Marrying the Male Lead’s Disabled Uncle – Chapter 14

Chapter 14: If You Keep Looking at Me Like This, I Will Dig Out Your Eyes

Yan Han’s sharp questioning snapped Pei Lang awake completely.

Pushing himself up, Pei Lang grimaced—his legs were numb and aching, and his arms were sore from hours of massaging. He had definitely overexerted himself. His face twisted slightly as he replied, “I was taking care of you. Consider it a thank-you for helping me yesterday.”

“Who asked for your care?!” Yan Han was furious. The tiny figure inside the bubble on his shoulder had flames in its eyes, glaring at Pei Lang with a fierce expression.

Pei Lang had already expected this reaction. He remained calm.

“Yes, yes, of course, you don’t need my care at all. I don’t know who it was last night, complaining about leg pain. My hands were massaging you for hours, and they’re still sore.”

His body felt completely out of sorts. His legs ached, his arms were sore, and overall, he just felt awful.

He had gone to bed late, had barely gotten any sleep, and had been woken up by Yan Han’s loud voice. It wasn’t that he was in a bad mood—but he did feel a little wronged.

“Last night… that was you?” Yan Han’s voice was cold, showing zero gratitude.

He vaguely remembered feeling discomfort in his legs while drifting between sleep and wakefulness. He also remembered a pair of cool, soft hands massaging him. He had thought it was just a dream.

“Of course, it was me. Who else would it be? The Snail Girl? Or maybe the Scallop Boy? Surely you don’t think it was your assistant?”

At the mention of Su Jia, Yan Han frowned but remained silent.

Pei Lang changed the subject, rubbing his sore arm as he smiled. “I heard from your assistant that he picked you up from a bar? Bad mood?”

Yan Han didn’t answer. But the little figure on his shoulder had already betrayed him—it looked sulky, sulking as it sat there with crossed arms.

Pei Lang sighed. “Mr. Yan, I took care of you only to thank you, nothing more. I know this marriage wasn’t your choice. You probably got nagged by your family again when you went home, right?

“Don’t worry—I’ll stick to the agreement. When the contract expires, I’ll leave. I won’t bring you any trouble.”

That was the only logical explanation Pei Lang could come up with.

Maybe Yan Han had gone home and been questioned about his lack of recovery. Maybe his father had pushed him about it.

Yan Han already had a Bai Yueguang in his heart. Not only had he been forced to marry someone he didn’t love, but that someone was a person with a reputation so bad it was practically made of mud. Of course, he’d be in a terrible mood.

So, the moment he left the old house, he had gone drinking. When he was almost too drunk to function, he had called Su Jia to pick him up.

Pei Lang smiled. “During this time, if you need me to cooperate with anything, just let me know. If you meet someone you truly like, I can even help cover for you so your father doesn’t find out.

“After all, we’re in this together.”

Yan Han let out a disdainful huff. “Hmph. You’re quite clever.“

Pei Lang grinned. “Naturally.

“By the way, Mr. Yan, what did you have for dinner last night?”

Yan Han frowned. The way Pei Lang jumped between topics was too fast to keep up with.

“None of your business. Stop prying into my affairs.”

“Ohhh~ I see!” Pei Lang didn’t press further. Instead, his gaze drifted to the little figure on Yan Han’s shoulder.

The tiny thing was already counting on its fingers, as if listing out Yan Han’s meals. It didn’t speak, but small floating images of food appeared above its head, changing rapidly.

It was… adorable.

So Yan Han didn’t want to answer, but he was already thinking about it.

Pei Lang couldn’t help it. His gaze softened, and a gentle, amused smile appeared on his face—the kind of look an auntie would give a particularly cute child.

Yan Han hated that look.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said coldly, “I’ll dig out your eyes.”

Pei Lang shuddered slightly at the harsh words but wasn’t really scared.

He had already figured it out.

Among the floating food images, he had spotted something resembling bamboo shoots.

“Mr. Yan, did you eat bamboo shoots last night?”

Yan Han’s expression darkened slightly.

