The car finally stopped in front of the clinic. Mu Xinrong almost pushed the door open, and the biting cold wind mixed with snow foam instantly rushed in, making him shiver.
He quickly took off the down jacket covering Chao Youye, and regardless of the fact that he was only wearing a thin sweater, he used all his strength to half-carry and half-drag the hot and heavy body out.
Chao Youye's head leaned weakly on his shoulder, and her hot breath sprayed on his neck, carrying a life-threatening heat.
"Doctor! Doctor!" Mu Xinrong's voice was hoarse and high-pitched, piercing through the wind and snow, with a desperate panic.
He stumbled and pushed open the glass door of the clinic, and the smell of heating mixed with disinfectant hit him in the face.
The doctors and nurses on duty were startled by his appearance. Chao Youye's condition was clearly extremely bad: his face was flushed and pale, his breathing was weak and rapid, there was blood at the corner of his mouth, and there was a hideous wound on his neck.
The doctor quickly instructed the nurse to push the bed over.
"He's in a coma with a high fever! He may have internal injuries! Quick! Take his temperature! His blood pressure! And prepare a fever-reducing injection!" The doctor spoke quickly, putting on a stethoscope.
Mu Xinrong was politely but firmly invited by the nurse to sit on a plastic bench nearby.
He watched the medical staff busily surrounding the narrow bed, watched the cold stethoscope pressed against Chao Youye's burning chest, watched the needle pierce the back of her pale hand, and watched the transparent liquid medicine flow through the thin tube into her blood vessels...
He was wet and cold, wearing only a thin sweater, sitting on a cold plastic chair, shivering uncontrollably.
The back of his hand still retained the scorching touch of Chao Youye and the faint force brought by those unconsciously curled fingers.
Time ticked by, like a dull knife cutting through flesh. The clinic was eerily quiet, the only sounds being the occasional monotonous hum of instruments and the hushed chatter of medical staff. The stench of disinfectant was overwhelming.
"39.8 degrees! The blood pressure is very low!" The nurse's voice was a little nervous.
"There are obvious signs of wound infection! Cool down the wound physically first! Inject dexamethasone and antibiotics intravenously!" the doctor ordered calmly.
Mu Xinrong clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms again, trying to use the pain to fight the panic and helplessness in his heart that was almost swallowing him up.
He stared at the face on the hospital bed, which looked even more fragile and pale under the light.
Chao Youye was still unconscious, his brow furrowed, as if trapped in an inescapable nightmare. The oxygen mask covered most of his face, revealing only his tightly closed eyes, which had once shed scalding tears.
Will he die?
This thought coiled around him like a poisonous snake.
Because of his hesitation and suspicion, he wasted too long in the wind and snow?
Because the gods can't bear the collapse of their mortal bodies after all?
Or... this body, along with the existence inside that just revealed a hint of "humanity", will eventually be completely devoured by the cold core of rules?
Countless terrifying conjectures swirled in his mind. Mu Xinrong suddenly lowered his head and buried his face deeply in his cold, trembling hands.
His shoulders heaved uncontrollably. It wasn't crying, but a massive, unexpressed exhaustion and fear that washed over him like an icy tide, completely drowning him.
He had hated him, resented him, and countless times wanted to end this endless cycle of reincarnation himself. But when the cold shadow of death truly loomed over him, all he felt was overwhelming panic and... a hollow, utter sense of loss.
I don't know how much time passed, maybe only a few minutes, maybe as long as a century. A tired voice sounded beside me.
"Are you his friend?"
Mu Xinrong suddenly looked up, his face wet, a wet mess he couldn't tell if it was melted snow or something else. It was the doctor on duty, who had just removed his stethoscope and was looking at him gravely.
"How is he?" Mu Xinrong's voice was very hoarse and nasal.
"High fever, convulsions, acute pneumonia, plus pre-shock caused by blood loss and stress. Very dangerous."
The doctor's tone was serious.
"The wound on his neck is infected, but it's not fatal. The key is that his internal body is... very strange, very weak, as if he's been severely overdrawn, his immune system is almost collapsed. Also, did he vomit blood? Was it a lot?"
Mu Xinrong swallowed hard, his throat dry and sore: "...Not much, just one mouthful."
"The internal organs are unlikely to be severely ruptured. It could be mucosal bleeding caused by severe vomiting or stress. But the high fever and pneumonia are the most fatal things right now."
The doctor paused, looked at Mu Xinrong's pale face and wet thin sweater, and slowed down his tone.
"We've used strong antipyretics and antibiotics, and are giving him fluids. We need to monitor him closely to see if his temperature can be lowered and the inflammation under control. Have you... notified his family?"
family?
This word was like an icy needle, piercing Mu Xinrong's chaotic thoughts. He thought of the empty, cold mansion, the indifferent face behind the desk, and Wu Zeyu's feigned, venomous smile...
"He..." Mu Xinrong opened his mouth, his voice dry, "...has no family."
The doctor was stunned for a moment, looking at the young man in front of him who was also in a mess, with his eyes full of panic and some kind of great grief, he seemed to understand something.
The doctor sighed softly, "Then wait here for a while. Go change your wet clothes over there. There are clean hospital gowns in the cabinet. Don't let yourself collapse."
He pointed to the screen in the corner.
Mu Xinrong nodded numbly, watching the doctor turn back to check the instrument data. He stood up stiffly, his legs numb and tingling from the prolonged tension and cold.
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