Thanks a lot
Qi Shuo's clarity of mind was like a reassuring pill, finally allowing the huge boulder hanging over everyone's throats to slowly fall to the ground.
After being transferred to a regular ward, my days were filled with all sorts of trivial but necessary medical procedures. The daily routine of IV drips, dressing changes, and examinations was as precise and monotonous as a pendulum.
His left leg was in a heavy cast and suspended high in the air. The wound on his left shoulder and back was wrapped in layers of gauze. Every time he turned over or even moved slightly, it would aggravate the injury and bring sharp pain.
The effects of the anesthetic have long since worn off, and the painkillers have limited effectiveness; pain has become the most loyal, yet most tormenting, companion.
Qi Shuo became unusually silent. The pain had consumed most of his energy, and when he was awake, he would often just stare at the ceiling or close his eyes to rest, rarely speaking.
His brows furrowed slightly due to discomfort, and his lips were always pressed into a pale, straight line.
Only when Tan Huaiyu was near, or when doctors and nurses examined him, would he barely muster his energy to give a brief reply.
Tan Huaiyu practically lived in the hospital. He took on all the nursing care he could, with meticulous attention to detail, even more so than professional caregivers.
He learned how to help Qi Shuo perform small movements in bed without aggravating the wound, thus preventing muscle atrophy and bedsores.
He remembered the effects and timing of each of Qi Shuo's medications, as well as every precaution the doctor had given him. He even learned from the nurses how to massage Qi Shuo's uninjured right leg and arm to promote blood circulation.
However, watching Qi Shuo suffer from pain, and seeing the barely perceptible irritability and helplessness he showed due to his inconvenience, Tan Huaiyu felt as if his heart was being repeatedly fried in a pot of oil.
He hated himself for not being able to take his pain away, hated himself for not being able to do more than provide meticulous care.
"Drink some water, the temperature is just right." Tan Huaiyu carefully placed the straw to Qi Shuo's lips, watching him slowly sip, his Adam's apple bobbing, and then he closed his eyes wearily.
Tan Huaiyu gently wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with a warm towel, her movements as gentle as if she were handling a fragile piece of porcelain.
"Does it hurt a lot? Should we call a nurse to give you some painkillers?" Tan Huaiyu squatted by the bed, looking up at him, her voice very soft.
Qi Shuo slowly shook his head, without opening his eyes, but reached out from under the covers, groped around, and grasped Tan Huaiyu's hand placed by the bedside.
His hands were still weak, and his fingertips were icy cold. Tan Huaiyu immediately took his hand in return, wrapped it in his warm palm, and gently rubbed it.
“It’s alright,” Qi Shuo finally spoke, his voice dry and hoarse, tinged with the stagnation of not speaking for a long time, “I can bear it.”
Tan Huaiyu's nose stung, and he quickly lowered his head to hide his instantly reddening eyes. How could he not know that Qi Shuo was holding back?
This man was used to bearing everything, used to keeping a low profile, and even silently digesting his pain.
But the more this happened, the more heartbroken Tan Huaiyu felt.
The first dressing change was on the third day after Qi Shuo was transferred to a regular ward.
When the nurse removed the layers of gauze wrapped around Qi Shuo's shoulder and back, revealing the hideous wound that required more than twenty stitches, Tan Huaiyu stood by the bed and felt as if all the blood in her body rushed to her head and then receded abruptly, leaving her hands and feet icy cold.
The wound stretched from below the left scapula to near the armpit, with the skin turned inside out. The sutures crawled like centipedes across the swollen, red flesh, and yellow traces of disinfectant remained at the edges. Although stitched up, the wound was still shocking, a testament to the severity of the injury.
Although the fracture site of the left leg was fixed in a cast and not visible, the swelling and purple discoloration of the lower leg, along with the tight and shiny skin, indicated a serious internal injury.
Qi Shuo lay on his side, his face buried in the pillow, only his tightly pursed lips and taut jawline visible.
The disinfectant stung his wound, causing him to tremble almost imperceptibly, and he swallowed a muffled groan.
Tan Huaiyu bit his lower lip hard until he tasted blood, barely managing to control himself. He looked away, not daring to look at the wound, but forced himself to turn back, his gaze falling on Qi Shuo's sweat-dampened temples and clenched fists.
He reached out and gently placed his hand on Qi Shuo's uninjured right hand, feeling that the palm was covered in cold sweat and was trembling slightly.
"It'll be done soon, Mr. Qi, just bear with it." The nurse skillfully cleaned, disinfected, and applied medicine, her tone calm, but no matter how gentle her movements were, it was impossible to completely avoid pain.
Qi Shuo didn't speak, but he tightened his grip even more, almost breaking Tan Huaiyu's fingers. Tan Huaiyu endured the pain without uttering a sound, only using his other hand to gently stroke Qi Shuo's sweaty hair repeatedly, silently providing support.
