Chapter 41: It's Not Poisonous—I'll Eat It to Show You

"I'm a good person, I won't harm you. Don't worry." Zhang Xiaolan gave him a kind, slightly silly smile—she was simply too happy the man in black had woken up. At last, she could ask him some questions, but whenever she was excited, she became a little foolish.

She saw the man in black lift his arm, pointing toward something. Following his gesture, Zhang Xiaolan looked in that direction.

"You're thirsty, you want some water!" It turned out he was pointing at the teapot on the table; she assumed he must be thirsty, so she hurried over to pour him some water.

After filling the cup, she set it aside, then reached out to help him sit up halfway. It took some effort—he was ill and lacked strength.

"Drink up!" Zhang Xiaolan held the cup to his lips and he immediately gulped it down.

"Don’t drink too quickly, you haven’t had a drop of water or food for days," Zhang Xiaolan cautioned, afraid that drinking too much at once might harm him.

"Thank you!" His parched throat felt much better after the water. He spoke to thank Zhang Xiaolan, though inwardly he was suspicious—why would this woman save him?

"No need to thank me! Are you hungry? I’ll have Xiaolian cook some porridge for you."

Without waiting for his reply, Zhang Xiaolan dashed out to find Xiaolian. The man in black watched her departing figure, and a sense of warmth filled him. She was, perhaps, the kindest person he’d met in a long time.

This woman had rescued his injured self, cared for him, changed his bandages, and now helped him drink water. A strange emotion stirred within—a kind of gratitude he had never felt before, so unfamiliar he could barely grasp it. Yet soon, he would experience another feeling entirely.

After some time, Zhang Xiaolan returned with a bowl of thin porridge, sprinkled with a bit of chopped greens. Xiaolian had doubted it would taste good—of course, plain porridge without salt wouldn’t be delicious. Yet for a patient, it needed to be mild but nutritious, so she’d added some vegetables.

"Eat," Zhang Xiaolan said, sitting by the bed. She held the bowl and spooned up a mouthful, blowing gently before bringing it to his lips. The man in black hesitated, glancing at the spoon, the bowl, then at Zhang Xiaolan.

"Go on—there’s no poison. I’ll eat it first, if you like."

Zhang Xiaolan assumed he feared the food might be poisoned. To reassure him, she made to taste it herself, but the man in black quickly stopped her.

"No need, I’ll do it myself." Truthfully, he wasn’t used to being treated this way. The woman’s kindness reminded him of his mother, who had once cared for him so tenderly.

He did want to feed himself, but he was simply too weak. His right shoulder blade was injured, his left hand wounded too—he had no strength.

"Why are you being so polite? You can barely lift your hand—let me help you." Without further ado, she spooned some porridge into his mouth, regardless of his reluctance. He had no choice but to eat; only by eating could he regain his strength.

"Why is your face so red? You’re not running a fever from an infected wound, are you? You don’t seem too hot…" Zhang Xiaolan noticed he was eating with awkward reserve, and his cheeks grew ever more flushed. She thought he might have an infection or fever, but the man in black turned his head, avoiding her reaching hand—he was embarrassed.

"I’m fine," he replied awkwardly. He knew perfectly well why his face was red. As long as Zhang Xiaolan didn’t treat him with such ‘intimacy,’ his blush would fade.