Chapter 48 For us I love him
The announcement from Zurich Airport echoed overhead. Wen Mu sat on a chair in the waiting room, his nails digging deep into his palms.
She stared at the display screen above the boarding gate. The numbers jumping on it were like a blunt knife, slowly cutting her nerves.
The fragments of the Crystal Nebula still lay in her bag.
The sharp edge pierced the velvet box and also pierced her calmness.
The images on TV are lingering in my mind.
The silver-black race car was twisted like a crumpled piece of paper, its front wing shattered and carbon fiber fragments scattered all over the ground. The ambulance's red lights flashed, and medical staff were busy around the stretcher.
The most eye-catching thing is the black "5" on the car body.
For the first time, she regretted why she remembered this number so clearly.
Wen Mu mechanically took out his cell phone and dialed the familiar number for the umpteenth time.
The cold tone still came from the receiver: "The number you dialed cannot be connected at the moment."
"Passengers boarding flight LX345 to London are now boarding."
Wen Mu stood up suddenly, her knee hitting the armrest of the seat, but she felt no pain. She grabbed her backpack and followed the crowd to the boarding gate.
The glass of the boarding bridge reflected her face, pale as a sheet, her lips bitten to the point of bleeding, and her eyes dry and painful.
The plane took off, and Wen Mu felt a huge sense of suspension deep in his chest. He grabbed the handrail tightly and bit his lower lip, trying to numb his disordered nerves with the pain.
The moment the fuselage tilted, she remembered the day they went to Norway.
She was still afraid, but in order to avoid being laughed at by Song Xingran, she just closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
Song Xingran moved closer to her and hugged her tightly. "Teacher Wen, don't be afraid. The most exciting moment is when you take off. It's like the push you get when you start a race car."
"It will take you up to the sky to meet your favorite star."
She remembered that she had laughed and scolded him for being childish, but now she couldn't wait to experience that feeling of being pushed on the back, as long as she could get to him faster.
"Ma'am, do you need a blanket?" came the gentle voice of the flight attendant.
Wen Mu shook his head and his eyes fell on the rolling clouds outside the porthole.
The clouds appear a gorgeous orange-red color under the setting sun, which is breathtakingly beautiful.
Song Xingran flies all over the world, and whenever he arrives at a place, he always likes to take pictures of the sky like this and send them to her, saying seriously, "Today's clouds look like the Crab Nebula described in your paper."
Although it didn't seem like it at all, he just wanted to find an excuse to chat with her.
Wen Mu opened his phone's photo album, his fingers trembling as he scrolled through the photos. He finally stopped at a selfie of Song Xingran—he was wearing a racing helmet, his goggles flipped up, revealing his amber eyes and signature canine smile, with the starting line of the Silverstone Circuit in the background.
"Wife, there's a competition tomorrow, remember to watch me win the championship!"
This was the last message he sent yesterday.
Wen Mu's throat tightened, she slammed her phone shut and closed her eyes.
Wen Mu, calm down, you have to calm down.
She knew that Song Xingran had experienced many dangerous accidents, big and small. He always said that racing was like dancing. He would occasionally take a wrong step, but he would never really fall.
But this time it's different.
The image of the car on TV lingered in her mind. The complete shattering of the front wing meant the impact speed was at least 200 kilometers per hour. The safety system might have saved him from death, but it couldn't guarantee he wouldn't be injured.
"Ma'am, are you all right?"
The flight attendant reappeared, this time with concern in her voice.
Wen Mu then realized that his hands were shaking violently, and his nails had left deep crescent-shaped marks on his palms, which were slightly bleeding.
She forced a smile. "I'm fine, thank you."
The flight attendant handed over a glass of warm water and said, "You look very pale."
Wen Mu reached out to take it, and the glass almost slipped in the woman's trembling hands. When the warm water slid down her throat, she realized the dull pain there.
She murmured a thank you and turned to look out the window.
The sky had become completely dark, and the clouds had turned dark gray, covering the earth like a thick blanket, making it hard to breathe.
As the plane began to descend, Wen Mu called Song Xingran again.
Still no one answered.
The lights of Heathrow Airport were blurred in the rain.
