My Straight Girlfriend with Skin Hunger Syndrome - Chapter 51
Chapter 51
It’s finally here.
That phrase echoed endlessly in Ying Yuan’s mind when Yi Shanshan voiced her request.
Fi-nal-ly here.
Though the entire visit had unfolded unexpectedly, one thing remained unchanged: the desire Yi Shanshan had emphasized during their initial phone call.
Perhaps, as their friendship deepened, Ying Yuan now served additional purposes for Yi Shanshan.
But… skin-to-skin contact remained Yi Shanshan’s most fervent desire.
Especially now that she was ill.
Especially now that she was ill.
Fragile, suffering, she had regressed into a capricious child, throwing tantrums and pleading, all to fulfill her unreasonable demands.
“That’s not accurate,” Ying Yuan blurted out, a futile struggle.
“Why not?” Yi Shanshan pouted. “You have a normal temperature. If I’m hotter than you when we touch, then I’m the one who’s sick.”
Ying Yuan fell silent.
Yi Shanshan had already tilted her head upward, even closing her eyes. “Hurry, hurry! Don’t delay my recovery.”
The room was dimly lit, and silence hung heavy in the air.
The sky deepened into a gem-like sapphire, poised to swallow the last sliver of twilight.
Yi Shanshan tilted her beautiful face toward Ying Yuan with such unwavering trust that Ying Yuan’s throat bobbed, unable to suppress the dark undercurrent churning within her.
She does feel something else. She does have other impulses. Her rational mind couldn’t control her youthful body, especially when it came to Yi Shanshan, who still stirred her heart with that same intense longing.
She could only transform herself into a two-faced demon—a wolf in sheep’s clothing, cloaking her true intentions in the guise of friendship and seemingly selfless acts.
Ying Yuan leaned forward, bracing her hands on the edge of the bed, drawing closer.
Yi Shanshan’s eyelashes, the tip of her nose, her lips—everything Ying Yuan had secretly traced in her mind was now inches away.
Yi Shanshan’s breath enveloped her—a warm, sweet floral fragrance.
Ying Yuan held her breath, afraid to look at her any longer.
If she looked at her, she would want to kiss her.
She wanted to feel the texture of her cheek, to nuzzle her nose like a puppy, to press her lips against Yi Shanshan’s, crushing all her reckless, irresponsible words and swallowing them whole.
So she could only close her eyes. Eyes closed, senses amplified a thousandfold, her heartbeat pounding like a war drum, she pressed her forehead against Yi Shanshan’s.
“Mmm…” Yi Shanshan murmured, her breath warm against Ying Yuan’s skin. “Ying Yuan, you’re bumping your nose against mine…”
Ying Yuan immediately tried to pull away, but Yi Shanshan’s hand shot out and gripped her arm.
Both of Yi Shanshan’s hands clamped down on Ying Yuan’s arms, clutching at the bend of her elbows, forcing her to stay close.
“I haven’t figured out if you’re hot or cold yet,” Yi Shanshan said. “You’re not allowed to run away.”
Heat rushed to Ying Yuan’s face, making it impossible to discern the temperature where their skin touched.
Yi Shanshan’s hand slid up Ying Yuan’s arm to her shoulder, her fingertips then exploring her cheek.
“Why do you feel even hotter than me?” Yi Shanshan’s fingertip gently pressed against Ying Yuan’s skin, stroking softly, drawing faint lines. “Is it the fever clouding my mind, Ying Yuan?”
She spoke Ying Yuan’s name like a lock snapping shut, like she had seized a secret.
This only made Ying Yuan’s temperature soar higher.
Her body burned as if scorched by flames, she felt as humiliated as a fish laid bare on a cutting board.
She couldn’t speak; her breath and voice would only betray her further.
So she endured, enduring Yi Shanshan’s fingers, Yi Shanshan’s breath, and the forceful pressure Yi Shanshan exerted on her.
Until Yi Shanshan grew tired of her game.
Until Yi Shanshan opened her eyes, gazed at her from a hair’s breadth away, and said, “Ying Yuan, you should take your fever reducer.”
Ying Yuan struggled free from her grasp.
Yi Shanshan feigned innocence. “We’ve hugged so many times before. Why are you getting shy about just a forehead touch now?”
Ying Yuan remained silent.
Yi Shanshan fluttered her wide eyes. “Ying Yuan, how do you really feel? I’m worried my own perception might be off.”
Ying Yuan took a large step back before finally speaking. “You’re… fine.”
Yi Shanshan tilted her head. “Huh? Do I feel cold to you? Warm? Do you think our temperatures are the same?”
Ying Yuan hesitated. “…More or less.”
