The light in the guest room was deliberately dimmed, with only a soft wall lamp on.
The portable ECG monitor beeped steadily and regularly, and the green lines on the screen rose and fell steadily. The oxygen mask still covered Chao Youye's mouth and nose, but her breathing seemed much smoother and stronger than it had been in the clinic.
The nurse in charge sat quietly on a chair in the corner. When she saw Ye Qingliu and Mu Xinrong come in, she stood up respectfully.
Ye Qingliu walked to the bedside and gently placed the thermos on the bedside table. He leaned over, his movements still cautious and gentle, and first checked whether the infusion tube was unobstructed.
Then he extended his finger and very gently probed the temperature of Chao Youye's forehead. The heat from his fingertips seemed to be a little lower than before, but still high.
"The temperature is dropping," the nurse reported quietly. "37.8 degrees. The sedative is wearing off. He should be waking up soon."
Ye Qingliu nodded slightly, his gray-blue eyes falling on Chao Youye's still furrowed brows and bloodless lips.
He looked at it silently for a moment, then stood up and whispered a few words to the nurse. The nurse nodded, quietly left the room, and gently closed the door.
Only Ye Qingliu and Mu Xinrong were left in the room, as well as Chao Youye who was unconscious on the bed.
Mu Xinrong stood a few steps away from the bed, his hands and feet feeling a little cold.
He looked at Chao Youye's peaceful sleeping face, but countless images flashed through his mind uncontrollably: Chao Youye curled up under a tree on Wutong Road, torn in pain by the torrent of memories; he spurted blood in the snow, his throne shattered in despair.
And... even earlier, that boy who had awkwardly put a scarf on him by the classroom window in the afterglow of the setting sun, with a bright and warm smile...
Love and hate intertwined, pain and attachment tangled, like a tangled mess stuck in his chest. How should he face Chao Youye, who was about to wake up? Was she the embodiment of the cold rules that had betrayed and killed him countless times?
Or is it the one in this world line, the one who can express pain, shed tears, and just struggled back from the brink of collapse... Chao Youye?
Ye Qingliu seemed to sense Mu Xinrong's stiffness and struggle. He said nothing, but walked to the window and opened the heavy curtains a little, letting in a ray of the cold, snow-lit night outside.
Then he walked to the other side of the bed, pulled up a chair and sat down, picked up a book on the bedside table - not "Observer's Diary", but an ordinary mystery novel with a plain cover - and began to read quietly.
The warm yellow light from the wall lamp fell softly on him, softening his cold and hard outline.
He turned the pages of the book very gently, making a slight rustling sound, like a silent companion, giving Mu Xinrong some space to sort out her feelings without having to get close immediately.
Mu Xinrong looked at Ye Qingliu's quiet profile with gratitude, took a deep breath, slowly walked to the bed, and sat down on the chair on the other side.
He didn't dare to get too close, his eyes fell on Chao Youye's hand that was not receiving an IV and was casually placed on the quilt.
The hand was still pale, but it seemed to have a faint hint of life. On the inside of the wrist, the gray mark was quietly imprinted there, like a silent scar.
Time slowly flowed by amid the ticking of instruments and the rustling of Ye Qingliu's pages. Tension, like a dense vine, quietly wrapped around Mu Xinrong's heart again.
He held his breath and stared at Chao Youye's face without blinking.
I don’t know how long it took, maybe a few minutes, maybe only a few seconds.
Chao Youye's fingers resting on the quilt curled up very slightly, almost imperceptibly.
Mu Xinrong's heart skipped a beat!
Immediately afterwards, Chao Youye's thick eyelashes, which covered her eyelids like butterfly wings, began to tremble violently.
Again and again, with a sense of struggle. His brows furrowed even tighter, as if he was trying to break free from a heavy dream.
Mu Xinrong subconsciously clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his palms.
He felt his breathing stop, and all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head, and his ears were buzzing. He stared at the pale face, waiting for the violet eyes to open.
Ye Qingliu also stopped flipping through the book, raised his head, and his gray-blue eyes observed the changes on the bed calmly and attentively through the lenses.
He closed the book, put it aside gently, leaned forward slightly, and was ready to respond at any time.
Under Mu Xinrong's almost suffocating gaze, Chao Youye's eyelashes trembled more and more violently.
Finally, like a glimmer of light breaking through thick clouds, the tightly closed eyes slowly and with difficulty... opened.
At first, the violet pupils were diffuse and empty, without any focus, as if still sinking in the abyss of chaotic consciousness.
He stared blankly at the unfamiliar, soft ceiling above his head, his eyes empty, as if he didn't know where he was.
Mu Xinrong's heart felt like it was being gripped by an invisible hand! This look... so strange, so fragile, completely different from the Chao Youye he remembered, whether as a cold god or a distant young man!
He opened his mouth, his throat dry and tight, trying to call out his name, but no sound came out.
Mu Xinrong sat stiffly in his chair, as if nailed to the spot. Closer? Or farther? He was like a lost child, completely lost at the crossroads of his emotions.
Perhaps Chao Youye sensed the burning gazes around her, or perhaps consciousness was slowly returning.
Chao Youye's scattered and empty gaze, like a lens with slowly adjusting focus, moved away from the empty ceiling little by little with great difficulty, and finally... fell on Mu Xinrong who was sitting not far from the bed.
My dear, there is more to this chapter. Please click on the next page to continue reading. It will be even more exciting later!
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