Whose fault is it?
Xiao Jue's tears finally rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the cold floor tiles.
This usually calm and resolute man was now like a cornered beast, tearing at his hair in agony.
“I could only hide her away. I changed her name, told her my name was ‘Little Jue Brother,’ told her that her parents died in a car accident, told her that as long as she behaved, she would get better… I hired the best doctors and used the best medicine. I stayed by her side and accompanied her. I wished I could give my life for her, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t make her better, and I couldn’t… bring you to her.”
He suddenly squatted down, covered his face with his hands, and suppressed, broken sobs leaked out from between his fingers: "Nine years... Brother Shuo, I watched her grow up day by day. Her body has grown up, but here..." He pointed to his heart, "It's forever frozen on that rainy night eight years ago."
“I watched her laugh, watched her cry, watched her break down over the smallest things, watched her become unable to take care of even the most basic aspects of life… Every day I think, if only I had discovered it sooner, if only I could have stopped your father, if only I could have stopped Tan Zhong, if only…”
"Enough!" Qi Shuo roared, his voice hoarse like a broken gong. He listened to Xiao Jue's tearful account, each word like a poisoned knife, slowly tearing at his heart.
Shanshan is still alive, but her life is worse than death.
Shanshan is alive, yet she fears him and forgets him.
Do I hate him? Hate Xiao Jue for concealing the truth? Yes. I hate him to the point of grinding my teeth.
But beneath this hatred lies a deeper, colder despair and helplessness.
Can he blame Xiao Jue?
Is it his fault for not telling him sooner?
What happens after I tell him?
What can he do?
Can he make Shanshan better?
Can he bear the fear in Shan Shan's eyes when she sees him?
Can he accept the fact that Shanshan has become like this, while he himself has been living a "normal" life for nine years without knowing anything about it?
No, he can't. He can't do anything.
He doesn't even have the right to hate.
Because the root cause of all this is Tan Zhong, that demon who is already dead. And Xiao Jue is both the victim and... the one who bears the consequences.
A profound sense of absurdity and exhaustion overwhelmed him.
He leaned against the wall, slowly slid down to sit on the ground, a few steps away from Xiao Jue who was squatting on the ground, like two losers whose spines had been shattered.
Only Xiao Jue's suppressed sobs and the two men's heavy, painful breathing filled the corridor.
After an unknown amount of time, Qi Shuo raised his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the tightly closed door of ward 703, his voice dry and hoarse like sandpaper scraping: "How...is she now?"
Xiao Jue raised his head, his face still wet with tears. He wiped his face haphazardly and said in a hoarse voice, "He was given a sedative and is asleep. But... his condition is very bad. This time the shock was too great, and the doctor said he needs to be re-evaluated."
Qi Shuo remained silent for a long time, so long that Xiao Jue thought he wouldn't speak again. Then, he heard Qi Shuo ask in an almost ethereal, elusive voice:
"Can I... see her?"
Xiao Jue trembled and suddenly looked up at him, his eyes filled with shock, fear, and a hint of struggle.
"Just one glance," Qi Shuo's voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable resolve, "Just one glance through the crack in the door. I promise... I won't make a sound, and I won't go in."
Xiao Jue looked at him, at those eyes that were filled with pain and despair, yet still stared intently at the ward door.
He knew he couldn't stop it.
If Qi Shuo isn't allowed to see this today, he might go crazy.
Moreover, he knew that this day would come sooner or later.
The secret has been exposed, and the pus and blood have spilled everywhere. We can no longer pretend that nothing happened.
He struggled for a long time, and finally, very slowly, nodded.
He stood up, his legs weak, and walked to the door of the ward. With trembling hands, he grasped the doorknob and, extremely slowly and silently, pushed the door open a tiny crack.
Dim light streamed through the crack in the door. Qi Shuo moved stiffly to the door, held his breath, and peered inside.
A slender figure lay on the hospital bed.
Wearing a large, cartoon-patterned hospital gown, the blanket covered her chin, revealing only a pale, almost transparent face. Long eyelashes cast faint shadows under her eyelids, and even in her sleep, her brows were slightly furrowed, carrying a lingering fear.
Her breathing was light and shallow, her chest barely rising and falling. One hand was sticking out from under the blanket, her wrist so thin it looked like it would break at any moment, and there was still tape left from the IV drip on it.
That's Shanshan. She's his younger sister.
Nine years have passed, and he has grown from a naive and stubborn boy into the silent and gloomy man he is today.
Time seemed to have stood still for her; her face still vaguely retained the features of her childhood, but she was frighteningly thin, and a heavy, age-inappropriate gloom and fragility shrouded her brows.
She is alive.
It was like a seedling that had been broken by a storm, barely surviving but never able to straighten its back and grow towards the sun.
Qi Shuo stared intently, his eyes filled with greed, pain, and despair.
He wanted to etch her image into his very being, yet he also desperately wanted to close his eyes immediately and forget this moment forever.
