Chapter 33: Let Me Remind You, Even a Sick Lion Is Still a Lion

The first shiny red blister appeared on his face. The ever-attentive dice noticed it immediately. Bai Jingchuan wasn’t concerned—it was just a small case of chickenpox, nothing more than the immune system’s way of self-repair. Human bodies were such nuisances. But after his temperature spiked and he failed to get out of bed, feeling one blister after another on his cheeks, he realized something was wrong. By the time work hours rolled around, he lacked the strength to answer incoming conference calls or deal with the flood of unread messages. For the first time in his life, Bai Jingchuan felt utterly defeated—he couldn’t control his own body.

The dice fretted nearby: “Bai Jingchuan, forget about the company for now. Your life is more important.”

“I’m fine, really. I just need to sleep a little more.”

With that, Bai Jingchuan lost consciousness. When he woke up again, night had fallen, and someone was knocking at the door. Something felt off. Glancing at his phone, he confirmed what he already suspected: the dice had entered Jiang Huan’s chat box and sent her a desperate “help.”

Feeling slightly better, he manipulated the air to open the door. Jiang Huan peeked in, chuckling for a moment at the sight of him lying in bed. Weakly, he said, “Sorry, I meant to ask you to relay that I needed to take leave. Don’t come in—it’s contagious.”

Jiang Huan stepped inside anyway, leaning over to examine Bai Jingchuan. She pulled a mask from her pocket, put it on, and then turned to leave. Bai Jingchuan watched her departing figure, his breath shallow, his eyes brimming with disappointment. Memories of Jiang Huan’s usual demeanor highlighted her apparent coldness—just a touch from her could shatter him. The room fell silent, the sound of cold wind echoing in his ears. Outside the window, only a single fallen leaf remained. And when Jiang Huan slammed the door shut, it felt as though she had shattered his last shred of hope…

Fifteen minutes later, Jiang Huan pushed the door open again, each step landing heavily on his heart—of course she wouldn’t abandon him! In her hands, she carried an enamel cup, a plastic bag dangling from her pinky finger. Her hair kept falling into her face, clearly annoying her. The rich aroma of milk and honey wafted over. Jiang Huan issued a command: “Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“Honey milk.”

After fasting all day, the taste of milk hit Bai Jingchuan like a blow to his willpower. He realized he wasn’t invincible after all—both his spirit and stamina seemed to revive with this drink. He even imagined a health bar filling up before his eyes. When he opened them again to look at Jiang Huan, she seemed to glow with a holy light, and he felt ready to give his life for her. But as his body regained strength, his mind returned to its rational state. Bai Jingchuan realized how dangerous these thoughts were—a simple act of kindness could break down defenses. He needed to be cautious.

Just as he was about to thank Jiang Huan and send her away, a strange feeling welled up inside him. He didn’t want to push her away so soon; he wanted her to stay, even if only for one more minute. Jiang Huan didn’t notice, instead holding out a pill and leaning close to the bed: “Open your mouth.”

“Aren’t you afraid of catching it?”

“I had chickenpox in elementary school—it’s a childhood rite of passage. Once you’ve had it, you can’t catch it again. But you—what kind of delicate constitution does a big-time producer have to make it to thirty without getting chickenpox?”

Bai Jingchuan mumbled weakly: “I didn’t expect it either. But I’ll recover quickly—I can go back to work.”

“Chickenpox takes at least a week to clear up, and the contagious period could last three more days. To be safe, lie low for ten days.”

Bai Jingchuan stared in disbelief: “Ten days?”

“Yes. Rest is necessary when you’re sick. Haven’t you ever been sick before?”

“No.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +100.」

The dice laughed so hard they fell off the pillow onto the nightstand: “He’s not lying—he’s never been sick before. It’s high time he experienced it.”

Bai Jingchuan stared blankly at the ceiling, secretly opening the MENU to search for items. From the shop to the item storage to the crafting interface, he found no instant cure for his condition. The dice calmly informed him: “Don’t bother looking. If there were any useful items, you wouldn’t have let Jiang Huan chase you all the way home.”

It seemed the system had no quick fixes for his ailment. Bai Jingchuan felt a wave of white mist clouding his vision. Turning to Jiang Huan, he asked hesitantly: “If you’re not worried about catching it, could you… touch me?”

“Huh?” Jiang Huan thought for a moment before placing her palm on his forehead. Bai Jingchuan leaned into her touch like a docile cat, rubbing his head against her hand: “Do you think I’ll recover?”

“What do you mean?”

“You… should have the ability to heal me, right?”

Jiang Huan was stunned by Bai Jingchuan’s words. After leaving her hand on his forehead for a while, her face flushed: “You’re delirious.”

