Chapter 67
Consciousness seemed to float in warm and sticky amber, surrounded by blurry light and intermittent sounds.
The smell of disinfectant stubbornly permeated my nostrils, reminding me of reality. My body felt heavy, like a cold stone pressing down on my chest, and every weak breath brought a dull ache.
I knew I was in the hospital and that I was safe for the time being.
The sense of time is chaotic.
All I knew was that there was a warm light alternating between bright and dark outside my eyelids, and people were coming in and out, with deliberately light footsteps and low voices.
There was a familiar presence, with anxiety and an unquestionable sense of protection, guarding the bedside almost all the time.
It’s Seventh Brother.
His breath was like a tight net, covering the entire ward and isolating everything he considered "dangerous".
I could "hear" his angry growl, his harsh orders to the bodyguard at the door, and the rage that almost blew the roof off his head when he was on the phone, all directed at one name - Keigo Atobe.
"What kind of thing is worthy of putting my sister in danger?! Useless thing!"
"Let a woman lead the charge?! Uncle, listen to this! Is this even reasonable?!"
"Let him in? Impossible! I don't like that guy! Just relying on his looks..."
"How could I not care about Xiaoyin's mood..." The voice from the other end of the phone seemed to choke the furious lion instantly, and his breath became extremely irritable and suffocated.
Then there was a busy tone as the phone was hung up forcefully.
After a while, the chair beside the bed made a sharp sound as it was suddenly pushed away.
Seventh Brother's breath, filled with anger that had nowhere to vent, swept out of the ward like a whirlwind.
I know that he was touched by his uncle's words "Xiao Yin's mood".
The corridor outside the ward seemed to fall into a brief silence. But soon, another presence approached.
A familiar scent with a cool, cool fragrance.
It's Atobe Keigo.
I could "feel" him pause at the door, blocked by an invisible barrier. There seemed to be the presence of Oshitari around him, with worried persuasion, but Atobe didn't leave.
Then, the seventh brother's voice, filled with obvious anger and sarcasm, rang out, cutting through the air like a knife. I could almost imagine him crossing his arms and pointing his chin at Atobe with a harsh expression.
However, the expected proud counterattack from Atobe did not come.
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
Then, I "heard", or rather, "felt", an extremely subtle but soul-shaking movement.
It is the sound of clothes rubbing against each other when the body bends deeply.
It was the sound of lowering the head, breaking the arc of innate pride.
It was a trembling, extremely suppressed, yet clear plea that penetrated the barrier of the ward door and came in faintly:
"...I beg you...let me see her once...just once..."
Such a proud, arrogant Atobe Keigo, he actually bowed 90 degrees to his seventh brother and begged him?!
The cold stone in my heart seemed to be hit hard by something, causing a sharp pain.
Brother Qi's breath was obviously fluctuating violently. I could "hear" his rapid breathing and the slight clicking sound of his knuckles when he gripped the phone.
The words "Xiaoyin's mood..." echoed again like a spell.
The dead silence lasted for several seconds, which seemed as long as a century.
Finally, the voice of the Seventh Brother rang out again, and with an extremely awkward, almost gnashing-teeth compromise, he said to the butler beside him:
“…Watching the night is so tiring! My eyes are temporarily blind! I can’t see the road or the dog!”
"Now! I want to go home and sleep!"
Then the butler understood and responded with a relieved voice: "Yes, Master, I will help you to rest."
The footsteps left quickly.
There seemed to be two other presences at the door, bodyguards. They also made subtle movements in perfect unison, perhaps silently putting on sunglasses? Then, they too quietly retreated a distance.
The blockage disappeared.
The door was gently pushed open.
A fresh breath rushed into the ward like a tide, enveloping me in an instant.
The footsteps were light, with a cautious hesitation, and finally stopped beside the bed.
I can feel a gaze, with scorching temperature and heavy sadness, carefully depicting my face.
Then, a cold hand with a slight trembling, very gently, as if touching a fragile treasure, carefully picked up my hand that was placed outside the quilt.
There was a rough feeling at the fingertips, the scabs from the broken wounds on the palms of his hands. Dried dark red blood stained the edges of his nails. There were also small scrapes and bruises on his arms, the marks left by climbing that wall of death.
Oshitari must have told him...
Tell him how I was like a gecko, struggling to get closer to him on the precipice of despair...
The hand holding me trembled even more violently. I could "hear" his suppressed breathing, like that of a wounded cub.
One drop, two drops of boiling hot liquid fell on the back of my hand with a burning temperature.
The ward was very quiet, with only the regular and faint ticking of the monitoring equipment and my own slow and steady breathing.
