The constant temperature system maintains the ward at 22°C, and the smell of disinfectant is neutralized by the cedar scent in the aromatherapy machine, creating a cool and quiet atmosphere.
Gu Yuxiao leaned on the electric hospital bed. The sterile gauze wrapped around his right shoulder had a faint stain of medicine seeping through his hospital gown. The green light of the monitor cast a flickering spot on his jawline.
The lung contusion caused by the shock wave of the explosion required continuous oxygen inhalation. A transparent tube extended from his nasal cavity to the oxygen supply machine, making a slight hissing sound as he breathed.
He raised his hand to turn off the holographic projection at the head of the bed, which was playing a video of the tactical drills of the "Black Sea" special forces after their reorganization. This was forty-eight hours after his injury, and the first thing he did after waking up from a coma was to review the encrypted reports from various departments.
The wheelchair was parked beside the bed, its titanium armrests rubbed to a shine. He stared at the slot for the tactical dagger on the wheelchair, where his usual military dagger should have been, but now it was empty.
Three days ago, when he was closing in on Xishan Villa, in order to suppress the sudden armed resistance, he used his wheelchair to forcefully use the individual combat system. The moment his old injury recurred, the severe pain from his shoulder blade almost made him lose consciousness.
"Mr. Gu, it's time for shoulder therapy." The nursing robot slid into the ward, its robotic arm holding a warm therapy device.
He didn't respond, simply lifting his hospital gown to expose his right shoulder. The gauze pulled at the newly formed granulation tissue, causing the muscles in his jawline to subtly tighten, and his Adam's apple rolled as he swallowed a muffled groan.
The red light of the physiotherapy device shone on the wound, and the tingling sensation mixed with the hum of the device penetrated into the skin, reminding him of the burning numbness when shrapnel embedded in his spine on the battlefield in the Middle East many years ago.
When the nursing robot slid into the ward for the third time, the pattern on the titanium alloy tray had changed - a plain white porcelain bowl was filled with millet porridge, with two shelled pigeon eggs lying on top of the porridge, and the edge of the egg custard was scratched with wavy patterns using a silver spoon.
A plate of pickled mustard greens is served on the side. A few drops of sesame oil are drizzled on the dark brown mustard greens, and the aroma is as refreshing as the air after the first clear day after snow.
Gu Yuxiao stared at the bowl of porridge. The millet was cooked densely, and the rice oil formed a thin, shiny film on the surface, which reminded him of the stove in the kitchen of his old house during his childhood. Back then, his grandmother always said that newly harvested millet should be simmered for a full hour.
"It nourishes the stomach and the body." Today, this bowl of porridge is precisely temperature-controlled at 60°C, with even the runny pigeon eggs perfectly cooked to medium-rare, but without the smoky aroma of a wood-fired stove.
He sat up with the help of his left arm, and the strain on his right shoulder made his breathing slightly stagnate.
The nursing robot immediately raised the head of the bed to 45 degrees. The robotic arm picked up the porcelain bowl. When the spoon scooped up the porridge, the rice grains trembled slightly between the spoons, like parts of some precision instrument.
He subconsciously used his right hand to catch it, but the stinging pain from the wound caused his wrist to sink suddenly, and the porridge was almost spilled.
"Mr. Gu, I'll do it." The robot's voice module switched to Ying's voice - it was obvious that Ying had recorded the instructions in advance.
As the spoon reached his lips, he could smell the salty aroma of sesame oil mixed with pickled vegetables. He suddenly remembered when he was twelve years old in boarding school. He sneaked into the kitchen at night to find food and saw the head chef pickling mustard greens. As the old man sprinkled salt into the jar, he said, "Only in hard times can you appreciate the taste of saltiness."
The millet porridge brings just the right warmth as it slides into the throat. The soft and tender runny pigeon eggs mixed with the dense porridge form a gentle comfort on the tip of the tongue.
He hadn't had such light food for a long time. His previous meals were always accompanied by red wine, steak or tactical compressed biscuits. But at this moment, this bowl of porridge was like a key, gently prying open the dusty corner of his memory that was covered by power struggles.
The pickled vegetable shreds are cut into very thin strips, which are crispy when chewed, and the salty taste is permeated with the unique bitterness of mustard greens.
He suddenly remembered that when he was studying in Cambridge, he bought bottled pickles in the supermarket and ate them with cold sandwiches while working on his thesis. At that time, he thought that the hardship of studying was the greatest hardship in life, but he didn't know that what he would have to swallow later was betrayal and blood that was more bitter than mustard greens.
"Mr. Gu, is the porridge still hot?" The robot's optical sensor flashed.
He shook his head and rubbed the corner of his lips with his knuckles. When the porcelain bowl was empty, he found a few longans at the bottom. The peeled flesh had swelled in the porridge, and the sweetness was a bit abrupt.
"Bring me the encryption tablet." He leaned back on the head of the bed, and the physical therapy device on his right shoulder began a new round of red light irradiation.
When the tablet lit up, the red markings on the business layout map were still eye-catching, but the movement of his fingertips across the screen paused.
The palm of his hand seemed to still retain the warmth of the porcelain bowl. That temperature was different from the coldness of the metal wheelchair, and also different from the ice of the tactical dagger. It was like some long-lost warmth belonging to "human".
The nursing robot tucked in the quilt for him. He suddenly reached out and pressed the robot's arm: "Next time... don't put longan in the porridge."
The robot's sensors flashed twice, registering the new instructions.
Ye Fanshuang's wheelchair was parked outside Ward 3. Through the double-layer vacuum glass, he could see Ye Qingliu lying inside.
His face was as pale as fragile porcelain, his chest was covered with a large area of dressing, and several transparent tubes were connected to the life support system, rising and falling gently with his weak breathing.
The curve on the ECG monitor was still flat, but with slight fluctuations compared to when he was first admitted to the hospital.
Ye Fanshuang's fingers unconsciously scratched the leather of the wheelchair armrest, leaving a few shallow fingerprints.
"Miss Ye, Young Master Ye's condition has stabilized." The head nurse approached quietly.
"The doctor said that as long as I get through the infection period tonight, I can be transferred to a general ward."
Ye Fanshuang didn't look back, his eyes were always fixed on the figure in the glass.
She remembered the encrypted email she received this morning, which contained the key evidence she intercepted using the "Deep Sea Hunter" program - the recording of the last phone call between Chao Zhenshan and Ye Linyuan, which clearly recorded how they distributed explosives and how they arranged scapegoats.
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