Bone-Attached Disaster - Chapter 21:

Chapter 21: Deliberate

Lu Jie placed the things in his hand on the table. “Your brother said you weren’t replying to messages and was worried about you, but he couldn’t leave, so he asked me to bring you some porridge from the cafeteria.”

“Thank you. What flavor porridge?”

“Just plain white porridge. What else do you expect when you’re sick?”

“Oh.”

“Still running a fever?” Lu Jie hadn’t looked at Fu Jia’an since he walked in.

“No fever, much better,” Fu Jia’an answered frankly, while facing the full-length mirror and applying the medicated patch to the side of his neck.

“That’s good. I’ll just…”

“Lu Jie,” Fu Jia’an called out. “Could you come over and help me put this one on?”

Lu Jie finally turned to look at Fu Jia’an. Fu Jia’an was facing the mirror, trying to position a patch on his back, a process that seemed quite difficult. As he moved, his shoulders and upper arms were strained, revealing the outline of his prominent shoulder blades and the beautiful alignment of his back muscles.

Lu Jie didn’t respond but did walk over. He grabbed Fu Jia’an’s shoulder, turned him around to face the mirror, and took the patch from his hand. The pungent, spicy scent of the plaster instantly intensified, assaulting Lu Jie’s sense of smell.

The figure in front of him was pristine white, emitting a creamy glow. It reminded Lu Jie of the plaster casts in art museums, every muscle line flawless. Besides a few moles, Fu Jia’an also had a small mole on his side waist.

“Is it here?”

Lu Jie touched a spot on Fu Jia’an’s back with his fingertip.

“A little lower.”

“Okay,” Lu Jie kept his face straight, his voice icy.

His nail scraped over the taut back muscles, like a drop of water skimming across the surface. Lu Jie’s movements were slow and deliberate, seemingly patiently following Fu Jia’an’s instructions to find the right spot, yet also like he was intentionally tormenting him with this subtle, teasing contact.

“…It’s right here.” Fu Jia’an stared calmly at his own reflection in the mirror. He felt that he was about to be exposed; his face was flushed, from his ears to the back of his neck, even his shoulders were pink.

But as long as he could revel in this second a little longer, losing the whole game didn’t matter.

“And you said the fever was gone? You’re practically a braised fish now.” Lu Jie’s voice was slow and deep, yet filled with a kind of forcefulness and aggression, as if he were angry.

He placed the patch down on the spot and rubbed it repeatedly, as if meticulously smoothing down the four corners of the plaster. But the pressure gradually increased, like a release or a punishment.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” Lu Jie swallowed, making a judgment.

Fu Jia’an shook his head with a bitter smile. “Not this time, I truly am not.”

Lu Jie asked, “Where else needs a patch?”

Fu Jia’an raised his arm. “My right arm needs one too, but I can do that myself.”

Before he finished speaking, Lu Jie himself went over, peeled the scattered, pre-cut pieces of plaster from the table, silently lifted Fu Jia’an’s right hand, and applied the patch along the muscle line. He was very meticulous. This time his movements were much more precise, hitting every sore spot. After finishing, he asked him, “Does that feel better?”

Fu Jia’an replied, “Yes, much more comfortable.” He rotated his right elbow, casually reached for his T-shirt to pull it over his head. Halfway through the motion of putting on his shirt, he heard the sound of the door closing.

Lu Jie was gone.

It was like waking up from a dream.

Fu Jia’an simply raised his hand and completely pulled off the T-shirt that was still stuck at his abs, tossing it aside.

He sat on the narrow, old dorm bed, legs spread, hands braced on the bed frame behind him, looking up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, but the flushed area was still hard to calm down.

He would have to take another shower later.

The more Lu Jie thought about it, the more he regretted it. He felt he had made a mistake.

—You’re doing this on purpose.

There should be a basis for judging someone as intentionally provoking him. The other person must have done something “bad” to be considered “deliberate,” but Fu Jia’an hadn’t actually done anything. Was a man airing his upper body considered a scheme?

What was he thinking when he saw Fu Jia’an? He must be crazy.

Lu Jie was not so naive as to miss that one’s speculation about others often reflects their own internal thoughts. In that moment, he determined that Fu Jia’an was deliberate, deliberately luring him.

How could a normal person have such a thought? It was utterly baffling.

And those instinctive reactions, when considered calmly, made no sense either.

Lu Jie thought about his age—thirty. The last time he was in this state of not understanding his own mind was when he was eighteen. Did Fu Jia’an suck away the intelligence of those around him?

So annoying, so annoying, so annoying.

“What are you writing here? ‘Algorithm library reply ha too hungry awkward %*…’?”

Jiang Yan appeared behind him at some point. Lu Jie snapped out of it and looked at him. “When did you come in? You didn’t even knock.”

