Hua Jinyue's fingers, through the thin lace gloves, carefully but with irresistible force, gently pried open Sun Guixiang's skinny fingers one by one.
Then, she pinched the white card stained with blood and tears with her white fingertips.
She held the card up to her eyes, her pink twintails swaying gently with her movements.
Those beautiful big eyes, like the most sophisticated instruments, carefully scanned over and over again the silver nightingale logo on the card and an extremely subtle anti-counterfeiting mark on the back of the card, the meaning of which only she knew.
Confirmed.
Hua Jinyue's long eyelashes trembled violently like the wings of a frightened butterfly.
She slowly raised her head and looked at Sun Guixiang on the ground again.
In those big eyes, all the storms seemed to have settled down at this moment, leaving only a bottomless, cold calm.
She didn't speak.
He just nodded to Sun Guixiang very slightly and almost imperceptibly.
Then she turned around, no longer looking at anyone, and walked straight towards the huge ICU visiting window.
The hem of her skirt drew a cold arc.
"Help her up." Hua Jinyue's voice sounded, still crisp, but no longer sweet. Only a metallic cold texture remained, leaving no room for doubt.
The bodyguard and Xiao Li woke up as if from a dream, hurried forward, carefully helped the limp Sun Guixiang up, and let her sit in the wheelchair.
Hua Jinyue was already standing in front of the huge one-way floor-to-ceiling glass window.
She didn't look back, but just looked quietly through the glass window.
Xiao Li pushed the wheelchair and pushed Sun Guixiang to the glass window.
Sun Guixiang's heart was beating wildly.
She struggled to prop up her weak body, her hands tightly grasping the cold glass window sill, her cloudy eyes eagerly looking inside -
In the bright, sterile ward, precision instruments flickered coldly. On the spacious bed, a familiar figure lay quietly.
Beneath the sterile, white sheets, only Ye Qingliu's pale face and neck were visible. His short, messy black hair plastered to his forehead. His silver-rimmed glasses were nowhere to be seen. His thick eyelashes cast a shadow of fatigue beneath his tightly closed eyelids.
His nose was high but not sharp, his lips were so thin they were almost transparent, and his jawline was tense, as if he was enduring great pain.
Wires and tubes connected to his chest, his chest rising and falling faintly with the ventilator. An oxygen mask covered most of his face, the cold plastic edge pressing against his pale skin.
On the instrument screen, numbers and curves that Sun Guixiang could not understand were jumping.
——So quiet.
——So fragile.
——So far away.
The cold glass isolated him in another world.
Sun Guixiang clung to the glass, her knuckles white as death. Her face was almost pressed against it, her cloudy eyes stretched to their limit, staring at the silent figure inside with greed and despair.
kid……
The little boy who would listen to her chatter quietly, allow her to ruffle his hair and pinch his cheeks, eat mung bean cakes, and unconsciously rub against her warmth when he fell asleep...
At this moment, he was like a fragile glass doll, surrounded by cold instruments.
The huge heartache is like a tsunami, a thousand times more painful than the gnawing of cancer cells.
Tears surged across the wrinkles, and large drops of tears hit the cold glass, leaving winding water marks.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Only suppressed and broken sobs escaped from her throat, mixed with heart-wrenching coughs!
Dark red blood foam splashed onto the glass again, like a mark of despair.
Her withered hands trembled as she gently stroked the outline of the boy's pale cheek on the glass over and over again in vain through the cold, thick glass.
"Little friend...you have to be fine...you must be fine..." She cried silently, tears blurring her vision, blood staining her chin, "Grandma is here...Grandma is watching over you..."
Hua Jinyue stood silently by the side, her petite figure looking particularly frail in front of the huge glass window.
She didn't look at Sun Guixiang, but quietly watched her brother sleeping in the glass window. Her pink twintails hung quietly, and the hem of her Lolita skirt didn't move at all.
There was no expression on that sweet, delicate baby face. No sadness, no anger, only a bottomless calm, like the polar ice sheet.
However, beneath that calm surface of ice—
Her small hands, wearing black lace gloves, hung at her sides and were clenched tightly.
The nails penetrated the thin lace and dug deep into the soft palm, causing a sharp stinging sensation.
Her gaze, like a cold searchlight, was fixed on Ye Qingliu's pale and fragile face and on those cold instrument tubes.
There was no light in those beautiful big eyes, only a dark flame that was almost solidified and burning to the extreme, and a deep, silent hatred.
Cold glass separates two worlds.
On one side is the cold ticking of instruments and silent sleep.
On one side was the old man's desperate sobbing, and on the other side was the girl's silent, burning hatred.
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