Chu Moqi looked at Cui Wan, who lay draped over his legs, dead to the world, and felt his temples throb. He drew a deep breath, bent down in resignation, and slipped his arms behind her back and beneath her knees, trying to lift her.
For Chu Moqi as he was now, this was no easy task. Unable to exert any strength through his waist or abdomen, he had to rely entirely on his arms while keeping his upper body steady so he would not topple out of his wheelchair. Gritting his teeth, the muscles in his arms bulging, he scooped Cui Wan off the floor with some difficulty and gathered her into his arms.
As her warm, soft body, fragrant with wine, settled against him, Chu Moqi's heartbeat quickened again. But then a deeper wave of self-loathing surged up-if even lifting the slender Cui Wan took so much effort, this body of his truly was utterly useless.
The woman in his arms slept soundly, her head resting unconsciously against his shoulder, her breathing even. Holding her left Chu Moqi with no hands free to turn his wheelchair. He pressed his lips together, raised his voice, and called toward the door, "Yan Qin!"
His voice rang especially clearly through the quiet night.
Soon, the door opened, and Yan Qin walked in. He had assumed his young master had some instructions, but the moment he saw the sleeping Cui Wan in his young master's arms, even someone as composed as Yan Qin widened his eyes, a flicker of astonishment crossing his face.
Yan Huai, who followed close behind, let out an even more exaggerated "Whoa!" His mouth opened wide enough to fit an egg. Then his eyes immediately lit up with undisguised, gleefully mischievous curiosity, and his grin nearly reached his ears.
"Y-young master... this..." Yan Huai waggled his eyebrows, wanting to say something, but one icy glance from Chu Moqi made him swallow the rest. Still, he could not hide the smile on his face.
Chu Moqi's face was as black as the bottom of a pot. His gaze stabbed toward Yan Huai like a blade, his voice extremely low but charged with the fury of an approaching storm. "Who gave her wine?"
Yan Huai flinched at the sudden accusation. His smile instantly froze, and he shrank back, stammering an explanation. "It... it was this subordinate... b-but it was only the plum wine brewed here at the estate! It's sweet, not strong at all! Madam... Madam only had one cup. Who... who could have known Madam's tolerance... was so poor..."
Chu Moqi lowered his head to look at Cui Wan's flushed cheeks, her breath still carrying the sweet fragrance of wine. Remembering her shocking declaration about consummating their marriage and that "Uncle Moqi," he gave a cold snort and added:
"Not only can she not hold her liquor, she's an even worse drunk."
Then, no longer looking at Yan Huai's cowardly expression, he ordered stiffly, his face taut, "Push me to the main room."
Yan Qin hurriedly acknowledged the order and stepped forward to push the wheelchair carefully. Yan Huai no longer dared to grin, either. He rubbed his nose and followed behind.
Back in the main room, Yan Qin pushed Chu Moqi's wheelchair beside the bed and exchanged a look with Yan Huai. Both men tactfully withdrew without a sound, gently closing the door behind them.
Only Chu Moqi and the soundly sleeping Cui Wan remained in the room.
Chu Moqi looked at the bed within arm's reach, then down at the woman in his arms. Resigned, he exerted himself again, lifted her from the wheelchair, and carefully laid her on the bed. Cui Wan unconsciously nuzzled the pillow, gave a little murmur, and sank into an even deeper sleep.
Bending over, Chu Moqi somewhat clumsily removed her embroidered shoes, revealing two small feet clad in white silk socks. He wanted to take off her wine-scented outer garment, but the moment his fingers touched the knotted buttons at her collar, he recoiled as though scalded.
That would be improper.
Pressing his lips tightly together, he pulled over the brocade quilt beside her and carefully tucked it around her, leaving only her flushed little face exposed.
When he had finished, he sat in his wheelchair, looking at Cui Wan sleeping peacefully on the bed, and was suddenly struck by a sense of absurdity.
What was he doing? Why was he treating her so well? Since when had he, Chu Moqi, become like this?
He must have gone mad.
