Fan Ju had a strong constitution, the kind that would either stay perfectly healthy or suffer extensively once he fell ill.
Last night, he slept in his wet clothes, the chill seeping into his body, which led to a fever and a cold; his temperature was just measured at 39 degrees Celsius.
Nie Rujun felt uneasy seeing him sick, and after feeding him medicine, she let him lie down to rest.
A pot of plain porridge was still simmering in the kitchen; she needed to go check on it.
"I'm already sick, where do you think you're going?" Fan Ju, weak from illness, grabbed her hand tightly, not letting her go.
Nie Rujun, trying to be patient, said, "I'm going to make something to eat in the kitchen. Tell me if you'd like anything in particular."
"My mouth tastes bitter; I have no appetite." Fan Ju tugged on her hand, "Lie down with me and sleep for a bit."
"..."