The dressing change process took only a dozen minutes, but for Tan Huaiyu it felt like an eternity. Only when the new gauze covered the wound again did Qi Shuo's tense body slowly relax, as if he had exhausted all his strength. He pressed his forehead against the pillow and breathed heavily.
Tan Huaiyu immediately wrung out a hot towel and carefully wiped the cold sweat from his face and the back of his neck. He then brought him some warm water and had him slowly drink a few sips through a straw.
"Are you alright?" Tan Huaiyu's voice trembled almost imperceptibly.
Qi Shuo closed his eyes and paused for a while before nodding almost imperceptibly, his voice low and hoarse: "Mm."
But his pale face and the lingering pain between his brows betrayed his true feelings. Tan Huaiyu's heart clenched. He leaned down and placed a very light, quick kiss on Qi Shuo's sweaty forehead, carrying the salty taste of sweat and his own suppressed heartache.
Qi Shuo's long eyelashes trembled slightly. He didn't open his eyes, but the hand that Tan Huaiyu was holding gently squeezed back almost imperceptibly.
Besides physical pain, there are also psychological hurdles to overcome.
A man who is used to being in control and has a strong drive to act is suddenly trapped in a hospital bed and needs help even for the most basic daily activities. This sense of powerlessness and frustration is something that ordinary people can hardly understand.
Although Qi Shuo didn't say anything, Tan Huaiyu could sense his growing irritability and repression.
Qi Shuo tried to pick up the water glass with his uninjured right hand, but due to his awkward posture and weakness, he almost knocked it over. He stared at his slightly trembling hand, his brows furrowed tightly, and his lips tightened into a cold, hard line.
Tan Huaiyu silently stepped forward, took the water glass, and held it to his lips without saying a word.
At night, Qi Shuo would toss and turn, unable to sleep due to the numbness and pain in his legs, or be awakened by nightmares. Sometimes it was the loud noise of a machine collapsing, sometimes it was the feeling of weightlessness and falling into the void.
He would suddenly open his eyes, breathing rapidly in the darkness, drenched in cold sweat. Whenever this happened, Tan Huaiyu, who was watching over him, would immediately turn on a small nightlight, take his hand, brush away his sweat-dampened hair, and whisper reassuringly in his ear again and again, "It's alright, Ashuo, it was a dream, I'm here, it's alright..."
Only when Qi Shuo's rapid breathing gradually calmed down and he closed his eyes again would Tan Huaiyu carefully lie back down in the chaise lounge, but she could no longer fall asleep. She just kept her eyes open, listening to his gradually steady breathing until dawn.
Tan Huaiyu is also visibly aging.
He stayed by his side almost without sleep, and the bruises under his eyes grew darker and darker, his cheeks quickly sunken in, and his clothes, which used to fit him well, now looked loose and baggy.
Xiao Jue, Lin Ye, and Qin Zhou took turns bringing him food and relieving him, trying to persuade him to go back and get some sleep, but he stubbornly refused.
“I can’t sleep when I go back.” He always said this, his voice hoarse, but his eyes unusually determined. “He only feels at ease when I’m here.”
Only once, Xiao Jue couldn't bear to watch any longer and almost forcibly dragged him out of the ward, stuffed him into the car, and took him back to Yucaiyuan.
Let him take a hot bath, force him to eat something, and then put him on the spacious, soft new bed that they had chosen together.
"Sleep for four hours. I'll watch over him and call you immediately if anything happens." Xiao Jue's tone left no room for argument.
Tan Huaiyu lay on the bed, still faintly imprinted with Qi Shuo's scent, his body utterly exhausted, yet his mind unusually clear. The room was quiet, a quietness that made him uneasy.
There was no ticking of instruments, no suppressed groans of pain from Qi Shuo, and no smell of disinfectant. This "normal" quiet, instead, made him feel a huge emptiness and panic. He stared at the ceiling with his eyes open, and after less than half an hour, he suddenly sat up, rushed into the bathroom, washed his face with cold water, and then said to Xiao Jue, who was waiting outside, "I'm done, let's go back."
Looking at his pale face and the stubbornness in his eyes, Xiao Jue finally just sighed deeply, said nothing, and started the car again.
Under Tan Huaiyu's meticulous care and the doctors' and nurses' careful treatment, Qi Shuo's injuries are slowly and steadily improving.
The wounds on my shoulder and back are starting to scab over, and the redness and swelling are subsiding. The swelling in my legs is also gradually decreasing, and the pain is becoming tolerable.
He was in better spirits and had longer periods of lucidity. Although he was still not very talkative, he was at least able to exchange a few words with Xiao Jue and the others who came to visit him.
That afternoon, the sun shone brightly. Tan Huaiyu helped Qi Shuo sit up against the raised headboard.
This was the first time since his injury that Qi Shuo had been able to look at the ward where he had spent more than ten days and the person in front of him who had been watching over him for more than ten days and was so thin that he was almost unrecognizable.
