My Straight Girlfriend with Skin Hunger Syndrome - Chapter 50
Chapter 50
“I would.”
Without the slightest hesitation, Ying Yuan gave her answer.
After all Yi Shanshan’s elaborate buildup and explanation, she received only this single, decisive word. She lifted her head to stare at Ying Yuan in disbelief.
Though Ying Yuan didn’t meet her gaze, her expression remained calm and frank, betraying no hint of deception.
One could even sense that she considered lying about this matter unnecessary.
Yi Shanshan froze, rooted to the spot.
She waited for Ying Yuan to elaborate further, even if only with a conditional clause.
But as the seconds ticked by, Ying Yuan remained silent, as if the conversation had already reached its natural conclusion.
Unwilling to accept this, Yi Shanshan forced a smile and asked, “So you’re just… naturally kind? You don’t pick and choose at all?”
“I don’t think it’s particularly kind,” Ying Yuan replied. “Everyone has their own set of principles. Taking meticulous care of patients is simply one of mine when living in a group.”
Yi Shanshan fell silent, utterly defeated. She muttered, “You really should have studied nursing…”
Her voice was too low for Ying Yuan to hear clearly. Ying Yuan looked up, “Hm?”
Yi Shanshan continued tugging at the floral pattern on the blanket, her grip tightening. “Seriously, someone like you must have had guys chasing after you since forever, right?”
Ying Yuan’s face flushed crimson. “No.”
“Really? Not a single one?” Yi Shanshan shot her a skeptical look. “Either you’re incredibly oblivious or no one’s ever confessed their feelings for you.”
“People confess when they’re chasing someone, right?” Ying Yuan said. “No one ever confessed.”
“Oh my god, you’re so naive!” Yi Shanshan leaned closer, sighing dramatically. “If they confess before chasing you, they’ll run off if you’re not interested. You have to chase them almost all the way before confessing—sound the victory horn!”
Ying Yuan stared blankly. “Oh… I see.”
Yi Shanshan: “……”
“Well, then I don’t need to ask if you’ve ever chased anyone. The answer’s definitely no. Here’s the deal: if you ever want to pursue someone, come ask me. I’ll be your strategist—guaranteed you’ll get twice the results with half the effort.”
Now it was Ying Yuan’s turn to fall silent.
After a long pause, she whispered, “I have no plans.”
“Ugh, talking to you about this is so boring!” Yi Shanshan flopped back onto the bed. “Not a shred of juicy gossip!”
“Ying Yuan, want to hear some juicy gossip? I’ve got guys chasing me left and right—they’d do anything, no matter how crazy.”
Ying Yuan’s throat went dry. She didn’t want to hear any of it.
Listening to these stories felt like having a thorny branch dragged across her skin, a sharp, prickling pain that left her deeply unsettled.
She stood up, took Yi Shanshan’s water glass, and refilled it. “You’ve been talking too much. Protect your throat and rest for a bit.”
Then she turned and left.
Yi Shanshan stared at her retreating figure for a long moment.
When Ying Yuan returned, she pressed the glass into Yi Shanshan’s hand and watched her drink half of it.
Just as Yi Shanshan was about to speak, Ying Yuan interrupted, “Your kitchen’s well-equipped. I’ll make you some snow pear soup—it’ll soothe your throat.”
Yi Shanshan: “……”
Yi Shanshan: “Are you a good cook too?”
“So-so,” Ying Yuan replied. “I don’t get much practice.”
Yi Shanshan: “Your parents seem to take good care of you.”
“I was raised by my grandmother until junior high, then I moved in with my parents. They’re both very kind and gentle, and they’ve always been good to me,” Ying Yuan summarized her family situation in a few simple sentences.
“Oh…” Yi Shanshan drawled, murmuring softly, “That’s… good.”
Ying Yuan turned and left again. Soon, faint sounds drifted from the kitchen.
The gentle noises resembled a warm, white noise, almost hypnotic. After listening for a while, Yi Shanshan felt drowsy.
She slid deeper under the covers, the fever-induced haze creeping over her. She drifted into a muddled sleep.
Ying Yuan stayed in the kitchen for a long time.
She remained by the stove throughout the entire pear soup brewing process.
To say she was “watching over” it would be inaccurate; the recipe was simple, requiring no special attention. It was merely her own timidity that kept her from returning to the bedroom.