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +100.」

“I’m not—I’m perfectly lucid.” Bai Jingchuan recalled Jiang Huan healing the Executor’s wounds in Mowu City: “You really don’t have any latent abilities yet?”

Even the dice couldn’t handle this nonsense: “Bai Jingchuan, you’ve regained some strength, but you’re clearly delirious.”

Bai Jingchuan felt immensely wronged and sulked silently. Jiang Huan, unnerved by his gaze, snapped: “Stop looking at me like that.”

“I know—it’s the ‘look-at-a-dog-and-still-be-deeply-in-love’ kind of gaze.”

“Huh?” Jiang Huan nearly spat out her drink: “Who told you that?”

Bai Jingchuan stayed silent, turning his face away under the covers. Jiang Huan seized the opportunity to lecture him: “You know, whether it’s web novels, manga, anime, or games, there’s an unwritten rule. Characters who look deeply in love with everything—even dogs—never end well. They’re bound to suffer.”

After listening to her, Bai Jingchuan reined in his gaze beneath the covers. He was, after all, the iron-blooded Executor. He couldn’t let the dice’s words fool him. But his sulky expression made Jiang Huan laugh again: “Right now, you look like a stray cat that lost a fight in the neighborhood—your fur is messy, your cheeks are scraped, and even frowning won’t help. Your misery is written all over your face.”

His fever hadn’t subsided, and five shiny blisters dotted his face. His lips were dry and peeling. The producer who once held his ground against entire project teams in the office now lay feebly in bed, his eyes glassy with tears. Jiang Huan sat beside him, sketching on her tablet and occasionally glancing at Bai Jingchuan. She thought… he looked kind of cute. He wasn’t the type to wallow in bitterness, always presenting only his perfect side. If he weren’t living next door, one might assume he was abroad negotiating top-tier collaborations or jumping ship to another company to become their new golden boy—not babbling nonsense in bed while feverish.

This talk of “healing abilities” was pure accidental moe. Just thinking about it, Jiang Huan sketched a rough concept and sent it to Akira with accompanying notes. Akira replied instantly: “This is genius! Jiang Huan, where did you find this prototype?”

Only ten minutes earlier, she had promised Bai Jingchuan not to spread the news about his chickenpox. She could only reply: “Art originates from life.”

She surveyed the room. Bai Jingchuan lived… too simply. The place was spotless, almost devoid of any personal touches. His bed looked uncomfortable, and his current disoriented state was clearly due to the high fever overwhelming him. A solitary person with no friends, barely coherent, refusing to go to the hospital… After pondering for a moment, Jiang Huan went home, grabbed a blanket, and settled on Bai Jingchuan’s couch. Surprisingly, Bai Jingchuan slept soundly, without snoring, as gentle as a lion without claws. When Jiang Huan woke up in the middle of the night and propped herself up to look at him, a thought flashed through her mind—the dream where she healed others. Though it was just a dream, it was eerie how Bai Jingchuan brought it up…

________________________________________

The next morning, Jiang Huan woke up, climbed out of bed, and took one look at Bai Jingchuan before bursting into laughter. Blisters had erupted not just on his face but also on his collarbone and the backs of his hands. He reached out to scratch, but Jiang Huan grabbed his hand: “No, you’ll scar.”

“So what? Scars are just medals for men.”

“Chickenpox scars won’t mesmerize anyone—they’ll just make you look ridiculous.”

“…It itches.”

“Well, since you can’t go to work anyway, just endure it at home.”

Bai Jingchuan scratched his neck fiercely, as if on the verge of self-harm. Unable to resist, he nearly slapped himself. Jiang Huan touched his forehead, coaxing him with sweet words to eat and take his medicine. By the time she prepared to leave, she pulled out a large roll of medical gauze and tightly wrapped his hands, leaving only his index and middle fingers exposed—their pads. Bai Jingchuan frowned: “What are you doing?”

“Preventing you from scratching. These two fingers are enough for you to answer conference calls. You’ve eaten, and as a producer, you can work from home.”

“…”

「Jiang Huan’s Favorability +100. Lv 41 → Lv 42.」

But this wasn’t the end. Jiang Huan set up a camera on Bai Jingchuan’s cabinet, aimed directly at his activity range: “This was originally for deterring burglars, but now it’s perfect for monitoring you. The footage is crystal clear—I’ll see every move you make. If you scratch and disobey my instructions, I’ll punish you. So, let’s make a bet: will you scratch today?”

Bai Jingchuan smirked: “You don’t think I’d cheat, do you?”

But the next second, his smile vanished as a pop-up appeared.

