Chapter 78 - Tagging along

Chapter 78: Chapter 78 - Tagging along

By the time Jua finished washing his face and attending to his morning needs, his legs were already trembling.

The demonic energy had helped, but it couldn’t instantly restore muscles that had gone unused for twenty years. Standing at the sink still required concentration, and he had needed to sit down halfway through brushing his teeth.

Mao Mao waited nearby without making a fuss. Whenever Jua’s balance wavered, a hand appeared at his back, steadying him before he could stumble.

At the stairs, the man bent and lifted him.

Jua caught his shoulder out of reflex. He was beginning to get used to being carried, which was precisely why he needed to put a stop to it.

"I’d like to move into my old room downstairs," he said as they descended. "It’ll be easier to get around. I can use the wheelchair without asking someone to carry me every time."

Mao Mao slowed.

Jua looked up and caught the reluctance on his face. The man had grown far too fond of picking him up. He barely needed an excuse now; the moment Jua considered moving somewhere, those arms were already reaching for him.

Still, Mao Mao didn’t argue. His gaze lingered on Jua for another moment before he nodded.

"I’ll have everything moved after breakfast."

His agreement came quietly, without the conditions Jua had half expected.

"Thank you."

Mao Mao’s expression softened. He adjusted his hold and continued downstairs, though Jua noticed that he took his time over the last few steps.

The dining table was already set.

Steam rose from a pot of rice congee, carrying the savoury smell of chicken and spring onion. A bamboo steamer held soft white buns, while plates of sliced cucumber, pickled vegetables, and crisp youtiao filled the space beside it. Warm soy milk had been poured into cups, and the ginger tea Jua had requested waited near Mao Mao’s place.

Mao Mao settled him into a chair and made sure his feet rested comfortably before taking the seat beside him.

For a while, they ate in peace.

Jua held his own bowl, pleased to find that his grip was steadier than yesterday. He still moved slowly, but Mao Mao left him to it instead of offering to take over. That small restraint did more to improve his mood than another round of reassurance would have.

He had just broken open a bun when Mao Mao’s phone rang.

The man answered while setting down his cup. His thumb accidentally touched the speaker button, and an excited voice filled the dining room.

"Mr Ying, we’ve made progress! The latest preparation is ready, and we’re carrying out the first test today. You should come and see it yourself."

Jua stopped eating.

Mao Mao took the call off speaker immediately, but there was little point. Jua was already looking at him.

He listened for a few seconds, his expression carefully composed.

"I’ll come."

After ending the call, he placed the phone beside his plate and reached for his tea.

Jua watched that deliberate movement. An ordinary work call wouldn’t have made him so careful.

"What was that about?"

"Just work."

Jua lowered his eyes to his bowl.

He knew perfectly well which work it was. Mao Mao had spoken about the research with enough conviction in the car, and now someone was calling to announce progress. Whatever they had prepared, they intended to test it today.

He needed to see it.

Demanding that Mao Mao shut everything down had achieved nothing. Jua couldn’t explain the warning from Soul Space, and without knowing what had actually been developed, he had little else to argue with.

"Take me with you."

Mao Mao’s hand paused around his cup.

"I’d rather you rested. Yesterday was tiring, and your therapist is coming later."

It was a reasonable objection, delivered gently. Jua might even have believed it was the real one if Mao Mao hadn’t avoided his eyes.

He set his spoon down.

The man beside him could carry him around the house, organise his care, and arrange an entire room before asking what he wanted. Yet the moment Jua wanted to see something important, he was suddenly too fragile to leave the house.

Jua considered arguing.

Then he remembered Mao Mao’s face during their therapy session.

He turned toward him, tilted his head, and let his mouth settle into a small pout.

"Won’t you take me along? I don’t want to spend the whole day waiting here for you."

Mao Mao stared.

Colour crept into his ears, then spread across his face so quickly that Jua almost forgot why he had done it.

The man opened his mouth, apparently lost whatever answer he had prepared, and glanced away.

"Y-yes. Of course. I’ll bring you."

Jua relaxed at once.

"Good. I’ll be ready after breakfast."

Mao Mao nodded, still looking rather overwhelmed. Then he stood abruptly and headed toward the corridor.

Jua looked at the food left on his plate.

"Where are you going? You haven’t finished eating."

"Bathroom!"

The answer came back without Mao Mao slowing down.

Jua watched him disappear.

Again?

He had spent long enough in there upstairs. Now he was rushing off halfway through breakfast, and the strange redness in his face suggested he wasn’t feeling particularly comfortable.

Does he have piles or something?

Jua frowned toward the empty doorway. The man was perfectly willing to fuss over every little ache Jua experienced, yet apparently couldn’t admit when he had a problem of his own.

He covered Mao Mao’s bowl to keep it warm and returned to his breakfast.

Mao Mao returned a few minutes later, his face still flushed.

Jua watched him approach, then put down his spoon. The colour in the man’s cheeks hadn’t faded, and there was a little dampness near his hairline.

"Come here."

Mao Mao stopped beside his chair, looking curious.

Jua reached up and pressed a palm against his forehead. His temperature seemed normal. He checked again with the back of his hand, frowning when he found no unusual warmth.

"Why do you keep getting flushed? Is something wrong?"

The man’s eyes softened. Instead of answering immediately, he turned his cheek into Jua’s palm and nuzzled against it.

Jua’s hand went still.

Mao Mao was smiling at him so sweetly that he almost forgot what he had asked. The broad shoulders, the height, the confidence with which he moved around the house—all of it became rather difficult to take seriously when he behaved like this.

"No," Mao Mao assured him. "I’m the epitome of health."

His face had somehow become redder.

Jua eyed him doubtfully before withdrawing his hand. Perhaps he was embarrassed about whatever kept sending him to the bathroom. There was no point questioning him at the table if he didn’t want to explain.

"Then eat. We should leave soon." He gestured toward the covered bowl. "I’ll have someone check that my wheelchair is charged."

Mao Mao sat down and lifted the lid. A small pout appeared as he stirred the porridge.

"But I wanted to carry you."

Jua looked at him.

The man took a bite, watching him over the spoon as though the request had been perfectly reasonable.

"I’m not a child. You can’t keep carrying me everywhere," Jua said. "I need to use my legs if I want them to work properly again."

Mao Mao’s gaze dropped toward his knees.

Jua could understand why he worried. Yesterday, he had barely managed a few steps between the rails. Even with the energy helping him, his muscles were weak enough that standing required effort.

But he couldn’t improve if Mao Mao scooped him up every time he wanted to cross a room.

"You can help me practise," he added. "That would be more useful."

The pout disappeared.

"All right."

Jua studied him for a moment, surprised by the quick agreement. Then Mao Mao shifted his chair a little closer, and he realised the man had found something to like about that arrangement too.

He shook his head and returned to his breakfast.

Beside him, Mao Mao finally began eating properly. The porridge was still warm, and he finished most of it before reaching for his phone. Jua watched as he opened the recent calls and contacted the laboratory again.

"We’re coming together," he said once someone answered. "Don’t begin until we arrive."

Jua lowered his eyes to his bowl, satisfied that at least the tests wouldn’t happen without him.

When the wheelchair was brought over, he pushed his dining chair back and placed both feet firmly on the floor. Mao Mao stood immediately, but Jua gave him a look before he could bend down.

The man stopped.

Instead, he offered his arm.

Jua accepted it, leaning forward to push himself upright. His thighs trembled, and he had to pause before attempting the first step. Mao Mao stayed beside him, his free hand hovering near his back.

The short distance left Jua breathing harder than he liked, but he reached the wheelchair without being lifted.