Yi Shanshan’s vibrant, outgoing nature meant their conversations ranged endlessly. Ying Yuan enjoyed listening to her talk, but disliked feeling like she was walking on a cliff edge—one misstep, one unexpected turn in the conversation, could send her tumbling over the precipice.
If only we could stick to work-related topics, Ying Yuan thought.
Speak of the devil, she thought.
Ying Yuan’s phone vibrated, the caller ID showing Qi Hongyue.
She retreated to a corner of the kitchen and answered.
“Where are you?” Qi Hongyue asked.
Such a simple question, yet Ying Yuan couldn’t answer it directly.
She could only evade it, asking in a low voice, “Senior, what’s up? Is something wrong?”
“A Shu wants to discuss the animation effects with you. She’s free tonight. I sent you a WeChat message earlier, but you didn’t reply. Are you available tonight?”
Ying Yuan suddenly remembered she’d put her phone on Do Not Disturb mode before coming in, to avoid disturbing Yi Shanshan’s rest.
Throughout the entire time—whether she was with Yi Shanshan or alone in the kitchen—she hadn’t even glanced at her phone once.
She’d missed an important message.
And there was a good chance she’d continue to delay things further.
“I…” Ying Yuan hesitated, “I’m not really sure right now…”
Qi Hongyue fell silent. After a few seconds, she asked, “Are you with Yi Shanshan?”
Ying Yuan: “……”
Ying Yuan’s face flushed crimson.
Ying Yuan had grown accustomed to Qi Hongyue’s occasional bold and accurate guesses, but each time Qi Hongyue was right, it made Ying Yuan feel foolish, like a naive fledgling blindly rushing down a path laid out by others.
Shame stung her. The snow pear soup simmering on the stove bubbled softly, sending up fragrant steam. Fearing Qi Hongyue would say something else accurate, Ying Yuan hastily asked, “I won’t let this interfere with work. What time does A Shu want to meet?”
Qi Hongyue replied, “Any time between eight and ten o’clock works for her.”
“Okay, let’s make it eight then. See you at the Activity Room.”
“Alright.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The call ended. Though Qi Hongyue had said so little, Ying Yuan could almost see those piercing eyes.
Anxiety quickened her heartbeat. Ying Yuan exhaled deeply and turned down the stove’s flame.
She left the kitchen and returned to the bedroom.
The room was quiet. The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft, beautiful light.
Yi Shanshan was asleep, clutching a thick wad of blankets to her chest and pressing her leg over it, sleeping in a terribly awkward position.
Seeing this, Ying Yuan wanted to pull the blanket up for her.
But such a movement would be too abrupt; Yi Shanshan would definitely wake up.
Right now, half her face was buried in the pillow, sleeping soundly, with soft snores escaping her nose.
Thankfully, Ying Yuan had already closed the bedroom window earlier, so the room was warm enough. Even if she didn’t do anything, there shouldn’t be any real problem.
With this thought, Ying Yuan glanced at her wristwatch.
It was still early, before eight o’clock. She could wait a little longer.
So she tiptoed to the bedside and sat down on the chair.
She gazed at Yi Shanshan.
Yi Shanshan, fast asleep.
Even with her mesmerizing eyes closed, she was still heartbreakingly beautiful.
Her eyelashes were remarkably long, naturally curled like a baby’s. Her nose was delicate and slender, tempting one to pinch it gently.
Her lips parted slightly, their contours rising and falling like the tender petals of a flower.
Ying Yuan had never stared at someone’s face for so long before.
Quietly, silently, tenderly, peacefully.
Her gaze couldn’t help but trace every line of Yi Shanshan’s features. She realized Yi Shanshan was composed entirely of curves: full, sweeping arcs, delicate curves, wisps of swirling hair, and round, rosy cheeks.
As the room grew darker, the sky outside seemed to brighten in contrast.
Against the pale blue canvas of the sky floated soft pink clouds, their edges gilded with golden light. A luminous halo shimmered around Yi Shanshan’s silhouette.
The white light made her look like a sleeping angel.
Ying Yuan suddenly resented her inability to draw.
She didn’t deserve to capture such a scene with her phone. If she could paint, she would etch this scene into her memory, then on some quiet afternoon or sleepless night, she would pick up a brush and recreate these curves and radiant light.
Yi Shanshan was art itself in her world.
As the light dimmed further, Yi Shanshan’s long eyelashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes.
Seeing Ying Yuan sitting by her bed, she showed no surprise, no panic.
Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at Ying Yuan, her lips curving into a beautiful arc, her eyes glistening with a sleepy haze.
“You’re still here…” Yi Shanshan murmured. “That’s… wonderful…”
Her voice was incredibly gentle, placing Ying Yuan in a position of immense importance—right on the edge of a cliff.
Ying Yuan avoided Yi Shanshan’s gaze. “I’ve already made the soup. It’s dinnertime. What would you like to eat? We can order takeout, or I can go downstairs to buy something. Take your medicine after you eat.”
Yi Shanshan rolled over, stretching her arms and legs wide. “No rush~”
Ying Yuan glanced at her wristwatch again. “It’s best to eat three meals on time. Your body won’t absorb nutrients properly if it’s too late.”
She paused, then said directly, “I have to go to the Activity Room at eight for a small meeting with the Artist.”
Yi Shanshan flipped back over instantly, her eyes clearing considerably as she stared at Ying Yuan. “Do you have to go? Doesn’t Qi Hongyue consider that everyone has their own private time?”
She’s getting angry now, Ying Yuan thought. Just as I imagined.
“She asked for my opinion, and I wanted to go,” Ying Yuan replied. “It’s almost the end of the semester, and everyone will be swamped with work. We should get as much done now as possible.”
Yi Shanshan stared at her, breathing heavily but saying nothing.
“I also want to submit our collaborative work and show it to everyone,” Ying Yuan added.
Yi Shanshan pouted, her anger slightly subsided, though not by much.
Ying Yuan stood up. “I’ll go get you some soup.”
Yi Shanshan: “……”
Even if Yi Shanshan was still angry, she couldn’t vent it now. When Ying Yuan was passively resisting, she could move with surprising speed.
By the time Ying Yuan returned with the soup, Yi Shanshan’s earlier energy had completely vanished. She sat propped against the headboard, her head bowed, her posture slumped in dejection.
The room had grown too dark. In the dim light, Yi Shanshan looked utterly pathetic.
Ying Yuan raised her hand to turn on the light.
Yi Shanshan stopped her. “Don’t. The bright light will give me a headache.”
It was true that illness often made people sensitive to light. Ying Yuan withdrew her hand.
She set the soup down. “Wait a bit to drink it. It’s still a bit hot.”
Then she pulled out her phone, stood a little distance away from Yi Shanshan, and began reading out the names of dishes from a takeout menu.
“Tell me if you want anything.”
She read through a whole list, but Yi Shanshan didn’t respond.
Ying Yuan switched her search method and read out another list, but Yi Shanshan still didn’t respond.
Ying Yuan put her phone away and moved closer to her. “Do you want something from the school cafeteria? Something light? I’ll go to Dining Hall Five for you…”
“I don’t want anything,” Yi Shanshan interrupted. “I don’t want to eat.”
“Then you’re not eating anything at all?” Ying Yuan asked.
“Not a thing,” Yi Shanshan mumbled, sniffing. “I think I have a fever, Ying Yuan.”
That one sentence instantly melted away all of Ying Yuan’s annoyance.
Ying Yuan stepped forward, leaning down to observe Yi Shanshan’s expression. “Let’s take your temperature.”
Yi Shanshan nodded slightly, avoiding her gaze.
“The thermometer…” Ying Yuan began.
“I don’t have one here,” Yi Shanshan said.
“I brought mine. I’ll go get it,” Ying Yuan offered.
Yi Shanshan abruptly grabbed Ying Yuan’s arm. “What kind of thermometer do you have?”
“Just a standard digital one, for under the arm,” Ying Yuan replied.
“I don’t want that! I hate underarm thermometers.”
Ying Yuan was speechless.
“Don’t you find it weird?” Yi Shanshan continued. “It’s like sticking your armpit against someone else’s!”
Ying Yuan stared, baffled by this unprecedented perspective.
“We can disinfect it with alcohol…” Ying Yuan suggested.
“It’s not about germs,” Yi Shanshan retorted. “It’s about privacy.”
“I’ll order a forehead thermometer then,” Ying Yuan said.
“By the time it arrives, I’ll be stone-cold,” Yi Shanshan said.
Ying Yuan: “……”
That’s… quite the double entendre.
Yi Shanshan finally lifted her gaze to meet Ying Yuan’s, her long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “There’s a much simpler way, Ying Yuan.”
“Hm?” Ying Yuan was already feeling dizzy from her evasiveness.
“Forehead to forehead,” Yi Shanshan continued, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”