「Mission 2-7: Cooperate with Jiang Huan’s no-scratching challenge. Perfect completion unlocks a special date.」

What kind of mission was this?! Just a girl making things up to embarrass him! Was the Executor supposed to be toyed with like this?

Without Bai Jingchuan on the 14th floor of Laurie, the girls felt lonely. Especially after the expo, Bai Jingchuan’s popularity had soared, and many wanted to see the cosplayer—but no one knew where he was. Jiang Huan secretly checked the camera feed. Bai Jingchuan sat on the bed, his hair disheveled, looking like a grumpy black cat. She spoke through the microphone: “Don’t scratch—it’ll leave ugly scars.”

“I’m not afraid of scars. I’m just completing a mission.”

“What mission?”

“A date with you.”

Jiang Huan was baffled but accepted the “challenge” with a laugh: “Alright, then beg me to relieve your itch.”

“No need—I’m not that itchy.”

“Then I’ll get back to work. There’s a lot to do. If you’re really uncomfortable, just sleep. If you can’t sleep, wiggle around a bit—it’s fine. This camera won’t catch small movements, so don’t feel embarrassed.”

“You!”

Jiang Huan slipped her phone into her pocket and resumed chatting with colleagues about the plot, even keeping the voice channel open for him to hear. Without Bai Jingchuan, the production team still functioned smoothly. She glanced at her pocket occasionally, where the bundled-up figure on the bed lay motionless, his hands placed outside the blanket like a mummy.

At 1 PM sharp, the meeting began.

The producer, sick and unable to attend in person, dialed in via voice call. Everyone could hear him clearly as he went through updates on the progress of each team. Bai Jingchuan’s mind was sharp and his tone authoritative, interrupting whenever something seemed off. Halfway through the technical team’s report, Bai Jingchuan suddenly took a deep breath, holding it for two seconds before letting out an audible sigh: “Continue.”

Akira leaned over to Jiang Huan: “What’s wrong with him? Why does he sound like he’s barely holding back?”

Jiang Huan wanted to check the camera feed to see Bai Jingchuan losing his composure at his computer but pretended to stay calm: “Probably our tech guy pissed him off.”

With his hands wrapped in gauze, even if he tried to scratch, it wouldn’t be satisfying. Jiang Huan stifled her laughter and listened to Bai Jingchuan critique their work for twenty minutes. At one point, exasperated by a particularly stupid question, it sounded like he was ready to jump out of his seat: “You should be glad I’m not in the office right now—I can only lecture you through this internet connection. If this effect turns out poorly, I’ll teleport to the office to scold you in person.”

And indeed, the effect was poor—it wasn’t just Bai Jingchuan venting. After the meeting ended, Jiang Huan packed up her laptop and asked Akira: “Did you ever get chickenpox?”

“Of course! When I was little, I’d cry my eyes out because it itched so much, but no one paid attention—they just thought I was being dramatic. My back is still covered in scars.”

Jiang Huan nodded in agreement: “Same here. I remember my family was playing mahjong in the living room with neighbors I didn’t even know well—they just thought I was making noise.”

“These kinds of things might seem small, but sometimes I wish my parents had been more understanding. When my younger brother got chickenpox, he got KFC combo meals every day. All I have are memories of tears and neglect.”

The producer’s restrained voice continued in the background. Jiang Huan quietly ordered two coffees, adding a slice of cheesecake for Akira. After the meeting, she sent an email to the planning team: “For the sickness companion system we discussed earlier, there are only ten keywords for triggering care responses—too few. Let me add some more.”

________________________________________

By evening, Bai Jingchuan sat staring at the camera in his room, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Work had kept him distracted until quitting time, but now that it was over, his mind wandered back to the clean milk cup and the taste of honey mingling with milk. His cells screamed louder than ever. He felt like he was being monitored not just by Jiang Huan but also by the omnipresent system of the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods. His leveling path felt absurd—he wasn’t just restricted in abilities but also humiliated. It felt like ants were crawling all over him. With his hands bound in gauze, he could only lightly rub against his chest, but this fleeting relief only made the itching worse. The gauze felt like boxing gloves, yet he lacked the strength to enter the training arena. He desperately wanted to rip off the bandages and scratch to his heart’s content, though he knew how undignified it would look. But when you’re sick, dignity becomes a luxury.

The room was dark. Just as Bai Jingchuan considered sneaking into a blind spot of the camera to rub his neck with the gauze, a voice from the video startled him: “Don’t move.”

“I was just going to grab something.”

“Oh really?” Jiang Huan chuckled through the feed: “You’ve held up well all day—are you about to break now?”

“You said it was a bet, but you wouldn’t give me any reward anyway. More accurately, I don’t expect anything from you.”