Wen Mu practically ran off the plane, her passport and boarding pass crumpled in her hands. She rushed into the arrivals hall and headed straight for the taxi rank.
"Silverstone Medical Center, the sooner the better." Her voice was hoarse, uncharacteristically her own.
The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror and said, "Miss, it's more than an hour's drive from here..."
Wen Mu directly pulled out a few bills from his wallet: "Please."
The rain outside the car window was getting heavier and heavier, and the wipers were drawing regular arcs on the windshield.
Wen Mu stared at the clock on the dashboard, each second seeming as long as a year. She reluctantly dialed the familiar number over and over again, only to receive the cold beep in response.
"Do you work at Silverstone?" the driver tried to start a conversation.
Wen Mu's throat tightened. "It's my husband. He's a racing driver."
The driver suddenly realized: "Oh! There is an F1 test race today. Wait, there seems to be an accident this afternoon."
Wen Mu's fingers dug into the seat.
Something really happened, something really happened to him.
"I heard on the radio that a car lost control and crashed into the wall, and the driver was sent to the hospital..." The driver saw Wen Mu's pale face in the rearview mirror and suddenly realized something, "Oh my God, could it be..."
Wen Mu didn't answer.
She turned her head and looked at the scenery passing by outside the window. The rain on the glass twisted into a winding river, exactly the same as her heart.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am. Your husband will be fine."
Wen Mu wanted to speak, but no sound came out. She could only nod slightly.
The lights in the hospital were particularly dazzling in the rainy night.
Wen Mu pushed open the door and rushed out without even waiting for the car to stop completely. The rain instantly wet her hair and clothes.
"Song Xingran! Where is F1 driver Song Xingran?" She rushed to the front desk with a trembling voice.
The nurse looked up at her and asked, "Who are you?"
"I am his wife."
The nurse quickly tapped on the keyboard: "Operating room on the third floor, but now it's -"
Wen Mu rushed to the elevator without waiting to hear the end, but there were too many people waiting, so he immediately turned to the stairwell.
At the end of the corridor on the third floor, the lights in the operating room were still on.
Wen Mu stopped and panted, and saw two familiar figures, Alex and Jean, sitting on the bench with serious expressions.
Alex looked up and saw her, and immediately stood up: "Wen, Dr. Wen? Why are you here?"
Wen Mu's chest heaved violently, and raindrops dripped onto the floor along the ends of his hair. "I saw the live broadcast."
Jean walked over quickly: "Dr. Wen, calm down first, Song he——"
"What's the situation?" Wen Mu interrupted him, his voice frighteningly calm.
Alex rubbed his face. "The impact speed was 210 kilometers per hour, and the right side of the car was completely destroyed. The safety system worked, but my right leg and ribs were seriously injured."
Wen Mu's gaze shifted to the operating room door: "How long has it been?"
"Three hours," Jean whispered. "The doctor said the surgery is complicated, but not life-threatening."
Wen Mu nodded and mechanically walked to the bench and sat down. Her shoes were covered with dust and rain, and her white shirt was soaked and stuck to her body, but she was completely unaware.
Alex handed over a towel: "Dr. Wen, please wipe it first."
Wen Mu took the towel but didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the operating room door, as if he could see through it and see what was happening inside.
"What's going on?"
"How did it become like this?"
Her voice was as calm as usual, but her bloodless lips were trembling.
Alex and Jean exchanged a look.
Jean sighed. "On the last lap, we had a huge lead and could have easily taken it. But then we suddenly lost control at Turn 7 and crashed into the guardrail. We suspect a steering system malfunction, but the specific cause remains to be investigated."
"Is he unconscious?"
"No," Alex said quickly. "He was still conscious when the rescue team arrived, and he even unbuckled his seatbelt himself."
"He, he said something else."
Wen Mu: "What did he say?"
Alex said gravely, "He said, 'Don't tell my wife.'"
A sharp pain shot through his chest. Wen Mu lowered his head, staring at his trembling hands. These hands, capable of operating the most sophisticated astronomical instruments and writing complex calculations, couldn't even hold a towel steady.
The lights in the operating room were still on.
Wen Mu stared at the dazzling red light and couldn't believe it.