Yi Shanshan grinned. “But you feel so hot! Are you getting a cold too? The flu’s been going around lately. Maybe I caught it from you when you were taking care of me earlier.”
“I don’t have any symptoms…” Ying Yuan protested.
“The symptoms usually show up later,” Yi Shanshan replied. “You’re already running a fever. This kind of illness needs to be treated right away—rest and nip the virus in the bud.
“I think you should ask Qi Hongyue for some time off. You’ve been working so hard on the project for so long; a break is well-deserved.
“You could recuperate here with me. I’m bored all alone anyway. I have everything we need, and it’ll be easy to prepare some nourishing meals for you…”
The mask had finally slipped.
Ying Yuan immediately refused, even if it meant further embarrassment: “I don’t have a fever. I was just… flustered earlier.”
Yi Shanshan fell silent.
“You were standing too close—way beyond normal social distance,” Ying Yuan continued. “It made me uncomfortable.”
Yi Shanshan fell silent.
“I promised others I’d be at the meeting,” Ying Yuan insisted. “I’ll definitely go back later.”
Yi Shanshan’s voice turned cold. “I’m part of the Project Team too. I can join the meeting. You can hold it right here—just use voice chat or video call. If necessary, we can have everyone come over. My place is much bigger than the Activity Room anyway.”
This was bordering on absurd.
My Lady is sick. Just keeping her company isn’t enough—she needs round-the-clock care.
And having just one person isn’t enough either. We have to move the entire conference room here.
Ying Yuan looked at Yi Shanshan, who lay frail and weak on the bed. She couldn’t bring herself to argue with her, knowing Yi Shanshan would eventually leave.
Yi Shanshan knew this too. Children often act out when they feel powerless.
The two remained locked in a silent stalemate when the door suddenly beeped open.
Footsteps approached from outside, more than one person.
“What’s going on…?” Ying Yuan turned and walked toward the door.
Reaching the bedroom entrance, she saw Lin Feng already in the living room, followed by a doctor in a white coat carrying a medical bag.
Lin Feng met her gaze. “Still here?”
“Mm,” Ying Yuan replied.
Lin Feng glanced behind her. “Why are all the lights off? How’s Shanshan doing?”
“She’s resting. She’s a bit sensitive to light.”
Lin Feng then glanced at the kitchen, smiling. “Making soup, huh? Smells delicious.”
Ying Yuan couldn’t describe the mixed feelings churning within her. Lin Feng’s arrival could break the tense stalemate between her and Yi Shanshan, freeing her from this place. Yet Lin Feng’s possessive demeanor, as if she were the mistress of the house, stung her deeply, leaving her with conflicting emotions.
She didn’t respond. Lin Feng stepped closer. “Thank you for your hard work, Ying Yuan. I brought dinner—all Shanshan’s favorites. I hope you’ll find it palatable.”
Ying Yuan blinked, dazed. “I don’t need—”
Lin Feng gestured behind him. “This is Dr. Zhao, the chief physician at Kanghe Hospital. He’s been treating Shanshan since she came to A University. He’s very familiar with her medical history.”
Kanghe was a renowned private hospital in the city. For the first time, Ying Yuan experienced firsthand that doctors truly could make house calls.
Dr. Zhao greeted her. “Hello.”
“Hello,” Ying Yuan replied, her scattered thoughts snapping into focus. “Shanshan said she felt a bit feverish just now, but we haven’t taken her temperature yet.”
“Alright,” Dr. Zhao said. “I’ll take a look.”
Ying Yuan stepped aside to let him pass.
Dr. Zhao knocked before entering the bedroom, asking permission before stepping inside.
Lin Feng followed him in, and soon muffled voices could be heard from inside.
Ying Yuan stood frozen for a moment. Once her mind cleared, she went to the foyer to tidy up her belongings.
Ying Yuan carefully put everything she could use in its place, packing the rest into her bag to take home.
After tidying up, she approached the bedroom door and peered inside.
The bedroom light was on. Dr. Zhao, using his professional instruments, was examining Yi Shanshan’s throat while Lin Feng watched intently from the side.
Ying Yuan lingered for a moment. When Yi Shanshan finally glanced up at her, she said, “Shanshan, I’m heading back now.”
Yi Shanshan stared at her without replying.
Dr. Zhao and Lin Feng both turned to look. Feeling awkward, Ying Yuan added, “I’ll come visit again when I have time.”
“Oh,” Yi Shanshan murmured.
Her voice was soft, but Ying Yuan heard it clearly.
“Goodbye,” Ying Yuan said to all three of them.
“Goodbye,” Lin Feng replied, his voice tinged with amusement.
Ying Yuan turned and walked out without stopping. She hurried down the stairs and headed straight for the Activity Room.
