Meng Fushan walked through the corridor.
Hospital corridors were always like this—cold, gloomy, and desolate. The white walls and green paint reflected an eerie light that made people feel a deep-seated aversion.
Meng Fushan stopped in front of the designated room number, raised his hand, and knocked on the door.
The door opened, and a tall bodyguard appeared before Meng Fushan’s eyes. This was Chen Jiashu’s inseparable “spear” and “shield.” Meng Fushan had never seen them apart.
At least, whenever he saw Chen Jiashu, the bodyguard was always there.
The bodyguard was taciturn and led Meng Fushan inside.
Meng Fushan was equally taciturn, following along silently. Halfway there, he brushed shoulders with someone in a white doctor’s coat, casting an indifferent glance at the person.
It was Chen Jiashu’s attending physician.
Probably here for a follow-up consultation.
After turning past the final partition in the room, Meng Fushan saw Chen Jiashu sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window.
This was the hospital’s luxury VIP ward. If one hadn’t seen it with their own eyes, it would be hard to imagine a hospital having a luxurious residence akin to a sanatorium—perhaps money truly was omnipotent.
The heating in the room was turned up very high. Meng Fushan felt hot wearing only a thin shirt, yet Chen Jiashu, who was leaning against the hospital bed, was not only covered by a blanket but also draped in a fleece-lined coat. He was on the phone, looking displeased. Ever since Meng Fushan had gotten close to Chen Jiashu, Chen Jiashu had always cultivated his character, speaking softly and slowly, fond of putting on an unfathomable and profound front. This was the first time Meng Fushan had seen Chen Jiashu reveal such suppressed anger:
“I went through so many connections, delayed for so long, went through so much trouble, and paid two or three times the market price—not so you could tell me you’re ‘powerless’ when something goes wrong!”
“A refund? Do you think I’m short on money?! What I want is a life…”
The anger faded, replaced by a layer of vicious gloominess on Chen Jiashu’s face.
“I want either the life of the person who took my money, or the life of the person who can save mine.”
The person on the other end of the phone seemed to speak for a while.
The gloominess shrouding Chen Jiashu’s face did not recede; instead, it thickened. Finally, Chen Jiashu asked:
“Is this Mr. Liu’s intention as well?”
Meng Fushan’s eyes abruptly shot out a devouring, sharp glint, before completely concealing it in the next instant.
He lowered his eyes, staring at a corner of the white bedsheet. Staring at it for so long, the white bedsheet began to bleed with a kaleidoscope of colors in his eyes. It was just like this completely fucked-up world: what you see with your own eyes isn’t necessarily the truth.
He reminded himself of this, while simultaneously firmly memorizing every key point Chen Jiashu had let slip.
Mr. Liu.
Providing the kidney source.
The organization he had been searching for all along… the fundamental reason he had approached Chen Jiashu…
Two seconds later, with a heavy bang, the phone was smashed onto the floor. Chen Jiashu didn’t move from the bed; he merely pressed his hand against the two scars on his waist, rubbing the side of his waist until it was completely red.
Meng Fushan made a move.
He bent down, picked up the phone from the floor, and handed it back to Chen Jiashu.
Chen Jiashu didn’t take the phone. He looked at Meng Fushan, the gloominess on his face almost solidifying into something tangible: “Little Meng…”
“Big Brother, I’m here.”
Chen Jiashu scrutinized Meng Fushan for a long time before finally breaking into a trace of a smile. The smile dispelled his gloom, his expression cleared up, and his tone became gentle again.
“Not bad, not bad. Although you haven’t been by my side for long, it’s true—every time I need to see you, you’re here, and every time I need to trouble you, you never say a second word.”
“Big Brother’s orders are no trouble.” For the tight-lipped Meng Fushan, this was already considered saying a lot.
“You’re still the most considerate one,” Chen Jiashu said. “You heard the call just now, so you can probably guess most of it. Big Brother won’t hide it from you. Here…” He pointed to the side of his waist. “Although all the checkups were done thoroughly during the kidney transplant, rejection reactions have still appeared now.”