He sat down, the chair making a slight noise. His hand was still holding mine, not daring to use force, but gently stroking the tiny scars on the back of my hand with his fingertips, as if trying to smooth them out.
Then, a low, hoarse voice, filled with endless remorse and tenderness, like the softest feather, brushed across the silent sea of consciousness and slowly rang out:
"Xiao Yin..."
He paused, his voice choked, before continuing, as if he were confiding in a sleeping person, or as if he were confessing to himself:
"When I was trapped in that dark room... time seemed to have stopped... I couldn't feel anything... only pain and hunger... and endless darkness..."
His voice was soft, but it had the power to penetrate the soul.
"Every time I feel like I can't hold on any longer and am about to be swallowed by the darkness... I lower my head... and touch this place with my chin..." His fingertips gently touched the small gold tennis pendant on his neck, "...and then, you're the only one left in my mind..."
"That first time on the tennis court... the way you glared at me angrily and said, 'If you're not good enough, practice more!'... was so vivid... so lively... like a ray of light..."
"Later, we argued and then shook hands and made peace...we watched the fireworks together on the Sumida River...the colorful dots of light exploding across the sky...were nothing compared to the light in your eyes..."
"On a rainy day, you held the shivering Xiaokong in your arms and smiled at me, saying you wanted to keep him... Even though you were shivering with cold... you still insisted on being brave..."
"That time during the stage play... you were lying in the coffin... so quiet..." His voice suddenly choked, with a heavy nasal sound, "... I could hardly control myself... I wanted to kiss you awake... I wanted to confirm it was you..."
"Later... so many nights... I spent time with you through the screen... listened to you complain about homework... watched your serious face as you handled things..."
“During the Cold War… I wished the whole world would explode…”
"When we make peace... I can't wait... I can't wait to plant roses all over the world..."
His breathing became rapid, and he tightened his grip on my hand slightly, but then immediately released it, afraid of hurting me.
"Every phone call, video, and message... is like a star... lighting up my boring and self-righteous life... making me feel... that life can be so... bright..."
He lowered his head and gently rested his forehead on the back of my cold hand. My hot tears instantly soaked my skin.
That extremely suppressed, broken voice, carrying the deepest love and heaviest pain, was imprinted in the silent air like a vow:
"Xiao Yin...how can I tell you...how much I love you..."
"I wish the bullet had been shot at me at that moment... I can bear all the pain... I just hope you're safe..."
"Please... wake up... give me a chance... tell you in person... okay..."
Warm tears silently slid down my fingers. The thick shell that enveloped my consciousness seemed to be melted by this scorching love and pain, opening a tiny crack.
Light comes in.
I woke up on the fourth day.
When I woke up, the first thing I felt was the cool, smooth sheets beneath my fingertips, then the soft touch of his hair.
My vision gradually focused. I saw Atobe lying on the edge of the bed, his face pressed against the white quilt, one hand tightly holding mine.
The sunlight, filtered through thick clouds, sparsely filtered into the ward, casting a faint gray shadow across his straight nose and furrowed brow. Dried tear marks, like two thin, winding riverbeds, were clearly imprinted beneath his eyes.
I wanted to raise my hand to wipe away the traces of his mess, but my arm felt too heavy to move, and weakness emanated from the cracks between my bones.
never mind.
I looked away and out the window.
The gray-blue sky casts a heavy shadow over the outline of London, bringing with it the lingering gloom that I dislike.
Just the fingertips curled very slightly in his palm.
His body jolted violently, practically leaping to his feet. Those eyes, always filled with pride and piercing sharpness, now stained with sleepiness and bloodshot, suddenly caught my eye.
First he was bewildered, then he was filled with incredible joy, and finally he was overcome by a torrent of pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He stared at me intently, his eyes instantly turning frighteningly red, his Adam's apple rolling violently, his jaw tightening into a hard line.
I know that during the days when I was unconscious and sleepy, this proud young master must have cried all his tears without anyone knowing.
My throat felt dry like sandpaper, and I struggled to pull the corners of my mouth open, my voice hoarse and weak: "Jingwu... why are you such a crybaby..."
The taut string broke.
He suddenly leaned down, resting his forehead on my arm, and his shoulders began to tremble violently and uncontrollably.
The scalding liquid seeped through the thin hospital gown and burned my skin.
He choked, and broken syllables came out from the depths of his throat repeatedly, over and over again, all of them were my name.
The voice was filled with the great panic of losing and regaining something and the lingering fear of surviving a disaster.
Fool.
My heart ached and I tried to lift the hand that wasn't being held down by him again to touch his hair. But with just a little force, I pulled at the wound under my ribs, and a sharp stinging pain made me gasp and break out in a cold sweat.