Mingming, they just celebrated their first wedding anniversary.
Obviously, they can live together for a long time.
Obviously, their future is a peaceful one.
The scene of high fever that night came to my mind again.
Song Xingran rushed back from Brussels overnight, his knuckles bruised from punching the wall. He clumsily cooked porridge, scalding his hands without noticing, and simply applied a wet towel to her forehead over and over again.
"Wife, you are more important than the game, much more important."
He had clearly promised her this, why didn't he keep his word?
Wen Mu suddenly felt that she was not the rational and calm doctoral student who could control everything in his ideal.
Her husband lay in the cold operating room, suffering great pain.
And there was nothing she could do except wait.
"Dr. Wen?" Jean called her softly, "Do you want to change your clothes? There's a store nearby. I can buy you some clothes."
Wen Mu just shook his head: "I'll wait for him to come out."
The clock in the hallway struck midnight, and the lights in the operating room finally went out.
Wen Mu stood up suddenly. Her legs were numb from sitting for a long time. She staggered and Alex quickly supported her.
The doctor pushed the door open, took off his mask, and said with a tired but relaxed expression: "The operation was successful."
Wen Mu's knees subconsciously weakened, and she almost fell to the ground. Alex was quick to support her.
"Fractured right tibia, three broken ribs, dislocated right shoulder, mild concussion," the doctor said quickly. "Thankfully, no internal organs or spinal cord injuries. The anesthesia will take several hours to wear off, so he's in the recovery room."
"But there's no danger to life, you can rest assured."
Wen Mu's lips trembled: "He, can he fully recover?"
"By athlete standards, it will take at least three months to recover," the doctor said cautiously, "but theoretically it won't affect your career."
My heart, which had been hanging in the balance for the entire night, finally collapsed at this moment.
Tears flowed silently, rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto the cold floor. Wen Mu didn't sob or whimper, but just shed tears quietly, as if all the moisture in his body was drained out in this way.
Alex patted her back gently: "It's okay, Dr. Wen, it's okay."
Several nurses came out of the operating room pushing a bed.
Wen Mu wiped away his tears and looked at the man in the bed. He wore an oxygen mask on his pale face, his black eyelashes almost transparent under the light. His lips, usually full of smiles, were now bloodless. His right leg was in a heavy plaster cast, his chest swathed in bandages, like a broken porcelain doll barely held together.
"You can accompany him to the ward, but he won't wake up for a while." The nurse reminded in a gentle voice.
Wen Mu nodded and followed silently behind the bed. The pale light in the corridor shone on Song Xingran's face, making him look even more fragile.
He had never been like this before. He had always worn his scars as a badge of honor.
She once asked him where all these injuries came from, and he evaded the question, saying that some were from training and some from competitions.
When he came back from Spain, he proudly showed her his new scar. She looked at it carefully and said it was just a shallow scar that would heal.
The man seemed to be indifferent to the pain: "Look, honey, this is a souvenir given to me by the Barcelona Circuit!"
In the ward, the machine made a regular "beeping" sound.
Wen Mu sat on a chair by the window, staring at the man on the bed in a trance.
The night was dark, and the rain was hitting the window, like countless tiny fingers scratching on the glass.
The sound was like a shrill cry, and she was the only one who could hear it in the huge ward. It disturbed her and made her sad.
She gently held the hand that was not intubated - the hand that was always warm and strong, but now cold and weak.
Careful to avoid the IV needle, she entwined her fingers with his.
"You liar." Wen Mu murmured in a low voice.
"You promised to win the championship, you promised to come back next week, you promised to bring me macarons."
"Why, you're lying here now, not looking at me, not talking to me."
"I hate you."
"I really hate you."
She knew she looked like a lunatic, but she didn't care.
Wen Mu leaned over and gently kissed Song Xingran on the forehead.
The smell that lingered on the man was no longer the familiar mixture of motor oil and mint aftershave that she was familiar with.
There was only the smell of disinfectant, the smell of disinfectant that left her nowhere to hide.
"You need to get better soon, okay?"
"I have a lot to say to you."
Outside the window, the rain is gradually subsiding.
