Ji Yanzhi's breath suddenly caught. He glanced at the orange in his hand, then frowned at Ji Ting. "You stood outside in this freezing weather for so long just because of something I said?"
"It wasn't that long. Fruit that's too cold isn't good for your stomach, either."
"Are you..."
Ji Yanzhi wanted to call him an idiot, but when the words reached his lips, his throat felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton.
An aching sourness tugged at his chest, something he couldn't put into words, yet it weighed heavily on his heart.
It wasn't as though no one had ever looked after him when he was sick. The servants at home and Uncle Yang had brought meals and water to his bedside, tending to him with every care.
But Ji Yanzhi had never felt this before-the feeling of being noticed, cared for, as though someone truly held him in their heart.
The feeling was too unfamiliar, so unfamiliar that Ji Yanzhi instinctively recoiled from it.
He lowered his dark eyes, unwilling to meet Ji Ting's gaze. "Don't do this again."
Ji Yanzhi seems unhappy again.
But this time, Ji Ting didn't know what he had done wrong, so he asked, "Why?"
"This orange is bitter and astringent, from its peel to its flesh. It's no good." At that, Ji Yanzhi suddenly fell silent for two seconds before adding quietly, "And he deserves this kind of treatment even less."
Ji Ting's brows shifted slightly, and he suddenly took a segment of orange from the plate.
He bit into it and found that the flesh was not only sweet and refreshing but also full of juice, nothing like the bitterness and astringency Ji Yanzhi had described.
After swallowing, Ji Ting said, "Your cold is affecting your sense of