His crying stopped abruptly.
Almost like a conditioned reflex, he raised his head and quickly held me down, his movements carrying unquestionable strength, but carefully avoiding any injuries.
"Don't move!" His voice was hoarse and nasal, but his eyes had regained their usual control. "What do you want?"
"...water." I was barely breathing.
He stood up immediately, his movements quick and steady.
The glass was carefully handed to my lips, and the warm water moistened my dry throat, bringing a slight sense of comfort.
He supported me, letting me sit up a little in his arms. My body was limp, without a trace of strength, as if all the bones and muscles had been drained away, but my mind was unusually clear, and I just wanted to look at him and talk to him.
There are too many silences and unfinished words between us.
I leaned against him, my eyes carefully tracing his much thinner cheeks. The blue stubble on his chin made him look even more dejected and haggard.
"You've lost weight," I whispered, my voice still weak. "You don't even shave... you're not handsome anymore."
"Seventh Brother... if he saw it... he would definitely laugh at me for having such poor eyesight."
He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating his chest and reaching my body as I leaned in. He took my hand, and his warm lips kissed the back of my hand and fingertips over and over again, as if confirming a rare treasure that had been lost and then found again.
"I'll arrange for recovery today," his voice echoed above me, carrying a familiar arrogance mixed with the hoarseness of someone who had survived a disaster. "Perfect condition, easy to achieve."
A smile crept up the corner of my mouth, with a hint of weakness: "...I also want... big pectoral muscles... eight-pack abs... long legs..." The voice became smaller and smaller, almost just a breath.
He lowered his head to look at me, his eyes startlingly focused. There wasn't a hint of playfulness in them, only a seriousness bordering on reverence. He hung on my every word, solemnly agreeing to every request: "Yes, everything."
That look was so deep that my eyes started to feel hot again.
I tried hard to suppress the bitterness, and recalled the figure standing in the shadows in my vague memory: "Seventh Brother... did he... bully you?" There was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
He shook his head gently, his fingertips gently caressing the skin on the back of my hand where the catheter was inserted, "No."
His voice was calm, even carrying a subtle hint of gentleness. "Seventh Brother... is a very good person."
That night, filled with the sound of gunfire, the cold, and the smell of blood, stretched between us like an invisible abyss. I dare not mention it, for it must have been an unforgettable nightmare for him.
But his eyes couldn't help but fall on my bare arms, where the new, hideous scars were faintly visible under the wide cuffs of my hospital gown.
He lowered his head, his warm lips, tinged with unspeakable pity, gently, over and over, kissing those ugly scars. From the inside of my arm to my wrist, every inch of my skin bore the mark of his burning heat. The deep affection and pain in that gesture, like an invisible thread, entwined my heart, tightening painfully.
"Jingwu..." I spoke hoarsely, trying to dispel the haze in his eyes, "I'm not hurt... really... I'm fine..."
His movements suddenly stopped.
He raised his head, and his deep eyes looked straight into mine. His gaze was so sharp that it seemed to penetrate my soul, with a determination to carve my appearance into my bones.
"It hurts." He spoke, his voice low as if grinding over gravel, and every word carried the weight of blood. "It hurts here."
He took my hand and pressed it hard against his solid left chest. Beneath my palm, his rapid and heavy heartbeats pounded against my fingertips again and again.
"It hurt so much I couldn't breathe." He stared at me, a storm of pain in his eyes I had never seen before. "That night... I felt like I died once too. Following you... I walked through the gates of hell."
"It's too cold there," his voice trembled slightly, with a chill of fear.
"It's so cold my chest feels like it's leaking air... The cold air is pouring in... My bones are crackling with cold..." He paused and took a deep breath, which seemed to be filled with ice. "But I will fight to the death to crawl back..."
His eyes locked onto mine, a flame burning in them: "Because in this world... there is my light... there is my moon..."
"There's my...beloved girl."
Hot tears burst out of my eyes without warning, slid down the corners of my eyes, and soaked the hair on my temples.
My vision blurred instantly.
After surviving a catastrophe, we should be filled with overwhelming joy, but why are we facing each other with tears streaming down our faces at this moment?
Icy tears streamed down my cheeks, bringing a slightly itchy chill. I looked into his red eyes, which were also filled with uncontrollable moisture, filled with fear and pain, the ecstasy of regaining what had been lost, and a bottomless love that almost drowned us both.
He leaned over, and his slightly cold lips, tinged with salty tears, carefully pressed against the corners of my eyes, clumsily trying to kiss away the warm liquid that kept flowing out.
His movements were extremely gentle, as if he was wiping a piece of fragile glass.
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