The Ex's Tears Are So Hot - Chapter 26

“All right, come here. Don’t catch a cold.”

Finally, Guan Jinnian had let out the frustration he’d been holding back since the hospital and switched back into his usual gentle mode.

“You’re not scalding me this time?”

“Nope. Come here already.”

Xie Zhixin, still covering his lower half like a shy bride, shuffled over awkwardly.

Once he got closer, Guan Jinnian could see the injuries more clearly—cuts and bruises in varying severity across his waist. Purple, swollen, raw and bloodied—it was a mess, and it was painful just to look at.

It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to Guan Jinnian’s chest. A dull, crushing pain radiated through him, even making the wound on his own arm throb in sympathy.

Xie Zhixin noticed his sudden drop in mood. Glancing down at himself, he immediately understood.

“Jinnian, remember that martial arts drama I did?”

“Yeah. Your first TV series.”

Suddenly, Xie Zhixin reached over and gently brushed his fingers across a ten-centimeter-long scar on Guan Jinnian’s left forearm.

Guan Jinnian followed his gaze to the old injury from two years ago.

Back then, Xie Zhixin had just switched to acting in TV dramas. He was still a nobody and often neglected by the production crew.

One day, Guan Jinnian had gone to visit him on set. During filming, an unsecured prop above Xie Zhixin had fallen. It was Guan Jinnian who reacted quickly and rushed over to shield him.

The falling object had been a metal box with razor-sharp edges. It left a deep gash in Guan Jinnian’s arm—this very scar.

Xie Zhixin had never forgotten that moment.

“You protected me once, now I’ve protected you. We’re even now,” he said, trying to make it sound like a joke so things wouldn’t get too heavy.

“Even? You really come up with some crap logic.”

Guan Jinnian brushed his hand aside and used his own to catch water from the shower, carefully avoiding the open wounds as he gently rinsed Xie Zhixin’s skin.

Even though his touch was featherlight, he still heard Xie Zhixin quietly suck in a breath.

“Hang in there. I’ll be quick,” Guan Jinnian said. But in truth, seeing Xie Zhixin in pain like this hurt him even more than his own injuries.

“It’s fine. Just stings a little when the water hits it.”

Xie Zhixin couldn’t keep up his usual bravado anymore. This kind of raw abrasion was worse than a broken bone—searing pain that didn’t let up.

He’d originally been having impure thoughts, fantasizing all sorts of unbroadcastable scenes. Now they were completely out the window.

Guan Jinnian soaked a towel and gently wiped around the wounds, carefully cleaning the dirt the hospital hadn’t managed to clear away.

The water ran for over half an hour before they finally finished.

“All done. Dry yourself off. I need to shower now,” he said, handing Xie Zhixin a towel and ushering him out of the bathroom.

Xie Zhixin dried off, awkwardly pulled on his pants with one hand, and sat on the bed replying to some messages.

After a long while, he glanced at the time. Nearly an hour had passed, but the sound of running water hadn’t stopped.

“Jinnian?” he called out. No response.

He raised his voice and called again. Still nothing but the sound of water.

His heart skipped a beat.

He rushed to the bathroom and pushed the door open—the steam billowed out in thick clouds.

Through the mist, he saw Guan Jinnian hunched over the sink, bracing himself. His shirt was soaked, and sweat beaded along his flushed face.

Frowning, Xie Zhixin hurried over and placed the back of his hand on Guan Jinnian’s forehead—it was burning hot.

Guan Jinnian turned his head to avoid the touch. The movement made him dizzy, and he swayed dangerously.

Alarmed, Xie Zhixin grabbed a towel and wrapped it around him, trying to lead him out of the bathroom. But the patient wasn’t very cooperative, struggling hard.

At the door, the cast on Xie Zhixin’s arm got caught in the frame, nearly sending them both tumbling. Only then did Guan Jinnian settle down.

Getting him back to bed left Xie Zhixin drenched in sweat.

He rummaged through the emergency kit provided by the production team, found a thermometer, and coaxed Guan Jinnian into taking his temperature.

“Babe, come on, lift your arm a little.”

