Cheng Muyun opened his eyes in a daze, his eyelids feeling as heavy as lead, and each blink made his temples throb.
The moment consciousness returned, an overwhelming pain surged from every part of his body—the spot on his shoulder where the broken beam had struck felt like it was being repeatedly cut by a dull knife; the slightest movement caused him to gasp in pain, and the dull ache of the tearing wound crawled up his spine and spread throughout his entire body.
My fingers were wrapped in layers of thick gauze, making it impossible to even curl them up. They felt swollen and numb inside, as if countless needles were pricking them.
The exposed skin was covered with burns of varying depths. Some areas had scabbed over and were hard and painful to the touch, while others were red and swollen, and burned intensely when exposed to air.
But all these physical pains combined couldn't compare to the sharp, almost crushing pain in his heart.
Cheng Muyun even began to hate himself for being so lucid at this moment.
He would rather remain in a coma forever, trapped in endless darkness, than be tormented by these terrifyingly clear memories.
Every scene from the fire was etched into his mind like a brand, impossible to erase.
He remembered how hot Xu Zhuohua's body was when he finally picked her up—it wasn't the temperature a living person should have, it was the scorching heat of someone who had been roasted by fire. It burned his palms through her charred clothes and made his heart suddenly clench.
He remembered the moment the explosion occurred, the fire that illuminated the entire night sky, so red it was blinding, so bright it was scorching. The heat wave, along with the blast wave, knocked him to the ground, his ears ringing, and all that remained was that sea of fire leaping wildly before his eyes.
He remembered the loud crash as he struggled to break free of the chains on his wrists, the stinging pain of the chains scraping against his flesh, the cracking sound of the locks snapping, and his heart-wrenching screams.
But even at top speed, it couldn't hold onto the person you wanted to protect.
Isn't it said that after a major trauma, the brain automatically chooses to forget? Would someone use amnesia to protect themselves?
Cheng Muyun stared at the blurry patterns on the ceiling, a metallic taste rising in his throat.
Why does he remember it so clearly?
He was aware of every detail, every inch of pain, as if it had just happened, grinding over his heart repeatedly, even his breath smelled of blood.
He struggled to open his eyelids, and the smell of disinfectant instantly filled his nostrils, mixed with the faint medicinal scent in the air, instantly waking him up—he was in a hospital.
The burn ointment applied to his body had a cool touch, seeping into his skin little by little. That special coolness intertwined with the burning pain underneath, like a needle suddenly piercing through the last remaining hope in his subconscious.
That fire was not a dream.
But he wished it were just a long and real nightmare.
Even if he were trapped in a sea of fire forever, even if he were repeatedly scorched by the flames, he would be willing to do it as long as he could see Xu Zhuohua's bright smile again.
It's better than now, with only him in the empty hospital room and the cold reality of losing her forever.
Cheng Muyun lay motionless on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the mottled water stains on the ceiling.
The white ceiling was blindingly white, yet it reflected no image, only his own unfocused pupils and the churning, deathly despair deep within them.
The pain continued; the burned skin was swollen and screaming, and the peripheral nerves were being repeatedly pulled, bringing waves of sharp pain.
The pain was intense, enough to make an ordinary person break down and scream, but he gritted his teeth and didn't even flinch.
He even felt that the pain was good.
At least it can distract him temporarily, allowing him to use the physical pain to cover up the deep, bottomless wound in his heart.
As long as you remain clear-headed enough through the pain, you won't be completely overwhelmed by the overwhelming sorrow.
He woke up, but without making a sound.
The sunlight streaming through the gaps in the curtains cast a thin band of light on the floor.
No one knew that this person, who had just crawled back from the brink of death, had already endured another round of purgatory alone in the boundless darkness.
It wasn't until Chen Hede woke up and came looking for him that he found out.
The wooden door to the private hospital room was gently pushed open, the hinges making two soft "creak" sounds as they turned, which were particularly clear in the excessively quiet space.
The door opened and closed, creating a barely perceptible breeze that brushed against Cheng Muyun's bare forearm, but it did nothing to move him.
Anyway, it won't be Xu Zhuohua who comes.
The thought weighed on his mind like a cold stone; it didn't matter who came, it was all the same.
He remained in the same position, his eyes fixed on the yellowish water stain on the ceiling, as if it held some secret worth exploring.
Chen Hede walked over, his footsteps very light.
He stood by the hospital bed, his gaze falling on Cheng Muyun's face. Just as he had expected, the man was awake, but silent as a lifeless sculpture.
Chen Hede's tall figure blocked the ray of sunlight that was getting through the gap in the curtains, casting a shadow on Cheng Muyun's face.
But the person on the sickbed didn't even flinch. Those eyes that were once full of sharpness were now just a dead, deep pool, bottomless and reflecting nothing.
Chen Hede's hand unconsciously clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white. After a moment, he slowly loosened his fist, as if deflated, and let out a heavy sigh.
That sigh contained so much: worry, helplessness, and a hint of unspeakable guilt.
“It’s been three days,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “You’ve finally woken up.”
Cheng Muyun blinked very slowly, his gaze still fixed on the mottled patterns on the ceiling, as if he were nailed there.
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