Christmas Eve.
For the next three days, Lu Zi also deliberately avoided the hospital. It wasn't until Thursday afternoon that he received a call from the nurse saying that Cheng's mother's condition was unstable, and he had no choice but to go.
In the hospital corridor, he ran into Chen Zihan who was carrying an insulated box.
"You still dare to come?" Chen Zihan immediately stood in front of him with a vigilant look.
Lu Ziyi glanced at him calmly: "Get out of the way."
"I've checked," Chen Zihan lowered his voice, his eyes sharp. "On the day Lu Xubai jumped from the building, your father, Lu Yu, was there. Is this a coincidence?"
Lu Zi also closed the book in his hand, his movements slow and deliberate: "So?"
"So you approached Xiao Rui not to atone for your sins, but because you were afraid he would know the truth and take revenge on your Lu family!" Chen Zihan took a step closer. "You are using control instead of defense."
Lu Ziyi suddenly smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Chen Zihan, you always use the most superficial logic to speculate about others." He looked at Chen Zihan, "If you really think you know something, you can tell Cheng Xiaorui. Let's see if he seeks revenge on my family first, or collapses first, when his mother is critically ill."
This sentence accurately hit Chen Zihan's soft spot. When the two of them were on the verge of a fight, the door of the ward suddenly opened. Cheng Xiaorui stood at the door, his face pale: "What... are you arguing about?"
At that moment, both of them instantly subsided. Lu Ziyi was the first to speak: "Nothing, just discussing your mother's medication." His lies were so smooth that they were shocking.
Chen Zihan gritted his teeth and finally raised the thermos box: "I brought soup."
After this hallway confrontation, the atmosphere in the hospital became subtle and oppressive. Chen Zihan practically treated the hospital as his home, spending all his time with Cheng Xiaorui, aside from school and essential errands. He no longer engaged in direct confrontation with Lu Ziyi, but the silent vigilance and surveillance felt more suffocating to Lu Ziyi than any arguments.
Lu Ziyi's visits had decreased significantly, but each time he came, he brought something he needed—sometimes a special nutrient supplement Cheng Zhixu had ordered, sometimes important review materials Cheng Xiaorui had left at school. He no longer lingered, often dropping off his belongings, briefly inquiring about Cheng Zhixu's condition, and then leaving, as if simply fulfilling a necessary procedure.
His conversations with Cheng Xiaorui became brief and restrained, often consisting of a few brief exchanges about academics or medical expenses. Cheng Xiaorui would mostly nod silently, and when she occasionally glanced up at him, her eyes were filled with deep fatigue and a subtle hint of confusion.
Chen Zihan watched all this unfold, but he felt no joy. He could sense Lu Ziyi's retreat, but it wasn't a sign of surrender; it was more like a temporary hibernation before a larger plot. He dared not let his guard down, remaining even more attentive by Cheng Xiaorui's side, shielding him from any potential harm, including those from the past he had yet to fully understand.
Cheng Xiaorui, caught in this silent struggle between the two, was exhausted, both physically and mentally. His mother's condition continued to worsen, her lucidity becoming less and less frequent, while the pain grew more intense. Watching his mother suffer in pain, observing the strange atmosphere between the other two, he felt like a string stretched to its limit, ready to break at any moment. He could only force himself to devote all his energy to caring for his mother and reviewing his homework, using the mechanical busyness to numb his shattered nerves.
Amidst the scent of disinfectant and the ticking of instruments, the days slipped towards winter. The leaves of the sycamore trees outside the window had long since fallen, leaving only bare branches pointing towards the gray sky.
Saturday, December 20
Cheng Zhixu fell into a coma again. The doctor privately told Cheng Xiaorui that it might be in the next few days. Cheng Xiaorui stood outside the ward for a long time, until his hands and feet became cold, and Chen Zihan gently pulled him back inside.
Sunday, December 21
Lu Zi also arrived, bringing with him a top domestic palliative care expert in oncology for a remote consultation. After the consultation, he told Cheng Xiaorui in the hallway, "In this final stage, minimizing pain is paramount."
His tone was calm, but Cheng Xiaorui saw that his hands hanging at his sides were clenched tightly. Chen Zihan did not stop him this time, but just stood by silently.
Tuesday, December 23rd, the day before Christmas Eve.
Cheng Zhixu miraculously regained consciousness for a brief moment, and seemed to feel better. She looked at Cheng Xiaorui, who was guarding the bedside, and her cloudy eyes revealed clear reluctance and worry. She said in a voice so weak that it was almost inaudible, "Chengcheng... take care of yourself..."
Cheng Xiaorui held her hand tightly, tears streaming silently. Chen Zihan turned away with red eyes. Lu Ziyi didn't show up that day.
By evening, Cheng's mother's condition had taken a turn for the worse, her vital signs becoming unstable. The frequency of doctors and nurses entering and leaving the ward increased significantly. Cheng Xiaorui, Chen Zihan, and Lu Ziyi, who had also arrived at some point, remained in the ward in silence, the air thick with the heaviness of impending disaster.
