Chapter 15: The Effect of the Aura

Ye Dali had always felt a deep ache in his heart for his son. Ye Qinghe should have been perfectly healthy — going to university like Zhou Wan'er, enjoying his youth to the fullest.

But this sudden, inexplicable illness had left him bedridden, unable to move anything below his neck.

Yet for some reason, when Ye Dali came home today and saw Ye Qinghe lying there with his eyes closed, that fragile, delicate aura radiating from him made his heart clench with unbearable pain.

"It's Dad who's useless! If only Dad had enough money, maybe you'd have recovered long ago. You'd have gotten better, gone to school, fallen in love, chased after girls, and sweated it all out to your heart's content!"

The more Ye Dali looked at Ye Qinghe, the more guilt welled up inside him, until tears began to blur his vision.

"Dad, you're back? What's wrong?"

Someone was staring at him, and there was light in the room — Ye Qinghe was a light sleeper, so he woke up quickly.

Seeing Ye Dali standing there with tears in his eyes, he asked with some curiosity.

"It's nothing. I just suddenly felt like I've really let you down.

Dad's useless!"

Ye Dali turned his head away, wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand, steadied himself, then turned back and forced a small smile.

"Why are you suddenly saying that? I've never once thought you were useless, Dad. If it weren't for you, I might have already..."

Ye Qinghe smiled to comfort Ye Dali — but he had forgotten about the "Frail Beauty" aura he'd drawn today. That smile, combined with the delicate, sickly aura, made him look even more pitiable in Ye Dali's eyes.

"Qinghe~"

Ye Dali opened his mouth to say something, but the moment he did, his throat tightened and the words wouldn't come out.

Only then did Ye Qinghe remember the "Frail Beauty" aura he had drawn earlier that day.

Holy shit!

This thing is that powerful?

Though, it was also possible that because Ye Dali was his father — someone who had lived through everything alongside him — he was simply more emotionally sensitive to it.

Someone else might not have reacted the same way.

What could Ye Qinghe do?

He could only turn his face away so Ye Dali couldn't see it.

That actually helped. Ye Dali's emotions settled down quickly.

What had gotten into him today? Why was he tearing up so easily?

Ye Dali wiped his face with some embarrassment, grabbed a tissue from the table beside him to blow his nose, and quietly puzzled over it.

The next morning, the doorbell rang early. Ye Dali quickly silenced his phone, then jumped up to fold away the sofa bed — and as he did, he glanced over at Ye Qinghe, and his heart clenched again.

Poor Qinghe!

Why had he been having these thoughts so often these past two days?

Once he stopped looking at Ye Qinghe, Ye Dali found himself muttering about it inwardly.

But he didn't dwell on it. He quickly washed up and rushed off to his fellow villager's breakfast stall.

"Ye Qinghe, are you awake? I found you a translation job at school — it's a computer-related document, five hundred yuan! They need it by tomorrow. I'll come by after class this afternoon!"

At eleven forty in the morning — likely right after class ended — Zhou Wan'er called Ye Qinghe.

"Sure!"

Five hundred yuan was still money. Ye Qinghe had no reason to refuse.

When Ye Dali came back at noon to feed Ye Qinghe lunch, he finally figured out why he'd been having such strange reactions these past two days.

The reason was Ye Qinghe himself.

As long as he didn't see Ye Qinghe, he was fine. But the moment he laid eyes on him — especially his face — an involuntary pang of heartache would strike.

Why hadn't he felt this way before? Why was it happening now?

Ye Dali couldn't figure it out.

"Dad, you don't need to rush back tonight. Zhou Wan'er said she's coming over after class this afternoon."

"Today's Monday — isn't Wan'er in class? Why is she coming over? What's going on?"

Ye Dali asked, puzzled.

Zhou Wan'er usually only came on weekends. She never came on weekdays. Today was Monday — why would she be coming?

"Last Saturday I helped her translate an English document. She said people normally pay for that kind of thing, so she found me a job through her school — five hundred yuan per translation."

"You? Helped Zhou Wan'er translate something?"

Ye Dali looked completely disbelieving.

Sure, Ye Qinghe's English had been decent back when he was in school, but Zhou Wan'er was a university student. Could university-level English really be compared to middle or high school English?

He hadn't even finished high school — how could he translate for a university student?

Could it be that Zhou Wan'er wanted to help them out but felt awkward about giving money directly, so she'd come up with this scheme?

"Yeah. I can't move, but reading is no problem. I've been self-studying over the years, and I do have some ability when it comes to English."

Ye Qinghe had anticipated Ye Dali's reaction.

He'd brought it up on purpose — to give Ye Dali some mental preparation.

After all, he was planning to make a splash on Stand Till the End, and today's conversation was laying the groundwork. That way, if anyone asked questions later, Ye Dali wouldn't be caught off guard with nothing to say.

"Good on you for studying! Knowledge changes your fate — you earn more translating one document than I make running around all day!"

Ye Dali didn't doubt Ye Qinghe's words at all. After all, Ye Qinghe couldn't move — other than reading and studying, there wasn't much else he could do.

And the fact that Ye Qinghe could earn money was a good thing for him — at the very least, it would make him feel useful. Those months earlier when Ye Qinghe had looked like he had nothing left to live for — that was what had truly worried him.

After Ye Dali left, knowing that Zhou Wan'er would be coming in the evening with something to do — and that the translation wouldn't be finished in a short while — Ye Qinghe decided he should complete today's fifty kilometres first.

He entered the Consciousness Space and began to run at a steady pace.

After two long runs, he had come to understand that if he wanted to keep going, he had to manage his rhythm carefully. He couldn't just sprint at the start because he felt energetic, only to need long rest breaks later.

He had to go slowly, at the most comfortable pace he could sustain — not chasing speed, but chasing the ability to keep running longer and cover more distance.

Thirty kilometres was a threshold. For him, that was essentially his current limit. The remaining twenty kilometres were pure willpower, ground out one step at a time.

"Looks like adapting quickly is just not going to happen."

Even though he had adjusted his rhythm as best he could, by the thirty-kilometre mark Ye Qinghe was struggling to hold on and had to stop and rest.

Still, even when resting, Ye Qinghe didn't simply collapse like he had before. He'd read up on running and knew that even during a break, you shouldn't come to a complete stop — you should walk slowly to let your body recover, and you definitely shouldn't sit or lie down right away.

By the fifty-kilometre mark, Ye Qinghe was so exhausted he didn't want to move a single muscle. He lay sprawled on the ground for a long time before he could get up.

He should have waited for Zhou Wan'er to come and push him for five kilometres — he shouldn't have chosen this instead!