Chapter Seventy-Three: Found, Heartache
“No matter what, I have to go,” Xin Gan said truthfully.
“Xin Gan, I’m afraid you’ll be in danger. Please stay home and wait for news. The Cheng family will do everything to search for him. If you go, you won’t be able to help, and we’ll only worry about your safety,” her mother replied, speaking from the heart, but also out of concern for Xin Gan, not wanting her to return to Beiyu.
A place like Beiyu was truly unsafe, especially now that Cheng Jiu’s whereabouts were unknown and his life uncertain.
Her mother didn’t want Xin Gan to make this journey. As a mother, she absolutely refused to let her daughter take such a risk.
On the way home, Xin Gan considered every possibility. No matter the outcome, she was determined to go.
She said, “Mom, don’t worry. I’ll take care of myself.”
All her mother’s persuasion was in vain. Xin Gan had made up her mind. She packed her luggage simply, grabbed her documents.
“I can’t stop you. You’ve grown up. If you want to go, go. But promise me, no matter what happens, you must come back safe. You’re my only daughter,” her mother conceded at last, sighing deeply. She knew she couldn’t stop Xin Gan, so she could only let her go.
Her father, upon hearing of it, didn’t say much either. With a heavy heart, he urged her, “Be careful, come back soon. If anything happens, think of your mother, think of your family.”
Between their words, they worried Xin Gan might lose hope.
Their concern was reasonable. From Xin Gan’s reaction upon hearing Cheng Jiu was in trouble, it was clear she truly cared for him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be so anxious.
Before leaving, Xin Gan told her father, “Dad, I’ll take care of myself. Please look after Mom for me during this time. Anything else can wait until I return.”
“Alright, I know. Go ahead,” her father said, gently ruffling her hair, comfort in his expression. “You’ve grown up. You should make your own decisions now. As long as you put your safety first, whatever you do, your family will always support you.”
Xin Gan nodded lightly, her eyes reddening. “I’m leaving, Dad. Take care of yourself.”
Her father arranged for a driver to take her to the airport, remaining at home to comfort her distraught mother. Her mother, heartbroken, stood in her room, watching from the window as Xin Gan got into the car and left.
Her father returned to the room, sat beside her mother, and gently patted her shoulder.
Her mother said, “I should have expected this day. Cheng Jiu’s work is so dangerous. What if something happened to him? What if he never returns? What will Xin Xin do?”
“Don’t think too much. We haven’t heard anything yet.”
“The Cheng family said even the rescue teams haven’t found him. So many days have passed. I fear even if he survives, he’ll be gravely injured. What will Xin Xin do with the rest of her life?”
Her father comforted her, “Think positively. Don’t dwell on the worst. Cheng Jiu won’t suffer such a fate. You must believe in him.”
It wasn’t that her mother didn’t want to believe, but Cheng Jiu’s work was fraught with peril. Life and death on the front lines weren’t up to him. The more she thought, the more distressed she became. “I don’t care. Xin Xin’s happiness comes first.”
...
Xin Gan arrived at the airport. Cheng Jiu’s father and his group were already waiting, even before dawn.
Still no news of Cheng Jiu’s whereabouts. His father’s face was grave, as if shrouded in clouds; no one could smile, the atmosphere heavy and gloomy.
It was a long journey. Xin Gan hadn’t slept, nor had Cheng Jiu’s father. Seeing her unable to rest, he whispered, “Even if you can’t sleep, try to close your eyes for a bit.”
Xin Gan nodded, slowly closed her eyes to rest.
Cheng Jiu’s father wasn’t in great shape either. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, his spirits weighed down, seeming to have aged suddenly.
Xin Gan, having stayed up, had bloodshot eyes and looked pale.
Finally, the plane landed at Beiyu airport around nine at night. Xin Gan felt disoriented, yet everything here was familiar, even intimate.
That night, Colonel Meng came to the airport to personally receive Cheng Jiu’s father.
Colonel Meng had a military background, accustomed to life and death. In this line of work, one must always be prepared to sacrifice for duty—an honor and a responsibility, never an excuse for retreat. Even so, when he received word of Cheng Jiu’s accident, it hit him hard.