“Bamboo shoots are an irritant,” Pei Lang continued. “They can easily trigger old injuries. Mr. Yan, you should be more careful in the future.”

Yan Han hadn’t expected Pei Lang to guess so accurately.

For a moment, he was caught off guard.

Without saying another word, Pei Lang got up. “I’m going back to my room to sleep. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Yan Han didn’t respond. He was still thinking about the bamboo shoots. His expression turned colder, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes as if he had realized something.

By the time he snapped back to reality, Pei Lang was already gone.

He should have been angry about Pei Lang invading his space.

But for some reason…

That was the deepest, most peaceful sleep he had in a long time.

Yan Han guessed it was because of the alcohol.

Or maybe because Pei Lang had massaged his legs.

Either way, he didn’t feel as enraged as he thought he would.

But at the same time, he felt uncomfortable.

His legs—his most vulnerable weakness—had been touched by someone other than a doctor.

Yet he hadn’t minded it at all.

Even stranger, Su Jia hadn’t called despite him missing the morning meeting.

Yan Han used voice command to call his wheelchair over, sat on it with some difficulty, changed into fresh clothes, and called Su Jia.

On the other end, Su Jia was in full panic mode.

Yan Han had never been late before.

He was terrified that Pei Lang had somehow done something terrible to his boss.

If Pei Lang had attacked the boss, wouldn’t that make him an accomplice?!

It’s over, it’s over. I’m getting fired.

When the phone suddenly rang, Su Jia was so startled that he almost dropped it.

Scrambling to answer, his nerves got the better of him, and he blurted out everything at once—

“Boss! I didn’t hand you over to him! He carried you like a princess all by himself! After that, I left, so I have no idea what happened! Please forgive me, Boss, please—”

Yan Han instantly locked onto a specific phrase.

“Princess hug?”

Su Jia froze.

Yan Han didn’t know?!

Su Jia hesitated, debating whether to explain further, but Yan Han was too smart—he had already pieced it together.

His expression turned dark.

Cold rage surged through him.

His grip on the phone tightened. The plastic creaked under the pressure, almost cracking.

“Take me to the company,” he ordered.

Then he hung up.

Su Jia exhaled in relief, glad to have escaped for now.

Meanwhile, Yan Han sat in his wheelchair, deep in thought.

He could still feel the lingering sensation of Pei Lang massaging his legs.

He was angry—angry at Pei Lang’s audacity.

But also…

A little conflicted.

Because—oddly enough—Pei Lang’s massage technique was incredibly good.

And for some reason, last night…

He had slept unusually well.

Yan Han had always been independent. Ever since his legs were injured, he had worked tirelessly to prove that he didn’t need anyone’s help. That he could still dominate the business world, that he could live without relying on his legs, that he was still capable on his own.

Yet, when Pei Lang had taken care of him, he hadn’t felt the anger or humiliation he had expected.

What truly irritated him was that Pei Lang had entered his personal space without permission. That alone was enough to make him unhappy.

After his accident, he had grown used to hearing voices filled with either pity or condescension.

It didn’t matter that he was a powerful businessman, that his word carried absolute authority. There were always people who looked down on him simply because he couldn’t stand.

They might be jealous—jealous that he was still more successful than them despite his disability. But even if those voices were just grains of sand in the wind, over time, they accumulated and caused pain.

Pei Lang, however, was different.

Not once had he ever pitied him.

Not once had he ever looked at him with disdain.

His gaze was sometimes strange, but it was mostly filled with kindness.

It was… the kind of look one might give to a child. Or a pet.

Pei Lang had never despised his crippled legs. On the contrary, he had massaged him all night—something he could have easily ignored.

In Pei Lang’s eyes, his disability was no different from a common cold. Just as people didn’t ridicule someone for catching a cold, Pei Lang saw no reason to ridicule a man who couldn’t walk.

There was no difference to him.

Thinking about it like this, Pei Lang… really wasn’t that bad.

But then Yan Han’s expression darkened as another thought came to mind.

