Chapter 259 Surviving the Danger

He swayed slightly, but didn't fall; he regained his balance.

His throat was dry, and his voice was hoarse, like sandpaper being rubbed against his skin: "Let's go... wait outside the operating room."

Song Yu'an nodded and reached out to support his arm.

The moment their fingertips touched his sleeve, they both paused for a moment.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

An indescribable feeling quietly spread between the two of them.

That's very strange.

Counting her past and present lives, Song Yu'an hasn't touched this son for almost forty years—the man who died twice in her heart.

Forty years, two full twenty-year periods, seemed like a cycle of fate, pushing her back to the same starting point, yet bringing with it an unspeakable heaviness.

She looked at the man in front of her, wearing a faded old shirt, his face bearing a familiar yet slightly unfamiliar profile.

Those eyes looked just like they did when I was a child, but they had a weathered look on them now.

However, Zhou Dajun is a warm-hearted person. Just by looking at Song Yu'an's appearance, he knew that she was feeling bad.

She stood there, her shoulders trembling slightly, her eyes darting around, as if she wanted to get closer but didn't dare to actually go forward.

His heart softened, and without saying much, he reached out and took her hand.

That hand was rough and warm, calloused from years of hard work, like a silent promise.

He said softly, "Mother, let's go."

Song Yu'an stared into his eyes, and as he looked, he suddenly felt a sense of disorientation—memories were like old photographs being tossed about by the wind, page by page.

She had almost forgotten that her son was usually quiet, never argued or fought, and never complained loudly, yet he always shouldered all the burdens.

His shoulders weren't broad, but they were like a mountain, silently bearing the storms of the entire family.

It's not that he doesn't feel pain, but rather that he's been in pain for so long that he's gotten used to swallowing the bitterness.

She never felt sorry for him in her past life.

At that time, all she cared about was Zhou Nuli's report card and the little ones crying for candy, completely forgetting her son who silently added firewood to the stove and carried his younger brother's schoolbag in the rainy night.

There's an old saying that the loudest baby gets fed, but Zhou Dajun never cries.

He was like a silent blade of grass, growing quietly in a corner, never uttering a sound even when trampled and bent over.

He was so well-behaved, so well-behaved that it made people uneasy, so well-behaved that it made people forget that he was just a child.

Because of his understanding nature, the whole family, from Song Yu'an to Zhou Nuli, to the younger children, and even the Zhou family's relatives, all treated him as a blood bag that could be used to extract blood at any time.

When someone is in trouble, the first person they think of is Zhou Dajun; when someone is short of money, they just ask him for it; when someone is wronged, they ask him to back down.

But no one ever asked him if he was tired or in pain.

He always says, "You're the boss, you have to take responsibility."

"You have to take care of your younger brother."

"You have to be considerate of your parents."

You have to give in to your family.

These words were like iron chains, wrapping around him tighter and tighter until he could hardly breathe.

"sorry……"

Song Yu'an finally spoke, his voice hoarse as if squeezed from the depths of his throat.

These two words had weighed on her for decades, and now that she had finally spoken them, they carried an immense weight.

She wasn't apologizing for anything else, but for her lifelong indifference, neglect, and favoritism.

Zhou Dajun was taken aback, his brows furrowing slightly. He thought she was upset that his amnesia had caused trouble, and a wave of guilt washed over him. He immediately shook his head: "Mother, don't say that. If I hadn't lost my memory, none of this would have happened. It's my fault."

His tone was gentle, his eyes were honest, and there was not a trace of resentment.

But it was this unconditional understanding that made Song Yu'an feel as if he had been cut by a knife.

Song Yu'an's lips trembled, and tears fell in a steady stream, landing on the back of his hand, which was icy cold.

She raised her hand and wiped her eyes haphazardly, but the more she wiped, the more tears she shed.

Looking up, I saw Xiao Shui standing in front of me, biting her lip, her eyes red, like a sapling that refused to bow its head in the wind and rain.

Her small body was taut and straight, as if she were using all her strength to hold up the sky and prevent it from collapsing.

"Bian Jiang, your face is frighteningly pale, where have you been?"

Without saying a word, Xiao Shui quickly pulled Zhou Dajun aside, her tone both anxious and distressed.

She reached out to help him sit down, and when her fingertips touched his arm, she found that his hand was as cold as ice.

She frowned and lowered her voice: "Did you go to donate blood again? You know you're anemic!"

Song Yu'an raised his hand to wipe away his tears, took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself down.

She straightened her hair, her fingertips trembling slightly, but she forced herself to remain calm.

She didn't call out to him or turn around; instead, she turned and walked towards the operating room.

She knew he was injured, but she also knew that some roads must be walked alone in order to truly face them.

But Zhou Dajun still followed.

His steps were a little unsteady, but each step was firm.

Xiao Shui couldn't stop her, so she stomped her feet in anger, her face stern, and followed behind.

The corridor lights were cold and white, casting long shadows of the three people, silently overlapping each other, as if fate had bound them together, making it impossible to separate them.

The blood was delivered in time, and after the transfusion, Zhou Dajun's blood pressure stabilized.

The nurse breathed a sigh of relief as she changed the dressing, and whispered, "Luckily, it was delivered quickly, otherwise it could have been really dangerous."

Shen Cuifen's vital signs gradually returned to normal, the ashen color on her face faded, and her breathing became steady.

She was wheeled out by the nurse, covered with a thin blanket, and looked as quiet as if she were asleep.

As the nurse pushed the hospital bed, Song Yu'an immediately stepped forward to help stabilize the bed.

She moved very carefully, afraid of disturbing Shen Cuifen who was still unconscious.

But just then, another hand reached out to the bedside.

The hand had slightly bulging veins and thick knuckles; it was a man's hand.

She turned her head and saw Zhou Dajun staring at Shen Cuifen—her face was as white as a magnolia flower wilting in the rain, her lips were pale, her eyelashes trembled slightly, and her quietness made people feel depressed.

His eyes were deep, concealing unspeakable emotions.

It wasn't just simple concern, but a pain bordering on self-blame, as if he should bear every bit of suffering that Shen Cuifen endured.

The nurse pushed the bed into the ward, and Song Yu'an stood at the door and glanced back.

Under the light, Xiao Shui was still standing in the same spot, without moving.

She kept her head down, her fingers tightly twisting the hem of her clothes, as if she was suppressing something.

That sight made Song Yu'an's heart tighten, but he ultimately did not go forward to comfort her.

Changing the bed, checking, and explaining precautions—everything was done in an orderly manner.

The nurse handed over the medicine, her voice gentle: "The patient has lost a lot of blood, so the doctor prescribed iron supplements. Two tablets at a time, three times a day, after meals. Please remember to give them to the patient on time."

Song Yu'an took the medicine; the plastic medicine bag made a slight rustling sound in her hand.

She glanced down at it, then casually stuffed it into the cabinet, her movements as nonchalant as if she were dealing with an insignificant trifle.

But the moment the cabinet door closed, her eyelids twitched, as if some corner of her heart had been violently jolted by this seemingly insignificant act.

“Xiao Shui is still waiting for you outside. Your child is still young, so take him home first. Cui Fen, I'll stay here and watch over him.”

Upon hearing this, Zhou Dajun remained standing still.