Guan Jinnian was so out of it he could barely move. Xie Zhixin had to help him raise his arm.

“Y-Your… hand…” Guan Jinnian murmured, still trying to remind him to be careful.

“I know. Stop worrying about me!”

The thermometer beeped—39.5°C. A high fever.

Xie Zhixin tore open a fever patch with his teeth, placed it on Guan Jinnian’s forehead, then hurried out to contact the crew.

Guan Jinnian was too foggy to make out the words—he only vaguely heard Xie Zhixin’s anxious voice.

“Yeah, almost 40 degrees. I don’t know when it started.”

“Please come quickly. Thank you.”

After that, everything faded. His eyelids were too heavy, and he drifted into a deep sleep.

The next morning.

Sunlight poured through the uncovered curtains, lighting up the entire room.

Guan Jinnian opened his eyes. Out of the corner of his vision, he spotted a mess on the floor—discarded fever patch wrappers and a tipped-over first-aid kit.

Xie Zhixin was sleeping at the foot of the bed, clutching a towel in his good hand. The edge of his cast brushed against Guan Jinnian’s ankle.

Guan Jinnian shifted his leg, but his body ached all over. A soft groan escaped his lips.

“Mm…”

Xie Zhixin stirred immediately, awakened by the sound.

“You’re awake?” He reached out instinctively to check Guan Jinnian’s forehead. “Seems like the fever’s gone.”

Guan Jinnian blinked, still a little slow to react, the memories of last night returning gradually.

“Let’s check your temperature again.”

Xie Zhixin grabbed the thermometer and, just like last night, tried to help him lift his arm.

“…I’ll do it myself.” Guan Jinnian was fully awake now and a bit embarrassed.

Neither of them spoke after that. A few moments passed in silence before the thermometer beeped.

“37.3. Still a slight fever,” Xie Zhixin said with a sigh, clearly concerned.

Guan Jinnian wasn’t used to being taken care of like this. He clenched and unclenched his fingers under the blanket, unsure of what to do.

Xie Zhixin let out a small laugh at his awkwardness.

“I’ll go heat up some congee.”

He said it confidently, but within minutes, a loud crash came from the kitchen—something had obviously shattered.

Guan Jinnian forced himself up and went to the doorway, holding the frame. He saw Xie Zhixin awkwardly holding a thermal container with his right arm while his left hand hovered midair, a sheepish smile on his face as he kicked aside broken ceramic pieces.

“…Let me do it,” Guan Jinnian said, already getting a headache.

“No way. You’re sick—I’m taking care of you!”

“You—”

Guan Jinnian had just started to scold him when his eyes landed on a fresh burn blister on the back of Xie Zhixin’s hand. His throat tightened, and he couldn’t say another word.

In the end, he said nothing. Just leaned quietly against the doorway and instructed him on how to finish breakfast.

During the meal, Xie Zhixin even tried to feed him. Guan Jinnian finally lost it and slapped his hand away. “Enough. Just eat your own.”

“…Okay.” Xie Zhixin looked a little disappointed.

Then, as if remembering something, he added, “The director said we should rest today too—no filming.”

Guan Jinnian paused. “I’m fine now.”

“You still need rest. Don’t risk a relapse.” Seeing the reluctant expression on Guan Jinnian’s face, Xie Zhixin sighed. “The director suggested we could stream a live broadcast instead. I haven’t agreed yet.”

“We already skipped half a day yesterday. It’s not good to keep taking time off. Besides, your fans are probably worried,” Guan Jinnian pointed out.

Realizing he was starting to budge, Xie Zhixin gave in. “Fine. But if you feel unwell at all, tell me immediately, okay?”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

“You’d better.”

Xie Zhixin playfully flicked his forehead, then walked over to turn on the camera.

It was still early—not quite streaming time. So he tidied up the room a bit.

When everything was neat, he stepped out and somehow came back with a tray of neatly sliced apples.

As the livestream began, a flood of viewers poured in. Just as fans were about to explode with worry, they saw Guan Jinnian calmly editing a vlog in bed—while Xie Zhixin…

Struggled to skewer fruit with his left hand, failing repeatedly.