The first rays of dawn penetrated the clouds and shone on the hospital bed.
*
Wen Mu was awakened by a sharp pain.
Her right hand was completely numb, and her spine felt as if it were filled with cement, groaning in protest from her tailbone to her cervical vertebrae.
The consequences of getting caught in the rain last night also came back at this time. My throat felt like it was burning and my temples were twitching.
Wen Mu sat up suddenly, and his vision went dark.
She forced herself to stay awake and immediately turned to the bed.
Song Xingran was still lying quietly, and the regular mist on his oxygen mask proved that he was still alive.
But other than that, nothing has changed.
The pale face, closed eyes, and chapped lips were exactly the same as last night.
"Why?" Wen Mu's voice was hoarse, and her fingers gently traced her husband's brow. "Why haven't you woken up yet?"
The sunlight from outside the window filtered through the blinds, casting streaked shadows on the floor.
Wen Mumi picked up her cell phone. It was already three o'clock in the afternoon. She had actually slept for so long.
The doctor said the anesthesia would wear off within a few hours, but now, nearly twenty hours have passed.
"Song Xingran." She called him softly.
"How long will you sleep?"
Her fingers slid to the man's pulse, and her heartbeat was steady but weak.
She leaned over and whispered in her husband's ear, trying to threaten him to wake up with a vicious tone: "If you don't wake up, I will give away all your racing car models."
No response.
"I'm going to scratch the paint off every one of your Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Koenigseggs, every one of them."
Still no response.
She held the man's hand and felt the cool temperature from his palm.
Obviously, she was the one whose palms were always cold. He liked to hug her and call it "keeping her warm".
Wen Mu blew air into her palms, hoping that her hands would warm up and provide some warmth to the person lying there.
Song Xingran just lay there quietly, ignoring all her efforts and begging.
Wen Mu finally choked up.
"Please."
"Wake up, please."
There was a sudden knock on the door.
"Come in." Wen Mu said in a hoarse voice.
She watched the man's face intently, hoping to catch any sign of awakening.
But, no.
The door opened, and footsteps approached, but no one spoke. Wen Mu frowned and was about to turn around -
"It seems I overestimated his recovery ability."
The sound was like a bucket of ice water poured on Wen Mu's back. She turned around suddenly, and her vision went dark again.
Ming Yang stood at the foot of the hospital bed, wearing a dark blue suit under his white coat. He looked so neat and well-dressed, unlike her, who looked so disheveled.
"Why are you here?" Wen Mu's voice was as cold as ice.
Ming Yang smiled slightly and gently placed the folder in his hand on the bedside table: "Professor Schmidt asked me to attend the academic conference of the Royal Society. I just heard..."
He glanced at the bed. "A star F1 player has had an accident. I thought I'd come and visit."
Wen Mu's fingers unconsciously clenched the bed sheet: "No need. Please leave."
"Don't be so nervous, Teacher Wen." Ming Yang took a step forward, his leather shoes making a crisp sound on the floor. "I'm just fulfilling my duty as a friend."
His eyes lingered on Wen Mu's messy hair and wrinkled clothes.
"You look terrible."
"I told you, no need." Wen Mu stood up straight and stood in front of Song Xingran. "We have the best medical team here. He'll be fine."
Ming Yang chuckled and pulled out a business card from his suit pocket: "John Harrison, Director of Neurosurgery at the Royal London Hospital, an authority in the field of sports trauma."
He handed the business card to Wen Mu and said, "Considering the special nature of your husband's job, I think it might be useful."
Wen Mu didn't answer, his tone became even colder: "I'll say it one last time, it's not necessary."
"Still so stubborn." Ming Yang sighed and placed the business card on the bedside table. "You know what? Five years ago, when you caught a cold, you refused my help in the same way."
Wen Mu: “That’s different.”
"What's the difference?" Ming Yang suddenly stepped forward, his eyes almost stubborn, "Because the one lying in bed now is not me, but him?"
Wen Mu's chest heaved violently: "Ming Yang, don't do this."
"Don't do what?" Ming Yang's voice suddenly rose. "Don't remind me of how you took care of me when I had a fever? Don't remind me of how terrible the porridge you cooked for me was? Or don't remind me of what you said to me at the observatory?"