His hands gripped the door frame so tightly that his nails dug into the wood, sending sharp pain through him, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
Just as he was about to give up and look away, the person on the hospital bed seemed to sense something. Their brows furrowed even more, their lips moved unconsciously, and they uttered a very faint, tearful murmur in their sleep:
"Brother... I'm scared... blood... so much blood... Mom..."
The voice was very soft, yet it struck Qi Shuo's ear like a thunderclap.
He abruptly took a step back, as if burned, and released his grip on the doorframe. The door closed silently behind him, isolating that pale, fragile face and that broken murmur from his dream in another world.
He leaned against the cold wall, gasping for breath as if he had just drowned. His vision blurred, and his ears were ringing.
Shan Shan's voice, Shan Shan's appearance, overlapped with and tore apart from his sister, who was covered in blood and gradually growing cold in his arms on that rainy night nine years ago, ultimately settling into that frightened and uneasy sleeping face in the ward.
Xiao Jue stood beside him, his complexion not much better than his. He just looked at him silently, his eyes filled with guilt, worry, and a sense of shared suffering and weariness.
"She..." Qi Shuo finally found his voice, terribly hoarse, "...has she always been like this?"
Xiao Jue nodded heavily: "It's good sometimes and bad sometimes. When it's good, he's like a five or six-year-old child, he laughs, plays, and calls me 'Little Jue Brother.' When it's bad, like tonight, he has an attack when he sees blood, hears certain words, or just for no reason. The doctor said it's post-traumatic stress disorder, and it's very serious. It's accompanied by dissociative amnesia and intellectual decline... He may never get better."
It will never get better.
Eight words, like eight poisoned daggers, pierced Qi Shuo's heart, stirring it repeatedly. He closed his eyes, feeling warm tears slide down his cheeks, quickly turning cold.
He thought that losing Shanshan nine years ago was the ultimate pain in his life. But now he realizes that was just the beginning.
To live, yet to live a life worse than death, to forget everything, including him, to fear everything, including him… This pain is more cruel, longer, and more desperate than death.
"Why didn't you tell me..." he murmured, more like asking himself, "Even... if I had known she was still alive..."
“Tell you, and then what?” Xiao Jue’s voice choked up. “Let you watch her like this? Let you live in guilt and pain every day? Let you be tormented by this sin day and night like me? Brother Shuo, I tried… I tried to get close to her and tell her, but what was the result? You just heard it! She’s scared! She’s scared of ’Qi Shuo’. I can’t upset her anymore, and I… I can’t watch you suffer anymore.”
"And what about you?" Qi Shuo suddenly opened his eyes, his tear-blurred vision fixed on Xiao Jue. "You deserve to be tormented by this sin? You deserve to bear all of this alone? Xiao Jue, do you fucking think you're so great? So capable of carrying it all? Huh?!"
Xiao Jue was taken aback by his shout, then gave a bitter smile: "Great? No, Brother Shuo, I'm not great at all. I just... have no choice. When I see her, I think of Tan Zhong, your mother, and that night... I owe you all something I can never repay in this lifetime. Taking care of her is the only thing I can do, and it's also my way of... punishing myself."
Punish yourself.
Looking at his brother, who seemed to have aged ten years overnight, and seeing the unfathomable weariness and pain in his eyes, Qi Shuo's raging anger suddenly vanished, leaving only boundless sorrow and helplessness.
Whom does she hate? Does she hate Xiao Jue? But what did Xiao Jue do wrong?
He had only unintentionally gotten involved in this mess that had nothing to do with him, and then tried to atone for a sin that could never be redeemed in the most foolish and painful way.
Whose fault is it? Fate? Tan Zhong, who died long ago?
It all seems strange, yet it also seems like nothing is to blame.
In the end, only this absurd, heavy, and suffocating reality remained, pressing down on two wounded souls.
Qi Shuo stopped talking. He turned around and slowly, step by step, walked along the cold wall toward the stairs at the end of the corridor.
His steps were unsteady, his back hunched, as if all his strength had been drained away.
"Qi Shuo!" Xiao Jue called out from behind him, his voice filled with panic.
Qi Shuo didn't turn around, but simply raised his hand and waved it weakly, signaling him not to follow.
He needs to be alone now. He needs to process this truth that could tear him to pieces.
He needs to think about how he, as the "older brother," should conduct himself in a world where Shan Shan is afraid of him and has forgotten him.
Xiao Jue watched his figure disappear around the corner of the stairs, his back seemingly crushed in an instant. His outstretched hand froze in mid-air before finally falling limply to the ground.
He leaned against the door of the ward, slowly slid down to the floor, and buried his face deeply in his palms. Tears that had been suppressed for nine years finally surged forth, wetting his palms.
The corridor fell silent once more.
Only in ward 703 did the machines emit a regular, cold ticking sound, as if measuring the broken time of each person in this silent tragedy.
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