Rejection is a major hurdle in recovery after a kidney transplant.
It is divided into acute and chronic rejection. Regardless of which type, it is a massive ordeal for the person who received the surgery—if the rejection episodes are frequent and severe, the transplanted kidney essentially becomes useless.
“The stronghold over in Ning City was wiped out by the police over the past two months. The entire network, operated for years, was destroyed in an instant, suffering heavy losses. They’re also unwilling to make another move under such high pressure and risk. I’ll settle the score with them properly regarding this matter, but it’s not urgent right now. What’s urgent right now is the kidney… If they won’t make a move, I will.”
As Chen Jiashu spoke, he waved his hand at the bodyguard, signaling him to bring over the laptop resting on the table.
The laptop was moved onto the hospital bed.
Meng Fushan saw what Chen Jiashu was showing him.
A photo on a webpage.
The photo featured a beautiful young woman.
“She and the kidney I currently have are biological sisters,” Chen Jiashu said slowly. “Between blood relatives, the probability of a successful kidney match is extremely high… Now, I want you to go to Qin City, find her, and keep an eye on her. Find a way to get her a medical examination report for a kidney transplant match. Once the medical report is out, I want you to bring her to the rendezvous point I arrange for you—safely, completely intact, and without alerting anyone… Little Meng.”
Chen Jiashu asked him:
“Can you do this?”
Having finally dispelled Ai Yin’s terrifying idea of “cooking, doing laundry, sleeping on the floor, and taking care of Teacher Ji,” and having shooed the editor—who had specially rushed over from another province—back home, Ji Xun returned to the ward once again.
He didn’t know if it was an illusion, but upon returning, Ji Xun felt that Huo Ranyin’s lying posture had relaxed somewhat. When he reached out to intimately touch the other’s face and hair again, Huo Ranyin didn’t directly dodge it, but instead cast a casual, sideways glance at him.
“The sun is pretty nice today.”
“It is indeed pretty nice,” Ji Xun looked up at the sky.
“Want to go out together for some fresh air?” Huo Ranyin asked.
Why not get some fresh air? He was moving a bit more nimbly today anyway and didn’t need the crutches anymore. Ji Xun gladly agreed: “Sure, I’ll push you.”
They went to the nurses’ station and asked the nurse for a simple mobile stretcher bed. Ji Xun then helped Huo Ranyin transfer beds, covered him properly with a blanket, and then left the ward, took the elevator, and entered the garden.
The 3:00 PM sunlight was just right. Passing through the wooden lattice canopy of the hospital’s flower corridor, it cast strips of light onto Huo Ranyin’s blanket. When the slightly cool breeze and the warm light acted together on the skin, that momentary feeling of expansiveness and coziness was something the indoor heating and windows could absolutely never compare to.
Lying on his stomach on the bed, Huo Ranyin stared at the sunlight by his pillow for a while. His gaze shifted up slightly, and he saw a swaying hospital gown.
It was the hospital gown Ji Xun was wearing.
Because Ji Xun had to push the hospital bed, he was standing very close. The hem of his clothes kept brushing against Huo Ranyin’s pillow, swaying and swinging back and forth, keeping the exact same rhythm as its owner.
“…A heavily injured patient,” Huo Ranyin said in a low voice.
“Mm, two heavily injured patients.” Ji Xun had sharp ears and heard him. He comforted Huo Ranyin, “Don’t worry. Look up and see—who around here isn’t a severely ill patient?”
“No need to look at them.” Huo Ranyin couldn’t be bothered to raise his eyes. Even if he was injured to the point of extreme inconvenience, he hadn’t lost his basic observational skills. “They’re all looking at us.”
“Mm-hmm, looking at how deeply in love we are.”
“…” Huo Ranyin hummed softly, “Show-off.”
He covered the corner of his mouth, hiding a fleeting smile.