Cheng Jiu was someone he had promoted, valued greatly. Cheng Jiu’s accident was unacceptable to him; he spared no effort in the search.
The situation, however, was grim. The rescue team had searched the site of Cheng Jiu’s accident for a long time, never giving up, but still no news.
Cheng Jiu’s father said, “Colonel Meng, I don’t care if he’s alive or dead, I must find him. Even if he’s gone, I want to bring him back to Yongcheng.”
Colonel Meng pressed his lips tightly, his face pale, no better than Cheng Jiu’s father.
...
Cheng Jiu’s father rushed overnight to the site of the accident, the roads rough and difficult. He first settled Xin Gan, telling her to stay with the team and wait for their return. Xin Gan refused to stay, but was forced to remain.
Colonel Meng didn’t disclose the exact reason for Cheng Jiu’s accident—it involved military secrets, impossible to explain. Cheng Jiu’s father understood and didn’t ask further.
It was deep into the night; the rescue team continued their efforts, but no good news came.
Until the third day after their arrival in Beiyu, the rescue team finally found Cheng Jiu’s whereabouts. He was unconscious, extremely weak, his body covered with wounds, all exposed injuries inflamed, and he was running a high fever, unable to wake. After being found, he was rushed to the nearest hospital for emergency treatment.
Cheng Jiu’s father, upon hearing the news, nearly collapsed, muttering, “Thank heavens, thank heavens, mercy of heaven.” He was still alive, still breathing, and that meant hope—better than anything.
He immediately informed Xin Gan: “He’s been found, taken to the hospital, under emergency care.”
Xin Gan’s voice was hoarse as she asked, “Where, which hospital?”
He gave her the hospital address, but it was too late to let her visit. “Wait until morning.”
“He’s in critical condition, the hospital is working to save him. It’ll take time. Even if you come now, you’d only wait. Once we have news, I’ll let you know so you can come. Don’t worry, Xin Gan, he’s been found and will be fine. Rest tonight; tomorrow I’ll send someone to bring you over.”
Xin Gan wanted to go immediately, but lacked the courage. She blurted out, “Alright.”
...
Cheng Jiu’s father waited outside the emergency room, joined by Colonel Meng and several of Cheng Jiu’s colleagues.
Colonel Meng paced anxiously, unable to sit still. Thirty years of storms, he’d seen everything, but still couldn’t hold back tears.
He’d seen Cheng Jiu’s condition when found—barely alive. If there hadn’t been the faintest breath, the rescuers would have assumed he was gone.
Thankfully, his will to live was strong, and he held on.
But even so, his situation was dire.
The doctors worked all night to save him. He survived, but remained unconscious, with no clear timeline for awakening.
Cheng Jiu’s father dared not hope for more; his son’s life was saved, yet he was still unconscious.
The doctor added, “The patient suffered severe trauma to the back of the head—a concussion. We need to convene to discuss a treatment plan. Our hospital’s equipment isn’t advanced. If the family can afford it, once his condition stabilizes, he should be transferred to a hospital in a major city.”
Cheng Jiu’s father understood, but at least now he could relax a little.
Cheng Jiu was moved to the intensive care unit, hooked up to various tubes, still unconscious, his exposed skin covered with wounds, his face included.
Mrs. Cheng called, urgently asking about his condition. Cheng Jiu’s father stepped aside to answer, reassuring her, “He’s been found, saved, just transferred to the ICU.”
“Thank goodness, thank goodness he was saved. My poor boy. I always said he shouldn’t have gone to Beiyu. No matter how I pleaded, he wouldn’t listen.”
“Enough, now’s not the time for blame.”
“It’s not meaningless. It’s your fault. You insisted he follow your path. I’ve lived in fear every day, afraid something would happen. And now, it has.” Cheng Jiu’s father didn’t argue, patiently soothing her and asking about home.
Mrs. Cheng wiped her tears. “Cheng Hui is sick, her voice is hoarse from crying. She’s just fallen asleep.”
“How is it so serious?”