The princess carry.

The image of Pei Lang—a man with thin arms and legs—lifting him, a fully grown man, like a princess was absolutely unbearable.

Even he couldn’t stand the thought of it.

And worse—Su Jia had seen it.

It was humiliating.

He was the cold-faced CEO, yet he had been carried like a princess in front of his own subordinate.

Where was his dignity?!

When Su Jia picked Yan Han up, Yan Han’s face was so dark and stormy that Su Jia barely dared to breathe. He spent the entire day walking on eggshells, feeling like his nerves were about to snap from stress.

Meanwhile, the culprit, Pei Lang, slept until noon, had a leisurely lunch, then casually went to practice martial arts before heading back to his room.

Eventually, Pei Lang logged onto his music platform.

The moment he went online, his notifications exploded.

He had seen this kind of flood of messages back when he was a famous actor. Ignoring them, he waited until the alerts finally stopped before checking the situation.

His song from yesterday had tens of thousands of comments and a massive increase in fans.

The feedback was overwhelmingly positive.

Everyone praised his beautiful voice, his soothing lyrics, his healing melodies. Some even shared their personal struggles in the comment section, treating the space as a safe place to release their worries.

What surprised Pei Lang was how the community responded—people comforted one another, offering encouragement and warmth, despite the fact that they themselves had likely come here for the same reason.

They were helping each other.

They were fighting to live.

Pei Lang was genuinely happy that so many people resonated with his song. It wasn’t just music anymore—it had meaning.

The song’s popularity wasn’t just limited to the site. It had started to spread to other platforms, quickly gaining traction until it made its way onto trending searches.

Because Pei Lang had posted it anonymously, his identity remained protected.

Netizens searched.

They compared.

They analyzed every well-known singer and entertainment figure, even underground artists, trying to find the mystery voice behind the song.

But they came up with nothing.

In the end, their only conclusion was that this must be a newcomer, and that for some reason, they had chosen to debut on a mental health support website.

Big data was a funny thing.

People who desperately tried to market themselves struggled to make a splash, yet someone like Pei Lang—who had uploaded a song casually, with no intention of attracting fame—had become a sensation overnight.

His voice was undeniably unique.

His singing style was gentle and slow, like reciting poetry or reading literature aloud. The combination of anonymity, originality, and raw emotion sparked immense curiosity among netizens.

The song’s popularity surged.

The website, already well-known, exploded in traffic. New users flooded in.

People with and without mental health concerns all rushed to register.

In the chaos, the website started to feel cluttered—no longer a quiet, healing space.

But no one blamed Pei Lang.

After all, the song was too good.

Instead of pointing fingers, everyone wanted more.

The website’s administrators, however, were quick to act.

The tech department worked overtime, implementing a real registration test.

Now, new users had to pass a questionnaire—a test designed to evaluate their attitude toward online discourse and mental health awareness.

This wasn’t a site for celebrity worship.

It had been created as a safe space for patients and those seeking comfort. Letting in people who only came to chase stars would ruin the atmosphere.

Even those who passed the test weren’t safe.

If they ever violated the site’s ethics—if they ever contributed to a toxic environment—their accounts would be permanently banned, with no chance of re-registration.

As a result, even the people who had come for Pei Lang’s music were extremely cautious.

No one dared to chat recklessly.

No one wanted to ruin the safe space.

Looking at the rapidly rising numbers in his account statistics, Pei Lang realized something.

He was about to make his first real earnings from this place.

That thought made him happy.

“I wonder what people’s reactions will be when they find out it was me singing?”

His real identity would definitely cause an uproar.

If word got out, this peaceful website could easily turn into a battlefield for haters and gossipers.

“It’s better to keep it hidden,” Pei Lang murmured. “Let the heat die down… and then everything will go back to normal.”

Although the website had taken swift action, Pei Lang still felt that this space belonged to those who sought healing.

Fame would only disrupt that.

But eventually, as time passed and curiosity faded, those who didn’t belong would move on.

And when that happened—

This place would finally be at peace again.