Ji Xun wasn’t wrong. The department closest to the garden was the oncology department; many of the people taking walks here were severely ill patients.
Hospitals always carried an air of aging and twilight. Even though the nurses said the cancer incidence rate was skewing younger year by year, the vast majority of the patients here were still the elderly.
The companions of the elderly were partly middle-aged daughters or daughters-in-law, and partly elderly spouses of similar age—withered hands overlapping with withered hands, mottled gray hair leaning against mottled gray hair.
The mental state of these elderly people was mostly better than those cared for by hired caretakers, or those who simply stayed completely alone.
For those lonely elderly people, even the sunlight couldn’t dispel the faint haze shrouding them.
If a person were a piece of wood, they had reached the point where the rot and insect holes in the wood could be clearly seen even from a distance.
Human decay is irreversible.
Having lost their vitality, they could only step by step enter the realm of withering and death. During this stage, the greatest mercy the heavens could bestow was simply allowing the people who loved them and the people they loved to accompany them on their final journey.
As Ji Xun pushed Huo Ranyin, they passed an old married couple who were very much like them—the husband was lying on a hospital bed, and the wife was pushing her husband forward.
The old couple was talking, and Ji Xun and Huo Ranyin caught a snippet of their conversation.
The husband had cancer and was about to undergo surgery. For an elderly person of his age to undergo surgery was very dangerous; it was highly likely that once the anesthesia was administered, he would never wake up again. The wife held her husband’s aged hand, combed his sparse, graying hair, called him by his childhood nickname, and told him: Don’t worry, I’ve already begged the doctor, I’ll go in with you during the surgery. You have your surgery inside the curtain, and I’ll hold your hand outside the curtain. You haven’t let go of me your entire life; now that we’re old, I will absolutely never let go of you either…
They didn’t linger beside the old couple; this kind of heartwarming moment between husband and wife didn’t need outsiders intruding.
Ji Xun kept pushing Huo Ranyin until they reached a corner of the garden.
Here, there was a patch of shade—a rare find in winter—and from afar, they could see a pond. The pond was well-maintained; even in the dead of winter, koi fish were still swimming vigorously.
The sunlight shone on Huo Ranyin’s face.
Ji Xun raised his hand, plucked a leaf, and used it to block the light shining into Huo Ranyin’s eyes.
“I’ve seen similar stories on the news before.”
Huo Ranyin was taken aback for a moment, then realized Ji Xun was talking about the old couple from just now.
“When I watched them, it felt like a very formulaic kind of being moved. Thinking about it now, maybe I only felt it was formulaic because I had never been in that kind of situation. No matter how many times the same joys and sorrows are repeated in this world, the joys and sorrows themselves will not be diminished because of it. Huo Ranyin…”
“I’m here.”
“It’s nothing. Just…”
That sun-shading leaf fell onto his eyes.
Through the leaf, Ji Xun kissed Huo Ranyin’s eye.
“Just wanting to bask in the sun with you often.”
The light kiss ended. Just as Ji Xun straightened up, his hand was grabbed by Huo Ranyin.
Huo Ranyin wanted to interlock his fingers with Ji Xun’s, but Ji Xun’s hand was still wrapped in gauze. He tried a few different angles but couldn’t interlock them. Finally, he gave up and simply pinched a corner of Ji Xun’s “pig trotter.”
“What are you doing?” Ji Xun was a bit puzzled. This posture didn’t seem very comfortable either.
“Nothing,” Huo Ranyin said. “Since our bodies can’t press together, I just wanted to press our fingers together, to be a little intimate. Unfortunately, we still can’t press them together.”
After saying this, Huo Ranyin smiled.
At the end of this day, the entire way back to the ward after basking in the sun, Huo Ranyin kept a tight hold on Ji Xun’s hand—an open and honorable declaration, unspoken yet clear.
Hidden in his palm was still a vibrant green leaf.
That piece of the heart that had been kissed.