Night had fallen, and the dim yellow streetlights stretched and shrank Ying Yuan’s shadow as she walked.
Her mind was completely filled with thoughts of Yi Shanshan—tumultuous, swirling, and looping back on themselves in endless cycles.
It wasn’t until she reached the Activity Room door and saw Qi Hongyue that Ying Yuan fully snapped out of her daze.
“Senior…” she said.
Qi Hongyue glanced at the time. “Impressive. You’re quite early.”
Ying Yuan repeated, “I won’t let my personal life interfere with work.”
“Actually, a little delay wouldn’t matter,” Qi Hongyue said, turning to walk inside. They were the only two in the Activity Room at that moment. “When it comes to progress, even if you don’t cause delays, someone else always will.”
Ying Yuan hurried after her. “Did something happen?”
“Something new happens every day,” Qi Hongyue replied, stopping by a desk and leaning back against it. “For example, Ying Yuan, what happened to you today?”
Staring into Qi Hongyue’s eyes, Ying Yuan felt she couldn’t hide anything.
Qi Hongyue always looked at her with a gaze that seemed to see back from the end of time. Her insight was so sharp it could pierce through every secret in Ying Yuan’s heart.
Not wanting to lie, Ying Yuan admitted directly, “Shanshan is sick.”
“Oh…” Qi Hongyue said. “So you went to take care of her.”
“Mm-hmm,” Ying Yuan confirmed.
Qi Hongyue: “What’s wrong with her?”
Ying Yuan: “Just a cold.”
Qi Hongyue chuckled softly. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
Ying Yuan: “Not too bad.”
Qi Hongyue nodded, lowering her gaze to organize documents on her desk. “Hmm…”
Ying Yuan felt it was time to discuss the voice acting matter with Qi Hongyue.
She quickly moved to the computer and imported the prepared audio files.
“Team Leader, could you come over here for a moment?” she called out, holding up a pair of headphones.
Qi Hongyue walked over, took the headphones, and put them on. “What is it?”
Ying Yuan: “Shanshan wants to try voice acting for one of the characters. This is a demo we recorded at the studio a few days ago. Could you listen and see if there’s anything usable?”
Qi Hongyue looked up at her.
Ying Yuan: “She’s taking this very seriously. Regardless of how she got into the project team or why, the fact remains: she’s working hard to complete her assigned tasks and actively looking for ways to enrich our game.”
Ying Yuan’s gaze flickered. “I believe she deserves to be considered a team member, a friend, and a comrade. I hope you, Team Leader…”
Qi Hongyue pressed play. “What about me?”
Ying Yuan knew her words were a bit harsh, but she still said, “Treat everyone equally. Don’t look at her through biased lenses.”
Qi Hongyue genuinely laughed.
As she laughed, pristine audio filled her ears, while before her stood Ying Yuan—this earnest, somewhat naive, yet resolutely passionate person.
“Alright,” Qi Hongyue said. “I’ll treat her equally.”
She leaned forward to listen to the entire recording, then removed her headphones. “Excellent work. The voice acting is superb, and the post-production is flawless. I have complete confidence in you two handling this task.”
“Really?” Ying Yuan beamed. “We were thinking of selecting the most suitable role first. Then Shanshan could use the same criteria to approach her classmates and friends, which would help us keep our voice acting costs to a minimum.”
Qi Hongyue nodded. “Perfect. Let’s proceed exactly as planned.”
Ying Yuan looked incredulous. “Senior, aren’t you going to offer any suggestions or feedback?”
“None,” Qi Hongyue replied. “This arrangement is entirely beneficial for us.”
Ying Yuan’s smile brightened.
Qi Hongyue paused before adding, “Actually, bringing Yi Shanshan onto the Project Team benefits our game without any drawbacks. I received the 2nd Tier payment from the client today, so we can distribute bonuses, cover the costs for adding music and voice acting, and even take everyone on a team-building trip. Remember how everyone was clamoring for a spring outing before the season ended?”
“That’s wonderful!” Ying Yuan exclaimed. “This will significantly reduce your workload, Senior.”
“Exactly,” Qi Hongyue replied, tilting her head and gazing at Ying Yuan. “It’s a win-win for everyone.”
“Now that you’re in charge, you’re essentially bound to Yi Shanshan.
“You’ll be together for recording sessions, for the Late Stage production, and you’ll have to listen to her voice countless times—in real life and in the game.
“Our team-building trip requires an overnight stay. During the day, we’ll all hang out and play together. At night, we’ll pair up based on relationships, with two people sharing a room.”
“I have no problem with that,” Qi Hongyue said with a helpless smile. “Ying Yuan, the only one with a problem here is you.”