Sickly Bigshot CH 13 Buying You Back
Translated by The BL Muse (ko-fi)
Qin Yancheng’s grip loosened instantly, freeing Shi Zhou, who clutched his throat, coughing violently, his heart pounding and vision darkening as the ceiling above seemed to spin.
Too terrifying.
The suffocating near-death sensation surged again, as if he were back in that icy river, ensnared by the terror of death.
It took a long time for Shi Zhou to steady himself enough to sit up shakily and nudge the motionless Qin Yancheng with his foot.
Qin Yancheng’s eyes were tightly shut, his face as pale as paper. Even unconscious, his brows remained furrowed, his forehead damp with cold sweat.
Summoning his courage, Shi Zhou leaned closer to check on him. Thankfully, it seemed to be just a temporary faint. With great effort, he rolled Qin Yancheng onto his back and pressed a hand to his upper abdomen—the area was already bruising from the kick, the skin cold and taut, spasming visibly.
How much must it hurt to be kicked like that during a cramp? No wonder Qin Yancheng had nearly been knocked out.
Shi Zhou sighed, baffled by Qin Yancheng’s sudden madness. But in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to leave him like this. He fetched antispasmodic medication and forced it down Qin Yancheng’s throat.
A moment later, Qin Yancheng let out a low groan, instinctively curling onto his side, his arms wrapped around his stomach, teeth clenched in silence. Shi Zhou watched as his hazy, confused gaze flickered—still far from sober despite the ordeal.
Just as Shi Zhou turned to leave, Qin Yancheng suddenly bolted upright, ignoring the pain, his face a mask of panic. He staggered to his feet, only to collapse the moment they touched the floor. Before Shi Zhou could help, Qin Yancheng curled into a ball, clutching his head and shouting hoarsely:
"I’m not sick! I’m really not sick!"
He trembled violently, his eyes red, breathing ragged—whether from fear, rage, or agony, it was impossible to tell. Drenched in sweat, his shirt clung to him, leaving him utterly disheveled.
"Qin Yancheng?"
"Qin Yancheng, what’s wrong? Snap out of it!"
No ordinary drunk would act like this. Shi Zhou was genuinely stunned, calling out repeatedly before it dawned on him—Qin Yancheng might have actual psychological issues.
Qin Yancheng wasn’t listening, muttering to himself, "Fuck off... I’m not sick... Let me go..."
Horrifyingly, as he spoke, he began slamming the back of his head against the floor. Shi Zhou lunged forward, cradling his skull to stop him—no need to add brain damage to the mess.
An eternity later, Qin Yancheng finally stilled, his eyes closed.
Shi Zhou tried hauling him back to bed, but the dead weight was far heavier than expected. The struggle was comical—proof that one could lift a 50-pound hyperactive husky but not a 50-pound sack of rice.
After finally wrestling him onto the mattress and peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt, Shi Zhou collapsed in relief.
Qin Yancheng’s lashes fluttered weakly. His eyes opened, and in a hoarse whisper, he murmured, "Shi Zhou?"
Shi Zhou hummed in acknowledgment.
Qin Yancheng’s bloodless lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but he slipped back into unconsciousness.
The next morning, Shi Zhou was lured awake by the aroma of food. Glancing at the clock—past nine. His sleep had been fitful, plagued by nightmares of drowning, jolting awake repeatedly. But sheer hours in bed left him oddly refreshed.
Qin Yancheng sat at the table, phone in hand, "No need. I’ll go personally this afternoon."
Noticing Shi Zhou’s arrival, he hung up, his tone as detached and polite as ever. "Shi Zhou, breakfast."
—As if nothing had happened. Yet his pallor and faint weariness betrayed him.
Shi Zhou’s eyes widened, studying him discreetly. Good. He doesn’t remember last night. Better that way.
Shi Zhou easily empathized with others’ embarrassment. No one would want their breakdown witnessed, least of all someone like Qin Yancheng—proud and prominent.
As for the choking? Provoking a blackout-drunk lunatic and forcibly stripping him to grope his abs wasn’t exactly saintly behavior. Besides, Qin Yancheng hadn’t been in control and that kick evened the score.
"Morning, Qin Yancheng. Why aren’t you at the office?"
"Don’t feel like going today," Qin Yancheng replied tersely.
"Huh? That’s not like you. Mr. Workaholic, always busy."
Qin Yancheng sipped his tea calmly. "Your bias. I’ve never been a workaholic."
In truth, he’d woken past midnight to escalating stomach pain, the memories of his drunken antics flooding back with sobriety. The embarrassment was real—as was his guilt toward Shi Zhou.