Somewhat irritated, he turned his gaze away and silently searched for an excuse: last time he had gotten drunk and fallen, hadn't this little crybaby stayed by him all night? She had even put a compress on his forehead... He would just consider this... returning the favor. Yes, that was it. He did not want to owe her.
Seen that way, it seemed much more reasonable. He turned his wheelchair, preparing to leave the room that unsettled him so.
Yet just as Chu Moqi reached for the wheel, Cui Wan suddenly rolled over on the bed. Mumbling something indistinctly, she flung out a hand and seized a piece of his sleeve with unerring precision, gripping it tightly!
"A-Qi..." she called drowsily, her voice soft and sweet, laden with sleepiness and dependence.
Chu Moqi stiffened and tried to pull his sleeve out of her hand. But Cui Wan held it so tightly that he dared not use force, afraid of waking her and even more afraid of accidentally hurting her wrist.
Two tugs failed to free it. Instead, her little hand seemed to tighten its grip.
Chu Moqi: "..."
He sat silently in his wheelchair, looking at his firmly captured sleeve, then at Cui Wan, who slept utterly unguarded, even sporting a suspicious trace of drool at the corner of her mouth. Finally, as though admitting complete defeat, he sagged backward, his entire back sinking against the wheelchair's backrest.
Forget it.
Wearily, he closed his eyes, hiding all the complicated emotions within them.
Let it be.
Nothing more was said that night. Chu Moqi leaned against his wheelchair while Cui Wan clutched his sleeve, and they spent the rest of the night in a position that was exceedingly awkward yet inexplicably harmonious.
The next morning, Cui Wan awoke with a hangover headache.
She opened her eyes groggily, feeling as though countless little hammers were pounding inside her head, leaving her dizzy and heavy-headed. She discovered that she had actually slept fully dressed, with a quilt covering her. Her outer garment was wrinkled and carried a faint, cloyingly sweet scent of wine.
Last night... had she drunk too much?
Her memories were muddled. She only remembered that, toward the end, she seemed to have... gone looking for A-Qi?
Frowning, she tried hard to recall, but only hazy fragments and scattered words came back. No matter how she tried, she could not remember exactly what she had said or done.
Feeling annoyed with herself, she was just about to call Qiaoju when she turned her head-and her gaze abruptly froze!
Her hand... was actually clutching a piece of dark fabric in a death grip! And its owner was none other than Chu Moqi, seated in his wheelchair, leaning against its backrest. He seemed to have just woken too, but his expression was extraordinarily grim!
Why was he here?! Why was she clutching his sleeve?!
Startled, Cui Wan instantly released him and sprang upright, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.
"A-A-Qi..." Her voice was a little hoarse from fright and her hangover as she stammered, "I... I... what did I... do last night..."
She was so nervous that her words tangled, her little face turning red and then white. She hadn't meant to! She really couldn't remember anything! Why was he here? Had he stayed here with her all night?
Startled awake by her, Chu Moqi felt even more discomfort in his already stiff, aching body. Looking at Cui Wan, so flustered she seemed to wish she could crawl into a crack in the ground, he recalled her shocking "Uncle Moqi" and "consummating our marriage" from last night. The stifled frustration and embarrassment in his chest mingled with his extreme physical discomfort, darkening his expression further.
He had meant to give her a thorough scolding, but seeing her on the verge of tears, he swallowed the words on his tongue. Instead, he gave a heavy snort, his tone cold and hard. "Better that you don't know."
With that, he tried to straighten up and turn his wheelchair to leave. But the moment he exerted himself, a sharp ache and weakness shot through his waist. He gave a muffled groan, unable to straighten at all, and could only collapse heavily against the backrest again. A fine sheen of cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead.
His body simply could not endure sitting in a wheelchair for long, especially an entire night in a forced position he could not adjust. Now his whole back, waist, and buttocks felt as though countless needles were stabbing them, as though something heavy had crushed them, so stiff and sore they scarcely felt like his own. Although he had no sensation in his legs, the prolonged pressure and poor circulation also brought waves of numb, dull pain.