“She had surgery on her throat before. She’s emotionally upset, cried too much, now has an inflamed throat. The doctor prescribed antibiotics—if she doesn’t improve, she’ll need an IV.”
She sighed deeply, feeling helpless.
Fortunately, Cheng Jiu’s life was saved. She dared not hope for more.
“If I didn’t have to care for Hui Hui, I’d be with you in Beiyu. My son’s lying in the ICU and I can do nothing. I feel powerless.”
Cheng Jiu’s father comforted her a few more times, then said, “Don’t be too upset. Take care of Hui Hui while I’m away.”
“Yes, and you take care of yourself. Our son is still unconscious; I only have you now.”
...
Cheng Hui had just fallen asleep when she had a nightmare, waking suddenly, drenched in cold sweat, instantly alert.
She reached for water, her throat sore, painful even to swallow.
After drinking, she noticed her phone blinking by the pillow—He Chuan was calling. She glanced at it but didn’t answer.
She’d been calling him for days, but he never answered. She was heartbroken, thinking of him first in her distress, but he hadn’t responded.
...
He Chuan had no idea about Cheng Jiu’s accident; the Cheng family kept the news from him. It was only when he tried to contact Cheng Jiu and failed, recalling Cheng Hui’s repeated calls, he realized something must be wrong and went to the Cheng family himself.
There, Mrs. Cheng told him about Cheng Jiu’s accident, and that Cheng Hui had been trying to reach him because of it.
In that moment, he felt he’d really gone too far, and hurried to find Cheng Hui, but she locked herself away, ignoring his knocks and pleas.
He Chuan had no choice—he couldn’t break in, especially with Mrs. Cheng present. He stood at the door, spoke to Cheng Hui, tried coaxing her with every tone, but she wouldn’t listen.
He truly regretted his actions, but couldn’t force his way in or linger too long—it was inappropriate—so he left.
Tang Huaihuai, meanwhile, had repeatedly invited him out for drinks. She was also troubled, wanting someone to confide in. She didn’t know many people, and even fewer she could trust with her feelings—He Chuan was the only one.
He Chuan refused, saying he was busy and wouldn’t see her.
Tang Huaihuai teased, “Is your little girl too sad, clinging to you? What’s so great about her? You should come play with me—anything you want, I’ll oblige.”
She deliberately flirted, saying things to stir the imagination, but He Chuan was not easily seduced. He turned her down directly: “No time, no interest. Find someone else.”
He was busy trying to pacify Cheng Hui.
After learning about Cheng Jiu’s situation, he immediately sought information, finally hearing that the rescue team had found Cheng Jiu and sent him to the hospital, alive.
Only after knowing he was alive did He Chuan let out a heavy sigh of relief.
He didn’t dare think too deeply—was Cheng Hui crying as she called him that night? Yet he, on a whim, hadn’t answered.
How devastated, how hopeless she must have felt.
He Chuan felt increasingly remorseful, like a child throwing a tantrum, refusing to answer her calls.
...
That night, Mrs. Cheng brought lean meat porridge and egg custard for Cheng Hui.
Cheng Hui had no appetite, ate a few bites and put down her spoon, lying in bed weakly. “I miss my brother,” she said, nose tingling, tears beginning to fall again.
Mrs. Cheng hurried over to embrace her, soothing softly, “He’s alright, he’s been found and is getting treatment in the hospital. He’ll be fine. Think positively—you must get better quickly, don’t be too sad.”
“Really?” Hope flickered in Cheng Hui’s eyes. “Brother’s been found? That’s wonderful, wonderful.”
“Silly girl, stop crying. If you keep it up, your throat will get worse. When your brother gets better, you’ll be hospitalized yourself.”
Cheng Hui nodded quickly, crying and laughing, hurriedly lifting her shirt to wipe her tears. “I won’t cry, I won’t cry. I’ll wait for my brother to come back—I’ll never argue with him again.”
“As long as you understand,” Mrs. Cheng felt both heartache and sorrow, but couldn’t show it in front of Cheng Hui.
Later that evening, He Chuan arrived with gifts.
