Fu Zhiyan shut the door tight.
The safety officer who wanted to come in and check on them was shut out as well.
Fu Zhiyan raised his hand and switched off the camera and microphone overhead.
The shelter had no windows, only a few faint threads of light slipping through the gaps between the planks, so even in daylight, the room was pitch-black, with the small portable lamp Fu Zhiyan had switched on as its only light source.
Wen Yanyu was barely conscious as Fu Zhiyan half-carried him onto the bed, his whole body like a marionette, letting the other man move him however he pleased.
He was fed four pills, then covered with a thick quilt.
The bedding over him had absorbed the forest's dampness. Though it provided some warmth, the moisture it brought with it was unbearably uncomfortable.
Still, having it was better than having nothing.
Wen Yanyu's lashes fluttered, and his whole body trembled without stopping.
It was cold.
A cold he could feel all over.
It was cold.
A bone-deep cold.
Fu Zhiyan sat beside the bed and tentatively reached out to touch Wen Yanyu's forehead.
The instant they touched.
Startled by the icy temperature, Wen Yanyu shuddered.
Fu Zhiyan froze, his fingertips trembling slightly.
He immediately moved to pull his hand away.
Just then, another hand loosely caught his wrist.
Without much strength to lift his eyes, Wen Yanyu panted softly and carefully held Fu Zhiyan's wrist, pressing that cold palm against his own face.
It was so cold.
Without a trace of a living person's warmth.
Countless memories surged up.
The medicine began to take effect after he swallowed it, separating those intense emotions from him with a layer of gauze. But it only separated them; towering waves kept crashing against the thin gauze