He took a deep breath, desperately suppressing the pained groans and gasps threatening to escape his throat, unwilling to let Cui Wan notice anything more amiss. Gritting his teeth and using every last scrap of strength, he turned the wheelchair's wheels little by little, exceedingly slowly, inching toward the door.
Every tiny movement pulled at the agonizing pain in his back and waist. His face was as pale as paper, his lips pressed into a tight line, the veins at his temples faintly throbbing.
Seeing his clearly abnormal complexion and painfully difficult movements, Cui Wan felt panicked and afraid. She wanted to help, but the icy, forbidding air surrounding him froze her in place. She could only sit helplessly on the bed and watch him inch out of the main room as though bearing a thousand-pound burden.
Only when the door closed before her, cutting off the sight of his struggling retreat, did Cui Wan slump back onto the bed as though drained of strength, her thoughts a tangled skein.
The instant he was out of Cui Wan's sight, Chu Moqi's rigid back collapsed. As though all his strength had been sucked away, he slumped limply in his wheelchair, even the fingers turning the wheels trembling slightly.
He tried to adjust his position to ease the unbearable pain and stiffness, but his arms were sore and weak from holding Cui Wan the night before. Failing to control his strength, he sent the wheelchair lurching sideways. His body tilted with it, and he nearly fell out!
The fleece blanket over his legs slipped most of the way off with the violent movement, revealing two limp, powerless legs bent at unnatural angles. From prolonged sitting and improper positioning, his diaper looked somewhat swollen, creating an awkward bulge below. His whole slumped posture in the wheelchair looked strange and wretched.
He tried to turn the wheelchair again, but the sharp stabbing pain in his waist and buttocks kept him from exerting any strength. The wheelchair merely rocked in place, not moving an inch.
Just as the boundless pain and helplessness threatened to drown him, a familiar voice, thoroughly deserving of a beating, sounded nearby:
"Whoa! Young master!"
Yan Huai wandered over from somewhere and spotted Chu Moqi slumped in his wheelchair. First, his eyes widened in surprise. Then a sly, knowing grin immediately spread across his face. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice, making no effort to hide his teasing mischief:
"Last night... wore you out this badly?"
That tone, that look-he was unmistakably implying something!
Already distressed by the pain, Chu Moqi was so infuriated by the teasing that his vision darkened and blood surged in his chest. He snapped his head up, glaring daggers at Yan Huai with eyes like poisoned blades of ice, and forced two words through his teeth:
"Shut. Up!"
His voice was hoarse, but carried a terrifying viciousness.
Yan Huai shuddered at his gaze and tone, his smile instantly freezing. Only then did he belatedly realize that his young master did not seem tired, but rather... terribly unwell!
His face was far too pale, his forehead covered in far too much cold sweat. His entire condition spoke of exhaustion and suffering.
Yan Huai's heart sank. Instantly abandoning all humor, he stepped forward and asked anxiously, "Young master, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"
"Push me... back!" Chu Moqi ordered through clenched teeth, almost word by word, his voice breaking and trembling from the severe pain.
Not daring to ask more, Yan Huai hurriedly answered and reached to push the wheelchair.
Just then, Yan Qin, who had heard the commotion, also hurried over. He took in Chu Moqi's condition at a glance, and his expression changed sharply. Stepping forward ahead of Yan Huai, he said gravely, "I'll do it!"
He carefully took a steady hold of the wheelchair's handles, quickly checked Chu Moqi's posture, and said quietly to Yan Huai, "Go prepare hot water, medicated oil, and clean clothes. The young master has likely been sitting too long for his body to bear."
Only then did Yan Huai fully grasp the seriousness of the situation. Not daring to delay in the slightest, he answered and turned to sprint away.
Yan Qin carefully pushed the wheelchair as smoothly as possible, slowly taking Chu Moqi, who lay almost completely limp in it, back to the room where he could temporarily shed every pretense and lick his wounds and humiliation alone.
The moment they entered the side room, the last shred of strength sustaining Chu Moqi was utterly exhausted. Unable to control his body any longer, he slid limply downward, on the verge of falling from his wheelchair.
"Careful, young master!" Quick of eye and hand, Yan Qin darted forward and securely caught his sliding body.