Mrs. Cheng chatted with him for a while. He asked to see Cheng Hui. Mrs. Cheng said, “Alright, maybe you can help. She cries every day, her throat is ruined. I’m afraid it’ll flare up again—if it worsens, it’ll be serious.”
...
Cheng Hui’s room wasn’t locked. He Chuan walked in silently, careful not to disturb her.
She lay resting on the bed, a medicated patch on her neck for inflammation—a sign her condition was poor.
He Chuan’s heart tightened, as if gnawed by ants. He sat at the edge of the bed, gently touching her hair. “Hui Hui?”
Cheng Hui opened her eyes drowsily, recognizing his voice instantly. It was He Chuan. Knowing it was him, she kept silent, ignoring him.
He Chuan said, “Hui Hui.”
He called her again and again, as if enchanted.
Annoyed, Cheng Hui pulled the covers over her head, muffling her voice. “I’m still angry. I don’t want to see you.”
“I know you’re angry—that’s why I’ve come to make it up to you.”
“No need. Go coax Tang Huaihuai,” Cheng Hui retorted in a burst of anger, speaking without thinking.
He Chuan paused, uncertain why she mentioned Tang Huaihuai. Even so, he persisted, “You need me. It was my fault—I shouldn’t have ignored your calls.”
Cheng Hui flung off the covers, turned to glare at him. “Then tell me, where were you the night I called you?”
Her eyes were red, her nose too—clearly she’d cried hard.
He Chuan smiled, “Drinking.”
“With whom?”
He kept smiling, “Hui Hui…”
“It was Tang Huaihuai,” Cheng Hui finished for him, the light fading from her eyes. “You want to ask how I knew, right?”
He Chuan reached to grasp her wrist, but she avoided him.
She wore pajamas, her slender limbs exposed, her complexion poor, looking exceptionally fragile.
He was at a loss, the smile fading, “It’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault, it’s mine, He Chuan. The problem is me. I shouldn’t rely on you so much. When my brother had his accident, you were the first I thought of—I called you four times, sent messages, but you never replied. Before… before, it was never like this.” Cheng Hui’s eyes brimmed with tears again, the pain growing as she spoke. “When I needed you most, you weren’t there. I should have realized then—you have your own life, I can’t always depend on you. It’s my fault. I apologize.”
He Chuan cupped her face, gently wiped her tears, speaking slowly, “There won’t be a next time. I promise.”
“No, He Chuan, I said—you have your own life. I shouldn’t be childish, always clinging to you.”
“So what do you mean?” He Chuan sensed something was wrong, his face darkening.
“Nothing, just that I need to grow up and stop being annoying.”
He Chuan understood she wanted to distance herself. No, he didn’t want that at all.
“No one finds you annoying. Did someone say something to you? Tang Huaihuai? Otherwise, how did you know I was with her that night?”
Cheng Hui shook her head, pried off his hand. “It doesn’t matter who.”
He Chuan swallowed, “Cheng Hui, tell me—who’s been gossiping to you?”
His tone grew stern, his gaze sharp as blades, slicing her.
Cheng Hui was naturally afraid when he was serious, shrinking back a little. “It’s not important.”
“Cheng Hui, must you oppose me?”
He Chuan hadn’t realized the tension between them had shifted. Cheng Hui sensed it keenly—not anger, but disappointment. Not disappointment in He Chuan, perhaps disappointment in herself.
She didn’t dare meet his gaze, looking down at the bedsheet. “I’m not opposing you, just being honest. You do as you please. I’m tired. I don’t want to talk.”
She coughed, covering her throat.
She dared not make too much noise—after all, she was at home.
He Chuan fell silent, staring at her.
His gaze made Cheng Hui’s scalp tingle. “You should leave now.”
...
Cheng Jiu remained in the ICU, with no hope of recovery anytime soon.
When Xin Gan visited him at the hospital, she could only watch through the glass. He lay motionless, serene, tubes everywhere, breathing aided by an oxygen mask, wounds on his arms—even after treatment, they still looked bloody.
Her heart ached deeply.