Between the hangover and sleeplessness, his heart now ached dully. He refused to risk collapsing at the office again in front of subordinates.
Shi Zhou scoffed. If this isn’t workaholic, what is? He’d seen Qin Yancheng merge three meals into one, review proposals past midnight—a true extremist.
Qin Yancheng’s gaze drifted to Shi Zhou’s neck—pale skin now marred by vivid purple fingerprints.
But Shi Zhou seemed uncaring of it, only slurping his noodles. "Heard your call earlier. Going out again tonight? Will you be back for dinner at home?"
He couldn’t face more instant noodles. But with his career stalled and funds dwindling, even three packs seemed a luxury.
"Going to Qixing to buy you today. You’re coming."
The car ride was spent in a good mood. Shi Zhou swayed to his headphones, ponytail bobbing.
His resilience and inability to hold a grudge baffled Qin Yancheng—like a piece of candy dipped in bitter water, the sweetness beneath untouched by the surface bitterness.
Turning to speak, Shi Zhou suddenly met Qin Yancheng’s unreadable stare and faltered. Recovering, he asked brightly, "Hey, Qin Yancheng, what do you see in me?"
Rumors said this was Qin Yancheng’s first time as a sugar daddy. No one acts without motive. What’s his angle?
Qin Yancheng’s lips pressed together, his cold features flickering with something indefinable. After a pause, he actually smiled faintly. "Don’t know."
Shi Zhou was baffled. That smile, however slight, felt... ominous. A line from Zweig surfaced: "All fate’s gifts come with a hidden price."
A windfall this huge—Qin Yancheng had looks, wealth, power, each at their peak—was too good to be true.
Qin Yancheng offered nothing further, leaving Shi Zhou to stew. The more he thought, the more uneasy he grew.
"Hey, just tell me straight—"
Mid-sentence, Shi Zhou felt a weight on his shoulder—Qin Yancheng, exhausted, had dozed off against him.
The scent of Qin Yancheng’s cologne—Kingston Eau de Parfum Cologne for Men, woody with tobacco notes—mingled with mint shampoo, together evoking snow-dusted mountain pines.
Smells quite good. This guy was both handsome and fragrant.
Shi Zhou inhaled deeply, then glanced down at Qin Yancheng’s slender, pale fingers. Compulsively, he brushed one—the cool, smooth touch sent a thrill up his spine. He swallowed hard:
Absolute perfection. Just one more touch.
His earlier doubts—whether to leave Qin Yancheng and run away as soon as possible—evaporated momentarily.
The foolish boy, mind bewitched by the other man's beauty, shook his head and quickly found a reason to convince himself: Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ve got nothing to lose, nothing he’d want anyway.
In any case, his conscience wouldn’t let him abandon Qin Yancheng before his destined death.
Besides, Qin Yancheng wasn’t so bad. Clearly unwell today, he still personally went to Qixing to "buy" Shi Zhou.
Some time later, Qin Yancheng jolted awake as if from a nightmare, his breathing ragged, gaze unfocused.
Shi Zhou, still covertly holding his hand and having no time to let go (not that he wanted to), quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep.
Qin Yancheng’s mind buzzed, his vision doubling. The dream so clear and painful it made him tremble—that woman’s voice—clung like a curse:
"Chengcheng..."
"Be good."
"I love you most."
"Chengcheng, you’re sick. You need treatment."
Silence. Qin Yancheng withdrew his hand, then trailed a cold finger along Shi Zhou’s throat, lingering on the bruises. Shi Zhou fought not to flinch, reflexively afraid and also feeling itchy, biting his tongue to stay still.
His acting—once praised by a top director as "limitless"—held up. Qin Yancheng seemed fooled, yet still reached out a hand and gripped Shi Zhou’s ponytail.
A gentle tug forced Shi Zhou’s head back, exposing his marked neck. It didn't hurt but Shi Zhou was forced to open his eyes at the movement.
Qin Yancheng’s emotions churned uncontrollably. In his mind’s eye, he saw his younger self, hair yanked just like this, that venomously sweet voice cooing as if to a toddler, "Come on, drink your medicine."
Shi Zhou, bewildered, met Qin Yancheng’s terrifyingly unstable gaze.
Holy shit, he’s losing it again!
Shi Zhou was completely frightened by his mad appearance yesterday. He cursed in his heart, gritted his teeth and stamped his feet, and finally steeled himself—
—abruptly leaning in to plant a loud, smacking kiss on Qin Yancheng’s cheek!
The sound echoed in the sudden tense silence.
Qin Yancheng woke up suddenly, his hand trembled, and he let go of Shi Zhou's hair, with a dazed look in his eyes.