Wen Mu's face turned pale: "That's all in the past."
"It's over for you, but not for me." Ming Yang's voice dropped again. "Wen Mu, look at you now. Is it worth it for a man who may never wake up?"
Wen Mu's face immediately darkened. She stared at the angry man in front of her and said word by word, "He will wake up."
"Really? Do you believe it?"
"Even if he wakes up, so what?" Ming Yang sneered. "Do you think he can return to the track with this injury? How long will the Song family keep a useless Third Young Master? What will you do then? Give up your research and take care of him for the rest of his life?"
"Just shut up."
Wen Mu's hands began to tremble.
"You don't know him at all."
"I know enough." Ming Yang pulled a report from a folder. "200 km/h collision, fractured right tibia, three broken ribs, dislocated right shoulder, and a mild concussion."
He looked up at Wen Mu and said, "Do you know what this means? Even if he recovers, his reaction speed will be affected."
"No team wants a driver who is slow to react. He is destined to be kicked out of F1 in disgrace."
Wen Mu snatched the report away: "Where did you get this?"
"I have my own channels," Ming Yang said calmly. "The point is, what are you going to do?"
"What to do?"
"When he's no longer the legendary racing champion, when he needs you to take care of his daily life, when you have to give up your job at NASA," Ming Yang pressed on. "Will you still stay with him?"
Anger flared in Wen Mu's eyes. "Ming Yang. Who do you take me for?"
"I don't think of you as someone else. You are just you, the excellent and promising Dr. Wen."
"Be realistic, Wen Mu." Ming Yang's voice suddenly softened. "Your marriage is a transaction. The Song family wants a highly educated daughter-in-law to elevate their status, and you want the Song family's resources to support your research."
"Now the basis of the deal is no longer in existence. It's time for you to get a divorce."
"Shut up!" Wen Mu's voice trembled. "You are not qualified to judge our marriage."
"Why not?" Ming Yang asked back, "Because I lied to you before? At least my deception didn't tie you to a body that might never wake up!"
Wen Mu laughed out of anger.
She really had the wrong person.
How could I be attracted to such a hard-hearted, cold and selfish man?
"You are not qualified."
"Because you don't know what love is."
"I don't understand?" Ming Yang suddenly laughed. "Then may I ask, Dr. Wen, what is love?"
"Will you spend the rest of your life caring for a vegetative patient? Will you give up your career and become a nurse? Or..." His eyes swept over the luxurious decoration of the ward, "Are you reluctant to give up the comfortable life the Song family has given you?"
“Pah.”
The report hit the man's face, leaving a small bloody mark.
"Ming Yang."
"I really misjudged you."
Ming Yang remained silent, raised his hand and touched the wound on his face.
"Ha." He laughed.
"You really got the wrong person."
“That’s totally wrong.”
He raised his head and looked directly at the woman in front of him who was shaking with anger.
He had never seen Wen Mu like this before. In his impression, she could always keep a cool head in the face of any emergency and come up with a solution as quickly as possible. She was not like this now, at a loss and on the verge of breaking point.
Why?
Why is she like this?
He seemed to know the answer, but was unwilling to believe it.
"Then Teacher Wen, can you teach me what love is like?"
Wen Mu was stunned, then looked up at him.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Um."
"I think."
"Okay," she smiled, "then listen carefully."
"Love is that he clearly hates rainy days, but is willing to stand with me in the rain to count the stars; love is that he remembers the dietary restrictions of each of my colleagues, but always forgets his own training time; love is that he can give up the competition for me, but is unwilling to let me give up an observation for him..."
She choked, raised her head, and tried to hold back the tears that were about to fall from the corners of her eyes.
"He's willing to become better for me. He can sacrifice everything for me."
“This is the love I want.”
Ming Yang's expression froze for a moment, then he chuckled again.
"You've really changed."
"No, I finally understand."
Wen Mu looked at the weak man on the hospital bed with soft eyes.
"Before I met him, I thought love was a contest of equal strength, a choice made after precise calculation. He taught me that love is an irrational impulse, the courage to do something even though you know it's impossible."