Yan Huai immediately rushed over as well. Working together, they carefully lifted the almost limp Chu Moqi from the wheelchair, supported him step by step to the bed, spread clean gauze over it, and then lowered him onto it exceedingly slowly.
Chu Moqi lay on his back, his face so pale it was almost translucent, cold sweat streaming over his forehead. His tightly pressed lips were bloodless; only his violently heaving chest betrayed the enormous pain he endured.
Experienced in such matters, Yan Qin quickly checked his condition. Reaching out, he gently pressed Chu Moqi's lower abdomen through his sleeping clothes. As expected, it felt taut and hard. Long-term paralysis and prolonged sitting already made his bowel movements sluggish. Coupled with his improper posture the previous night, mental tension, and an entire night without relieving himself, the buildup had now become unbearable.
"Young master, relax a little. Let this subordinate help you," Yan Qin said softly. Placing his palm over Chu Moqi's lower abdomen, he began massaging it with a specific technique at an unhurried pace. His pressure was moderate, enough to ease the spasms while stimulating the bowels.
Chu Moqi kept his eyes closed, his brows tightly knit and his clenched teeth audibly grinding. Every moment like this, when he lost all independence and needed someone else to help meet his most private bodily needs, felt like death by a thousand cuts to his dignity. His body was rigid, almost incapable of relaxing.
Yan Qin patiently soothed and guided him again and again. Only after a long while did Chu Moqi's tense abdomen finally relax. Under Yan Qin's continued massage, he emptied his bowels.
Throughout the process, Chu Moqi kept his eyes tightly shut, as though doing so could shut out this humiliation. Only when Yan Qin indicated that it was over did he release a long, barely perceptible breath. Yet his taut body never truly relaxed.
Yan Huai had already prepared warm water and a clean diaper. Working in practiced coordination, the two men gently and swiftly cleaned the loose stool clinging to his lower body and removed his soiled diaper.
As Yan Huai prepared to place the clean diaper beneath Chu Moqi, his gaze inadvertently passed over the skin below his waist and buttocks, and he sucked in a sharp breath!
Around Chu Moqi's tailbone and over the sitting bones on both sides, broad patches of skin had turned an abnormal dark red. Some areas had even begun to harden, their edges tinged bluish-purple. In the worst places, the skin looked slightly shiny, showing faint signs that it might break!
This was caused by prolonged pressure from sitting and severely impaired circulation. It was... the precursor to pressure sores!
"Young master!" Yan Huai's voice changed pitch. "Your waist and buttocks... they're all red! I'm afraid you're developing pressure sores!"
Hearing this, Yan Qin's expression grew grave as well. Once pressure sores formed, they were extremely difficult to heal. For someone unable to move independently like Chu Moqi, they would only add frost to snow.
"We must treat this immediately. We can't keep the area covered." Yan Qin made a prompt decision. "Turn him over first, apply medicine, and keep it dry and ventilated."
Not daring to delay, the two carefully turned Chu Moqi onto his side, then onto his stomach on the bed. This position would keep the affected areas from contacting the bedding as much as possible.
Yan Huai quickly fetched the special ointment while Yan Qin helped hold Chu Moqi's body steady.
The ointment carried a cooling sensation, bringing a trace of relief as it spread over his burning skin. Chu Moqi's body trembled involuntarily, his fingers clutching the bedsheet beneath him.
As Yan Huai carefully applied the ointment, his heart ached, but he could not help grumbling on. "Young master, this body of yours... it's not as though you don't know you can't sit for long! Even lying down, you should turn over regularly! How... how could you spend an entire night in your wheelchair? You must be suffering so much..."
Though Yan Qin said nothing, his brows were tightly furrowed too, his eyes full of worry.
The medicine had been applied, but the red, swollen skin could not be covered for the time being. It needed to remain exposed to the air and dry. That meant... Chu Moqi had to stay in this extremely inconvenient, humiliating position on his stomach, and he could not wear a diaper for now.
For someone with paralyzed legs, this was almost... a devastating blow and humiliation.
