The smell of cold disinfectant was like a solidified film, tightly wrapping around Mu Xinrong's senses.
He huddled on the floor in the corner of the clinic, the rough fabric of his hospital gown rubbing against his skin, a cheap, uncomfortable feeling. The chill and fatigue lingering deep within his body tugged at every nerve like a heavy lead block.
But he didn't dare close his eyes or relax. His ears were like the most sophisticated radar, capturing every tiny sound coming from the bedside - the monotonous but reassuring beeping of the electrocardiogram monitor.
The sound of medicine dripping from the infusion tube, and... Chao Youye's still rapid breathing with hot and moist breath.
Every prolonged or brief pause in his breath strained Mu Xinrong's taut nerves. Panic, like a cold vine, coiled around his heart, tightening ever tighter.
He was afraid that the dripping sound would turn into a long, shrill sound, and that the breathing would suddenly stop.
Time crawled by in the dead silence of anxiety. After an unknown amount of time, a very suppressed groan, muffled by the oxygen mask, came from the bedside.
Mu Xinrong suddenly raised his head like a frightened deer.
Chao Youye twisted her body uneasily on the hospital bed, her body slightly curled up, as if avoiding an invisible attack.
Beneath tightly closed eyelids, his eyeballs moved rapidly and erratically, causing his eyelashes to tremble violently. His brows were tightly knitted together, forming a painful "川" character.
Cold sweat oozed from his forehead, quickly gathering and sliding down his pale temples, soaking the pillowcase. The white mist condensing on his oxygen mask fluctuated violently with his suddenly heavier breathing.
"Mom... don't go..." A broken whisper with a heavy crying tone came out vaguely from under the mask, as weak as a candle in the wind.
The deep fear and pleading contained in that voice were like cold needles, piercing Mu Xinrong's ears.
This again!
Mu Xinrong's heart felt like it was being gripped by an invisible hand, and the pain made him arch his back instantly.
He almost used his hands and feet to get up from the cold floor and staggered to the bedside.
"Chao Youye? Wake up! Chao Youye!" He lowered his voice, with a urgency and panic that he didn't even notice, and stretched out his hand to touch the other's hot forehead, but froze in mid-air, his fingertips trembling slightly.
There was no response. The person on the bed seemed trapped in an inescapable nightmare of cold darkness and bone-chilling abandonment.
His body began to twitch more violently, and a groaning, painful sound as if being strangled came from his throat.
The hand that was not receiving the IV unconsciously and spasmodically grasped the bed sheet beneath it, the knuckles turning white from the force and veins bulging under the thin skin.
"Doctor! Nurse!" Mu Xinrong couldn't bear it any longer, turned his head and screamed towards the door of the clinic, his voice changed with fear.
The nurse on duty hurried in upon hearing the noise. Seeing Chao Youye's condition, her expression grew serious. "The convulsions haven't been completely controlled yet! Hold him down, don't let him hurt himself!"
She quickly checked the IV tube and monitor data, and deftly picked up a pre-prepared syringe from the cart.
Mu Xinrong immediately rushed over and held down Chao Youye's violently shaking shoulders with both hands.
The temperature from under the palm was still astonishingly hot, and the muscles were tense and cramped under the hospital gown, with a desperate power of a dying struggle.
He had to use almost all his strength to barely suppress the body that was collapsing in the nightmare.
The nurse expertly sterilized the needle and inserted it into a vein on Chao Youye's other arm, slowly pushing the clear liquid medicine in.
Perhaps it was the sedative starting to take effect, or perhaps it was the awkward, soothing force transmitted from Mu Xinrong's palm, but the convulsions in Chao Youye's body gradually became smaller and smaller, and finally subsided, leaving only an uncontrollable, slight tremor.
His rapid breathing also gradually slowed down. Although it was still hot, he was no longer on the verge of suffocation like before.
He stopped mumbling, but his brows were still furrowed, as if the immense pain and fear had simply sunk from the surface of his body into the deeper, darker sea of consciousness.
Cold sweat soaked the black hair on his forehead, and strands of hair stuck to his pale skin, looking so fragile that they could be easily hurt.
The nurse breathed a sigh of relief and recorded the data: "It's stable for now. You keep an eye on it, the temperature is still high, and physical cooling should not be stopped." She pointed to the ice packs and towels in the basin next to her.
Mu Xinrong nodded stiffly, feeling the cold sweat on his back soaking through his rough hospital gown.
He slowly loosened his grip on Chao Youye's shoulder, only to find that his arm was numb and trembling from the excessive force. He slumped down on the plastic stool beside the bed, as if all his strength had been drained away.
The ward fell into a heavy silence once again. The only sounds were the regular ticking of the instruments and Chao Youye's still scorching, but finally calming breathing.
Mu Xinrong couldn't take his eyes off that sleepy face. Shedding her usual cold and distant facade, Chao Youye now revealed only the pure fragility wrought by illness and fever.
The tightly furrowed brows, the trembling eyelashes, the cracked and pale lips, and the lingering wet marks at the corners of the eyes...all of these silently speak of great pain.
What is he going through?
Is it just the physical pain caused by high fever?
Or... was it the backlash from the core of rules being torn apart after the icy throne collapsed?
Or perhaps, those cold, abandoned memories of the mortal world, like maggots on the tarsal bones, are being played out over and over again in the depths of his consciousness?
The voice filled with childish despair, "Mom... don't go...", echoed in Mu Xinrong's mind like a spell.
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