“Is that so?” Jiang Huan sounded like she was running somewhere: “I bought a box of whipped cream, you know.”

“I take it back—I do expect a reward.” He was sick, after all; he could afford to lose a bit of dignity.

Half an hour later, Jiang Huan arrived at his door, and Bai Jingchuan nearly leapt up to open it: “You’re here.”

Free from the gauze bindings, Bai Jingchuan hovered around Jiang Huan like a cat rubbing against its owner’s legs, waiting for food. He tried to suppress this frenzied behavior, sitting on the couch to check work emails, typing furiously. The sight of Jiang Huan bustling around in an apron stirred a sense of longing in him—for companionship, for shared meals on cold winter days, for a life he could imagine continuing indefinitely. But girls shouldn’t be confined to the kitchen—they had dreams, ambitions, places they wanted to go.

Bai Jingchuan shook his head, mocking himself.

The cake came out soon after. Jiang Huan topped it with whipped cream and crushed Oreos, making it look better than what 80% of dessert shops could offer. Bai Jingchuan ate just one bite, but it left him feeling utterly refreshed, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. In his haste, a bit of cream smeared onto the tip of his nose. Jiang Huan stared in disbelief: “Teacher Bai, you’re the producer I admire—you look completely different eating sweets. It’s like you’ve lost all rational thought, all self-control, your eyes sparkling.”

“I’ll fix this flaw,” he thought sincerely. Once he reached Level 100, he’d definitely shed this persona. Though the taste of cream was delightful, it hadn’t robbed him of his wits. Still, he couldn’t quite understand: “Why did you come to take care of me? I’m a grown man with fully functioning limbs—I can take care of myself.”

“Who says men can’t be cared for? I don’t think this has anything to do with gender. We’re friends. And while I might not trust other men, I trust you—if I were sick, I know you’d treat me just as gently.” Jiang Huan pulled out a roll of gauze: “Help me.”

“I’m not wrapping them again—I haven’t scratched all day.” Bai Jingchuan sounded desperate: “Being wrapped feels so restricting. I promise you—I won’t scratch anymore.”

“What I mean is, you wrap me .”

Obediently, Bai Jingchuan complied, though he couldn’t help but ask: “What are you wrapping me for?”

“Lie down.”

Bai Jingchuan lay face-down on the bed, and Jiang Huan pushed the blanket aside. Through his shirt, she pressed her gauze-wrapped fist against his back, applying gentle pressure with each push. Each motion elicited a sharp intake of breath and an involuntary—groan. The itch that had plagued him all day was momentarily soothed, but a new, unbearable heat surged within him. Jiang Huan explained, “I saw this in an American TV show. Gauze has a coarse texture, but with a shirt in between, it won’t damage your skin—it’s very scientific.” Jiang Huan’s words sounded both comforting and seductive: “I didn’t do this for you during the day because I was worried you’d try to replicate it yourself. Men’s strength might not achieve this level of gentleness. Honestly, I don’t care whether you scar or not—it’s just that… you’re so good, so hard not to care for just a little more…”

Suddenly, the world flipped. Before Jiang Huan realized what was happening, she found herself pinned beneath him. This bed was indeed… hard, very uncomfortable. But Bai Jingchuan’s face was right in front of hers, propped up on his arms as he looked down at her, his breathing growing heavier. His voice turned hoarse, his eyes unreadable: “Are you doing this on purpose?”

Heaven and earth bore witness to her innocence! But Jiang Huan’s hands were still wrapped in gauze, her ten fingers unable to move freely—she was utterly defenseless. Bai Jingchuan chuckled, lowering his body: “This is the second time I need to remind you—even a sick lion is still a lion.”

“What… what do you plan to do…”

His heavy breathing brushed against her ear as he gently sucked on her—earlobe. Her body went limp, her ears turning beet red, melting into a puddle of cream and sugar, one touch away from crumbling. He had no intention of letting her go, but he exercised restraint, biding his time like a gardener waiting for fruit to ripen. Until then, he wouldn’t act.

「Mission 2-7 Complete. Jiang Huan’s Favorability +500. Lv 42 → Lv 43. Earned 50,000 gold coins, 3 item boxes, and a date. Use immediately?」

“Go on a date with me.”

“…Alright.”

Wait—why? Why did she agree so readily to a date? Was she under some kind of spell?

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PS: Xiao Zhang is here! Sorry for the delay yesterday QAQ. Tonight’s update will continue without fail—we officially entered VIP chapters starting yesterday. By the end of the story, it should cost about the price of a cup of bubble tea? Thank you all so much for your support! Feel free to add this story to your bookshelf and vote for recommendations. Xiao Zhang will be waiting for everyone in the comments!