After a moment's silence, Yan Qin still spoke softly, his tone carrying a hint of reluctance alongside the firmness of necessity. "Young master, in your current condition... I'm afraid we shouldn't cover you with a diaper anymore. You'll have to stay like this for now while we observe things, until the redness and swelling subside somewhat. This subordinate will clean you regularly."
Chu Moqi lay there, his face buried in the soft pillow, his expression hidden. Only his trembling fingers clenched around the bedsheet and his suddenly heavy, rapid breathing betrayed the pain, humiliation, and self-loathing churning like storm-tossed seas within him.
He was like an object that needed constant tending, incapable of preserving even the most basic dignity.
Amid the suffocating silence and embarrassment, a soft knock suddenly came from outside the side room.
Then Cui Wan's tentative voice, thickly nasal and almost tearful, drifted faintly through the crack in the door:
"A-Qi... are... are you feeling unwell? I... I didn't mean to... I really didn't know..."
Her voice was full of guilt, worry, and helplessness.
At that voice, Chu Moqi's body abruptly stiffened, his fingers instantly tightening around the sheet until his knuckles turned white. He jerked his head up, pulling at the injured areas around his waist and buttocks. The pain drew a muffled groan from him, and his face paled further.
He couldn't let her in! Absolutely not!
The way he looked now... sprawled on his stomach, his clothes disheveled, his waist and buttocks a mess, unable to care for himself, wretched beyond measure! He would rather die than let her see him like this!
Summoning all his strength, he addressed Yan Qin beside the bed, his voice hoarse and weak yet carrying an unquestionable command:
"Tell her... I... I'm in... a very bad temper right now..."
He paused, gasping with difficulty, before continuing. Each word seemed squeezed through his teeth, carrying a cold dismissal and warning:
"Scold her... send her away... no matter what... don't let her in!"
Seeing the mixture of pain, shame, anger, and determination on Chu Moqi's pale face, Yan Qin sighed inwardly. He knew that the person his young master least wanted to see at this moment was Madam. He could only nod, answer "Yes," and turn toward the door.
Outside, Cui Wan waited anxiously. The more she thought about it, the more wrong things seemed. Chu Moqi had looked so frightening when he left that morning, his face so pale, his movements so difficult... She must have drunkenly pestered him last night without knowing when to stop, making him suffer.
The door opened a crack, and Yan Qin's tall figure blocked the doorway. His face held little expression, his voice steady but slightly distant:
"Madam, the young master said... he is in an extremely poor mood and does not wish to see anyone. Please... go back."
Cui Wan froze, her eyes immediately reddening again. She could tell that Yan Qin had already made the message polite and tactful. Chu Moqi's actual words were probably... much harsher.
"I... I'm only worried about him..." Cui Wan explained quietly, tears welling in her eyes. "Is he... is he suffering badly? It's all my fault..."
"Madam," Yan Qin interrupted, his tone growing firmer, clearly dismissing her. "The young master has given his orders. Please leave. Your presence here will only make him more... displeased."
The words could hardly have been plainer. Cui Wan's tears finally spilled over. Biting her lip, she looked at the tightly closed door shutting her out, her heart aching bitterly as though something had gripped it tight.
She cast one last look at the door and choked out, "I'm sorry..." Then she turned, covered her face, and stumbled away. Her stifled sobs faded intermittently at the end of the corridor.
Only when the sobbing could no longer be heard did Chu Moqi, lying on his stomach inside the side room, let out an exceedingly slow, long breath, as though a thousand-pound burden had been lifted from him. His whole body went limp, as though even the last trace of strength sustaining him had been drained away.
He lay quietly like that, his face buried in the pillow once more, utterly motionless.
All that remained in the room was his heavy, suppressed breathing, along with self-mockery and despair so thick they could not be dissolved, almost swallowing him whole.
Chu Moqi, oh, Chu Moqi. Look at the state of you.
A cripple who couldn't even sit for long, who needed others to clean away his filth...
How could he have the face to see her?
What meaning was there in living anymore?
Cold despair seeped in like the biting winter wind outside the window, soaking into every inch of his flesh and bones.