“One of the researchers is celebrating a birthday today. The company bought a cake. I brought a slice up for you,” Jiang Yan placed the small plate holding a chocolate cake on Lu Jie’s desk, which was piled high with lab reports and papers. “I did knock, but you didn’t answer for ages, so as your boss, I swiped my card and came in.”

Lu Jie’s expression remained unchanged as he deleted the random characters he had just typed on the computer.

“Is there something else?” Lu Jie sensed that Jiang Yan had something to say.

“Hey, did anything new happen during your trip to the hospital that you want to share with me?”

Lu Jie thought that Jiang Yan’s gossipy face was practically a replica of Du Zhenzhen’s. If those two ever got together, they would surely hit it off. However, Jiang Yan was different from Du Zhenzhen; Du Zhenzhen genuinely enjoyed idle chatter, while Jiang Yan clearly had an agenda.

After so many years of friendship, Lu Jie knew what he was up to with a single glance. He wanted to find out if he had run into Fu Jia’an at the hospital. While there was nothing to hide, Jiang Yan couldn’t keep a secret and loved to exaggerate. If he told him, all sorts of wild rumors would be circulating by tomorrow.

“Want some gossip? Sure,” Lu Jie said mysteriously. “Do you remember my attending physician, Dr. Shen?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Just after starting, Lu Jie felt a little bored. He was clearly not suited for telling gossip. He couldn’t build up the plot and create suspense like Du Zhenzhen.

So, he opened his mobile search engine, typed a few words, and photos and information about “He Shiye” popped up on the screen.

He succinctly relayed the gossip: “This person is pursuing him intensely.”

That night before bed, Lu Jie couldn’t help but recall the string of gibberish he had typed in his office. He did some self-reflection, feeling that his mind hadn’t been calm lately. He decided to start drawing every night again, just to pass the time.

He wasn’t very sleepy, so Lu Jie didn’t procrastinate. He immediately got up and took out a stack of sketchbooks from the drawer next to his desk. The sketchbooks were all small in size. Lu Jie liked this paper size, roughly the size that could be framed with his thumb and forefinger.

These books were practically his diaries. During Lu Jie’s anxious and restless days, they contained thousands of uniform, non-aesthetic sketches. Lu Jie didn’t treat them as artworks, only as traces.

One book was dedicated to drawing Tang Su Yu, with every page showing the appearance of his dog from memory. That book was the most filled, with only a few pages left. Another was for drawing bacteria and cells under a microscope—especially tedious, drawing the nucleus, cell wall, and internal cell structures.

There was also one for drawing landscapes. The paper, having absorbed watercolor paints, became uneven, like colorful, continuous hills. This book had the fewest drawings because Lu Jie rarely had the leisure to enjoy the scenery.

The most recent drawing was of the pear tree two months ago. The small white pear petals almost completely covered the green leaves, and the petals covered the ground, looking like snow falling when the wind blew.

What should he draw next? Lu Jie stared blankly at the blank page, then picked up his pencil and made the first mark.

“I went to check on patient Lin Qi in room 2501 this morning,” Jin Shaoqian, the Director of Neurosurgery, called Fu Jia’an for a private talk for the fourth time this month. He looked very amiable with a smile. “It’s been two months. Although his life was saved, he still hasn’t woken up. You need to keep a close eye on his condition.”

Jin Shaoqian was immaculately dressed and in his forties. He was the most senior neurosurgeon at Municipal Second Hospital. Twelve years ago, when Fu Jia’an’s mother, Fu Zihua, was still working at the hospital, her reputation was on par with Jin Shaoqian’s.

Now that Fu Zihua had been gone for so many years, Jin Shaoqian had rightfully become the highest-ranking doctor in neurosurgery.

The day after Lin Qi was rescued two months ago, Lin Qi’s uncle—a famous reporter—showed up in the ward. Jin Shaoqian immediately took Fu Jia’an and the head nurse to room 2501 to visit the patient, emphasizing repeatedly that as the Director of Neurosurgery, he would continue to monitor Lin Qi’s condition.

It was as if he wasn’t the one who had called the previous day, desperately trying to stop Fu Jia’an from accepting the high-risk patient during the race against time.

This time, a thick patient file was placed in front of Fu Jia’an.

“Jia’an, study this case file.”

Fu Jia’an only flipped one page. “Isn’t this patient beyond my level to handle?”

“How can you say that?” Jin Shaoqian patted Fu Jia’an’s back warmly. “You have talent and ability. The Dean always tells me to give young people more opportunities to try. I underestimated you last time. I saw your potential after the Lin Qi case. The younger generation is formidable.”

Zhan Qionglou, 24 years old, currently serving a sentence in Beiyue Prison.

Grade III Glioblastoma in the occipital lobe, already exhibiting symptoms like vision loss, seizures, and occasional coma. There were two previous resuscitation records at Municipal Third Hospital.

“Will you consider it?” Jin Shaoqian asked gently. “It’s also an opportunity to make a name for yourself, isn’t it?”