Chapter 6: Fevered Nights

He Wei drifted in and out of half-sleep, almost succumbing several times before finally resting. Around 2 a.m., she whispered softly:
“Are you asleep?”

The man in the corner hesitated for a few seconds before answering in a low voice:
“No.”

Something was wrong. A soldier on night watch should have been alert, his response sharp—not slow. She rose from bed, groping her way across the dark carpet. He sat slumped, more than before. Though the carpet muffled her steps, he sensed her approach and slowly opened his eyes.
“What is it?”

“Are you feeling unwell?” she asked gently.

He shook his head.

She wanted to touch his hand to check his temperature, but withdrew, instead pressing her palm to his forehead. He turned his head aside, but she had already touched him.

He was burning, sweat beading profusely. Her heart pounded. She lowered her voice urgently:
“Come to bed with me quickly, I’ll help you over.”

She should have known—the first night after an injury was most prone to fever.

Seeing her approach, Xie Wuqing murmured:
“It’s alright.”

He believed the fever would break by dawn.

Her soft hand slid from his front to his back, trying to help him sit. That same hand had steadied him at the concession gate; now it was more agile, more sure. He smiled faintly, sighed, and pulled her hand away.

It felt like being scratched by something sharp, or perhaps a fevered hallucination. He ignored it.

She watched him brace against the handrail, his back straight, steps steady despite the fever, walking to the bathroom. She prepared words to persuade him.

Fortunately, after washing his face, he returned to bed. She covered him lightly with the embroidered quilt, careful not to touch too much, afraid he would find it improper and refuse to rest.

The night was sleepless.

Before dawn, a knock sounded. He opened his eyes as He Wei pulled Lianfang into the bathroom. A moment later, she slipped to his bedside and whispered:
“If you’re still awake, tell me where the pass is. Otherwise, I’ll have to find it myself.”

He turned slowly, producing a folded paper from his pocket.

“I’ll let them go first.”

The paper was taken. Silence followed.

…

Daylight streamed through the curtains. His clothes were soaked with sweat, bandages clinging uncomfortably. When he finally stirred, she was seated at the edge of the bed, head lowered, trimming her fingernail with delicate brass scissors shaped like a golden butterfly.

“Awake?” she asked, smiling as she dodged the light.
“Shall I help you sit up?”

She gathered the clippings, set the scissors aside. He was already leaning against the headboard.

“I noticed you hadn’t woken up…” she said, placing a pillow behind him. “There’s nothing to do.”

She had noticed the nail scratches on his arm and realized she had hurt him. She trimmed her nails to prevent it happening again.

“The ship has departed,” she reassured him. “Your fourth sister and nephew boarded safely. And them too.”

He nodded faintly.

“Shall we have lunch before we leave?” she asked, reaching for the menu.

“Someone is waiting at the Astoria,” he rasped, hoarse from silence. “We can’t stay any longer.”

She felt guilty. “Wait until I tell Uncle Mao to prepare the car.”

…

At dawn, French soldiers stopped their car at the concession gate, searching every box and tool. She was grateful for his help.

Back at the Astoria, an officer approached.
“In the Thames Hall.”

She guessed someone awaited him.

“I’m going up,” she said.

He pointed to the ballroom entrance. Bai Jinxing stood there, smiling with satisfaction.
“Should we have a fight, or go outside and settle things with guns?” he joked.

Xie Wuqing smiled faintly.
“Returned intact, put on the tab.”

With his arm in a sling, he nodded to He Wei and entered the elevator. The clatter of its doors was drowned by tango music.

…

Later, Bai Jinxing explained he had arrived at three in the morning, arranging disguises to wait outside. He urged her to rest.

At lunch, he asked gently:
“You… have you ever thought of marrying me? Up until today?”

She answered solemnly:
“I also seriously considered it. We were planning to marry during the New Year. The dowry was prepared.”

He listened, serious.

But when she spoke of marriage, Xie Wuqing—seated nearby with his adjutant—smiled faintly, pouring wine.

“Next time you say something like that,” he said, pushing a glass of cocoa milk toward her, “do it in a less crowded place. People who don’t know better will think I’m doing something to you.”

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