When he finally succeeded, he carefully held the fork up to Guan Jinnian’s mouth. Guan Jinnian, engrossed in editing, opened his mouth and ate it absentmindedly.

One feeding, one eating—the atmosphere was tranquil and cozy.

【Wait, did we miss an entire season? Why do they look like an old married couple now?】

【Adversity brings out true love, I guess.】

【Forget true love, all I see are two cursed souls—one with a broken arm and one with a fever. Tragic.】

【Our tear prince broke his arm and still has to take care of his sick wife. I’m done judging him. He’s officially Husband of the Year. Who’s with me?】

Noticing the camera light, Guan Jinnian greeted the viewers.

“Morning, everyone. Sorry for making you worry.”

Xie Zhixin offered the last apple slice to him and wiped his hands before facing the camera. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

【You sure? You’re practically bouncing off the walls.】

【Your poor wife looks even more fragile than you—look at that pale face…】

【Rest well today, guys. You don’t need to interact, we’ll just hang out in the room with you~】

Xie Zhixin hadn’t planned on much interaction anyway. He curled up beside Guan Jinnian and dozed on and off, occasionally reminding him to take medicine.

Evening came lazily, and the crew messaged them: Would they like to join the other cast members for dinner?

Having been cooped up all day, Guan Jinnian was starting to feel stir-crazy. After repeatedly promising he felt fine, Xie Zhixin reluctantly agreed to let him go out.

Dinner was held at Lu Yue’s villa. The production team had decorated the place—it was clearly not just a meal.

Sure enough, once everyone had eaten their fill, host Wang Yue stepped out from behind the cameras holding a cue card.

“Hope you all enjoyed dinner!”

Lu Yue swirled the wine in her glass. “It was decent.”

Aside from the two “patients,” Xie Zhixin and Guan Jinnian, only Wu Yi had been restricted due to her diet. She looked sour. “What are you up to this time?”

“Haha, seeing everyone still lively puts my mind at ease!”

Then he got to the point.

“Our audience loved the quiz segment last time and begged us to do another. So tonight, we’re playing the Truth Game!”

“We’ve collected tons of questions from fans—some are easy, some… could be deal-breakers. It all depends on your luck.”

【Yesss, my favorite segment! Can we do this every week please?】

【Please let them pick mine! Please pick mine!】

【Jinnian, sweetheart, don’t hate us! We all just want to know the truth~】

A digital wheel with the cast members’ names appeared onscreen.

“Whoever it lands on answers the question—honestly, okay everyone?”

The room fell quiet. A heavy tension filled the air.

Only Xie Zhixin was still floating in his happy bubble.

Wang Yue pressed the button—the wheel spun.

First stop: Qin Jin.

“All right, Qin—your question!” Wang Yue glanced at the screen. “Ooh, interesting…”

“Have you ever regretted not cherishing your time together more?”

“Oooh~” Qi Ming couldn’t help stirring the pot.

Everyone turned to watch.

Qin Jin hesitated, glanced at Lu Yue, and finally said, “Yeah. I regret it.”

Lu Yue held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

“Very honest of you, Qin! Great start!” Wang Yue spun the wheel again.

Next up: Qi Ming.

“Qi, your turn!” Wang Yue grinned. “Easy question this time!”

“Have you ever wished your partner would give up their career for you?”

Qi Ming and Wu Yi exchanged a knowing smile. “Of course not.”

“No surprises there! Let’s keep it going!”

The wheel spun again—and landed on Guan Jinnian.

“All right, Guan—here’s your question!”

Guan Jinnian set down his spoon and straightened up.

Next to him, Xie Zhixin chuckled softly, teasing his “lucky streak.”

“…Oh, this one…” Wang Yue grimaced after reading it.

Guan Jinnian tensed up.

“When did you first think of breaking up?”

Silence.

No one made a sound. No one jeered.

Guan Jinnian froze, opened his mouth to speak… then closed it. He looked down, sinking into silence.

Xie Zhixin, watching his reaction, felt his smile stiffen—completely vanish.