this world.

He flipped the photo frame face down on the desk. Fang Xingzhi picked up his pen and wrote a new entry.

He had to live well and take care of the child of those two.

The child of the person he cherished.