Tan Huaiyu was peeling an apple for him, his movements careful and focused. The sunlight cast a light golden halo on his drooping eyelashes, but it also revealed the deep weariness in his eyes and the dark stubble on his chin.
He had lost a lot of weight; his once-defined jawline was now almost bony, and his fingers, gripping the fruit knife, had distinct knuckles.
Qi Shuo's gaze lingered on Tan Huaiyu's face for a long time, from his eyebrows to the shadows under his eyes to his tightly pursed, bloodless lips.
Then, it slowly moved down, landing on his collarbone, which appeared particularly prominent due to his thinness, and his slender, fragile wrist peeking out from under his T-shirt.
A sharp pain, mixed with heartache, guilt, and helplessness, pierced Qi Shuo's heart more deeply than any wound.
He remembered the babbling, tearful voice in his ear when he was unconscious; he remembered the first thing he saw when he regained consciousness was this haggard but determined face; he remembered the hands that held him tightly and gave him strength every time he changed his dressings; he remembered the figure that immediately appeared beside him in the dead of night when he was awakened by pain and nightmares, dispelling his fear with gentle words...
It was he who dragged this once spirited young lawyer, who should have been eloquent and sharp-tongued in court, into this state. He caused him to live in fear, kept him up all night, made him lose weight rapidly, and cast an inescapable shadow over his eyes.
Tan Huaiyu peeled the apple, cut it into small pieces, stuck toothpicks in it, and handed it to Qi Shuo's mouth, forcing a smile: "Eat some fruit, the doctor said you need to supplement your vitamins."
That smile, however, was more painful for Qi Shuo than tears.
Qi Shuo didn't speak. He just looked at Tan Huaiyu, at his amber eyes that were full of concern but couldn't hide his weariness, for a long, long time.
So long that Tan Huaiyu's hand holding the apple started to ache, and his smile was almost impossible to maintain, with a hint of doubt and unease showing in his eyes.
Then, Qi Shuo raised his right hand, which was not receiving an IV drip and was perfectly healthy. His movements were still somewhat slow, but unusually firm, and he grasped Tan Huaiyu's wrist, which was holding the fruit plate.
His fingers were cold and weak, but his grip was tight.
Tan Huaiyu was stunned, looking at him with confusion.
Qi Shuo's Adam's apple bobbed, his dry lips moved, and after a long while, he finally uttered a hoarse but exceptionally clear sound:
"……sorry."
He paused, his gaze piercing into Tan Huaiyu's eyes, where he saw all his guilt, heartache, and a heavy, almost overwhelming sense of powerlessness.
“And…” He gripped Tan Huaiyu’s wrist tightly, as if trying to draw strength from those slender wrist bones, or as if trying to transfer his own strength to her, “…Thank you for your hard work.”
Two very simple sentences. No fancy words, no excessive explanation.
Tan Huaiyu's tightly wound nerves, which he had been holding back, seemed to crumble instantly at this moment, as if gently touched by these two simple sentences.
Tan Huaiyu's eyes suddenly reddened. He abruptly lowered his head, not wanting Qi Shuo to see the tears welling up in his eyes. But his trembling shoulders and choked breathing betrayed him.
He put down the fruit plate and used his other hand to tightly grasp Qi Shuo's hand. His hand was also trembling, but he gripped it very tightly.
"Don't say sorry..." His voice was hoarse, with a heavy nasal tone, each word seeming to be forced out from his throat, "It's my fault...it's my fault for not taking good care of you..."
He finally raised his head, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face, but he didn't wipe them away. He just stared at Qi Shuo stubbornly and deeply, his amber eyes becoming exceptionally clear from the tears, reflecting Qi Shuo's pale yet well-defined face.
“You’re alive, you’ve woken up, you can still look at me like this, and talk to me…” His voice was choked with emotion, almost incoherent, “That’s enough… Nothing else matters… Really, none of it matters…”
"As long as you live well, and stay by my side..." He lowered his head, resting his forehead on their clasped hands, hot tears falling onto Qi Shuo's hand. "I'm not afraid of any hardship... I'm only afraid... afraid of you..."
He choked up and couldn't continue, but he held Qi Shuo's hand tightly, as if grasping at a lifeline, or as if confirming his real existence.
Qi Shuo's heart was both aching and tender from the scalding tears and words.
He turned his hand back and, with all the strength he could muster at that moment, grasped Tan Huaiyu's hand in return.
With difficulty, the other hand, which was receiving an IV drip, was also raised and gently placed on the top of Tan Huaiyu's drooping, fluffy hair, and it was gently and slowly rubbed.
No further words were spoken.
Sunlight streamed through the window, quietly enveloping their clasped hands and their two hearts, tightly intertwined, sharing both pain and strength.
Wounds will heal, but scars will remain.
But some things, tempered by blood and tears, become more resilient and inseparable.
For example, love, protection, and "us".
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