The sunlight was blocked by clouds, leaving only a hazy gray-blue hue in the room. The regular beeping of the machine became the only background sound.
"You know what? He's a lunatic."
Ming Yang finally said, his voice so soft it sounded like a sigh.
"Yeah?"
Wen Mu chuckled.
"But I love him."
"I. Love. Him."
Ming Yang's Adam's apple rolled, and then there was a long silence.
Finally, he lowered his head and laughed.
“What a pity.”
"He can't hear anymore."
"It's okay." Wen Mu walked back to the bed and held Song Xingran's hand. "I'll wait for him to wake up, and then tell him over and over again."
She looked up at Ming Yang with a firm gaze, "Now, please leave and don't disturb my husband's rest."
Ming Yang stood there without moving.
His eyes moved back and forth between Wen Mu and Song Xingran, finally stopping on the two clasped hands.
“Remember what you said at ETH?”
"You said that love is like a binary star system in the universe, which must maintain a perfect balance to operate stably."
"Now it seems that you have betrayed your own theory."
Wen Mu shook his head slightly: "No, I corrected it."
"The true nature of a binary star system is not determined by cold orbital calculations, but by..."
She looked at the man on the hospital bed. "It's the courage to be swallowed by the other person even if gravity is unbalanced."
A flash of pain flashed in Ming Yang's eyes. He turned and walked towards the door, his leather shoes making a dull sound on the floor.
He paused at the door without looking back.
"Hopefully he's worth it."
The door closed.
Wen Mu stood there, listening to the footsteps gradually fading away.
Almost instantly, all the strength in her body seemed to be drained away, and her knees gave way, causing her to fall to the ground. She covered her face, removed the cold glasses, and tears flowed from between her fingers, silently dripping onto the floor.
She didn't know why she was crying.
Is it Ming Yang’s obsession?
Regarding Song Xingran’s injury?
Or was it for the words “I love him” that were finally spoken?
Maybe both.
Tears burst like a flood, destroying the strong disguise she had maintained for many days. Wen Mu curled up on the ground, hugging herself like a baby, letting her tears wet her clothes.
"Cough cough cough."
A hoarse voice came from above.
"Wife, you look so ugly when you cry."
Wen Mu looked up suddenly. Through her tear-blurred vision, she saw Song Xingran smiling weakly at her. His oxygen mask had been pulled aside, his chapped lips curled slightly upwards, and his eyes, though tired, held a familiar light.
"You, you." Wen Mu couldn't speak a complete sentence. He could only move forward slowly and stroke his face with trembling hands.
The man raised his uncasted hand with difficulty and wiped the tears from her face: "I heard everything."
Wen Mu's tears flowed even more fiercely: "All?"
"Yeah." Song Xingran stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Start with 'I love him.'"
Wen Mu buried his face in his palm, his tears soaking his fingers: "Then why don't you wake up quickly!"
"I want to hear more." The man's voice was weak but with a smile. "Say it again."
Wen Mu raised his head and looked at his pale face through tearful eyes.
The sunlight finally broke through the clouds and shone on the hospital bed, making her realize that he was still by her side.
She took a deep breath, leaned over, put her head close to the man's ear, and spoke slowly:
"Song Xingran."
"I love you."
"Whether you can race or not, whether you are disabled or not, I will love you."
"I will tell you this every day until you get tired of it."
Song Xingran closed his eyes, and the smile on his lips widened: "Not enough."
"What's not enough?"
"A number of times," he said with difficulty. "If I were to say, a lifetime."
Wen Mu burst into laughter and kissed his forehead gently: "Okay, forever."
The sunlight outside the window became brighter, dispelling the last gloom in the ward.
The "beeping" sound of the machine also seemed to become cheerful, like a celebratory song.
Wen Mu suddenly remembered something and grabbed the report left by Ming Yang and was about to tear it up.
"Don't." Song Xingran weakly stopped her, "Keep it."
"Why?"
"As a commemoration," he said with difficulty, "to prove how much my wife loves me."
Wen Mu cried and laughed.
"You're crazy."
A sly glint flashed in the man's eyes.
"Well, it's the crazy man who loves you."
-----------------------
The author has something to say: Finally said it out [burst crying]
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