As the night deepened, tiny snowflakes drifted outside the window, the first snowfall of the winter. The city began to take on the warm atmosphere of Christmas Eve, while inside the hospital ward, a silent farewell unfolded. Everyone knew that the final moment, on the eve of his birthday, was about to arrive.
Cheng Zhixu's breathing became weaker and weaker, and the fluctuations on the electrocardiogram gradually calmed down.
Cheng Xiaorui knelt by the bed, tightly gripping his mother's withered hand. Chen Zihan and Lu Ziyi stood on either side of the bed, watching the scene in silence. For the past few days, they had tacitly maintained a surface of calm, neither wanting to add to the conflict during Cheng Xiaorui's most painful time.
"Mom..." Cheng Xiaorui's voice was as light as a feather, "Tomorrow is my birthday."
He leaned over and put his face against the back of his mother's gradually cooling hand, as if he were back in his childhood:
Do you remember? Last year, on your birthday, you secretly gave me an extra ten yuan so I could buy that model I'd been dreaming about. Actually, I didn't buy it. I used the money to buy you a peace rope. Even though it was the wrong color, it looked great on you..."
His voice was tearful, but he tried hard to hold back the tears: "Two years ago on my birthday, you worked overtime until very late, and when you came back, the cake shop was closed. You made me a "cake" with leftovers and put a candle on it... It was the most delicious cake I've ever had...
"And two years ago... you were sick with a fever, but you still insisted on celebrating my birthday. But when you blew out the candles, you almost fainted..."
Cheng Xiaorui recounted these ordinary yet heartwarming memories one by one, now becoming his final conversation with his mother. The ECG monitor emitted a long beep. A straight line ran across the screen.
Cheng Xiaorui finally broke down and cried bitterly on his mother.
Chen Zihan, eyes red, stepped forward and gently held his shoulders. Lu Zi also stood there, looking at Cheng Xiaorui's trembling back, and for the first time, he clearly realized that the boy who had once given him a home in the rain was now truly alone.
Outside the window, Christmas Eve snowflakes began to fall.
Cheng Zhixu's funeral took place that morning. The sky was leaden gray, like a soaked rag, weighing heavily on everyone's heart. The cemetery was sparsely populated. Aside from Cheng Xiaorui, Chen Zihan, and Lu Ziyi, there were only a few of Cheng's mother's former friends and neighbors.
Cheng Xiaorui wore a clearly ill-fitting black suit that Chen Zihan had found for him. He clutched the small, cold urn tightly in his arms, as if it were the last warmth in the world. He didn't shed a tear the entire time, his lips pressed into a pale line as he stared intently at the grave, as if carving the darkness into his soul.
Chen Zihan had been standing half a step behind him on the left, like a silent shadow, ready to support him if he could no longer hold on. His eyes were mostly on Cheng Xiaorui, occasionally glancing warily at Lu Ziyi standing on the other side.
Lu Ziyi also arrived, wearing a tailored black coat. He stood a little further away, maintaining a deliberate distance from the situation. His expression was solemn, his eyes downcast. He made no eye contact with anyone, nor did he attempt to approach Cheng Xiaorui. At the conclusion of the ceremony, he simply bowed slightly to the tombstone from a distance, then turned and silently disappeared down the cemetery path, as if his arrival and departure were merely a necessary ritual.
The night of December 24th, Christmas Eve, is Cheng Xiaorui’s birthday.
Chen Zihan was determined to celebrate his birthday. In the small apartment he was temporarily renting near the hospital, he meticulously prepared a small cake with a candle marking his 18th birthday. The warm, yellow candlelight danced, trying to dispel the chill in the room.
"Xiao Rui, make a wish." Chen Zihan said softly, his tone filled with cautious expectation.
Cheng Xiaorui stared at the faint flame with a hollow look in his eyes. He stared for a long time, until the candle was almost burnt out, before forcing a rather unflattering smile. His voice was so soft it sounded like a sigh, "Chen Zihan, so this is what growing up feels like."
He didn't blow out the candles or make a wish. He just felt a tightness in his chest. The huge emptiness and confusion after losing a loved one became particularly clear and piercing on this day.
Chen Zihan felt very sad when he saw him like this. Just as he was about to say something, the doorbell rang.
The man who arrived was Lu Ziyi's driver. He respectfully handed over a plain, unmarked paper bag, saying it was from Mr. Lu. There was no birthday present in the bag, only a brown paper envelope.
Cheng Xiaorui hesitantly opened the envelope. There was no birthday card inside, only a key and a printed note with only one short sentence:
[You have to have a place to live. Address: Room XX, No. XX, XX Road]
In this way, Lu Zi also gave him back his lost home in an irresistible gesture. This "gift" was too heavy, and it also touched the deepest pain and longing in his heart too accurately.
Chen Zihan looked at the key, his face pale. The cake and warmth he had prepared seemed so... powerless in the face of Lu Ziyi's gift, which directly concerned "survival" and "home."
Cheng Xiaorui clutched the key tightly in his hand, the sharp edges of the metal causing pain. He stared out the window at the falling snowflakes. The neon lights of Christmas Eve flickered in the distance, reflecting his eighteenth birthday, a day when he had nothing but was forced to face everything in the future.
This winter is really cold.
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