Chapter Seventy-Five: Surgery

Cheng’s father was speaking with Chief Meng, worry etched deeply into his brow. No one knew whether Cheng Jiu would return from this journey, nor what fate awaited him. Xiao Shi had come as well, leaning on his cane. He longed to see Cheng Jiu one last time, but there was no opportunity—he could only come to send him off.

Chief Meng noticed Xiao Shi and lowered his voice in reproach, “Why are you here? You should be resting in the hospital, not running about and causing trouble.”

Xiao Shi replied, “Chief Meng, you all kept it from me, didn’t want me to know. Can’t I at least come to see Brother Jiu off?”

Everyone knew what had happened to Cheng Jiu, except for Xiao Shi, who’d been left in the dark, peacefully recuperating in the hospital. Even when Cheng Jiu was to return to Yongcheng, Chief Meng hadn’t told him, nor allowed him to come.

Chief Meng muttered a few curses, but in the end did not stop him, instead asking someone to help Xiao Shi along, mindful of his injured leg.

Yet he could not see Cheng Jiu himself; the situation was too sensitive. Cheng Jiu had already been sent onto the plane.

Xiao Shi glanced at Xin Gan, who met his gaze. He walked over. “Miss Xin.”

Xin Gan asked, “Are you injured?”

Xiao Shi nodded. “My wounds aren’t serious. How is Brother Jiu?”

“Not good,” Xin Gan answered honestly. “But he’ll be treated. We won’t give up on him.”

“I didn’t know Brother Jiu was in trouble. If I had, I wouldn’t have waited until today to visit him. But now I can’t see him at all.”

Xin Gan smiled gently. “It’s all right. When he recovers, he’ll come back. You need to take care of yourself, too. Heal soon.”

Xiao Shi clenched his fists, then released them, tears glistening in his eyes.

Xin Gan didn’t know how to comfort him; she was suffering herself, though she kept it hidden. Cheng Jiu’s coma weighed on many hearts—not only hers, but his family, brothers, and respected superiors. Their pain was no less than hers. She didn’t want to burden anyone else; some things must be borne alone.

Xin Gan asked, “How old are you?”

Xiao Shi replied seriously, “Nineteen.”

So young, truly so young. At his age, he should be in school.

Xin Gan said, “Cheng Jiu wouldn’t want to see you cry. Don’t cry.”

“Mm, I understand.” Xiao Shi’s voice was choked, his head bowed. “I’ll wait for Brother Jiu to return. He will come back.”

Xin Gan forced a smile, following his words. “Yes, he will.”

Chief Meng did not interrupt their conversation, sighing deeply, his own heart aching.

Soon, the final boarding time arrived. As they watched them depart, Chief Meng patted Xiao Shi’s head, “Little rascal, you should be resting in the hospital, not running about. I’ll settle this with you when you’re better.”

Xiao Shi suddenly began to cry, biting his lip in silence.

Chief Meng’s eyes reddened, and he muttered, “What’s the use of crying? Such little resolve—if Cheng Jiu saw you, he’d make you train until you dropped. A man must swallow his pain and tears. Even if you can’t, you must.”

Xiao Shi wiped his tears fiercely, “Brother Jiu will come back, won’t he?”

Chief Meng was silent, unsure how to answer. No one could say—only heaven knew, and Cheng Jiu’s own fate.

...

Cheng’s father had already arranged for the hospital in Yongcheng to have an ambulance waiting at the airport. As soon as they landed, doctors and nurses received him and rushed him to the hospital.

Xin Gan accompanied them. She hadn’t had time to inform her family of her return, nor to check her phone. She couldn’t leave Cheng Jiu for even a moment.

At the hospital, Cheng’s father had someone handle the admission procedures, and expert consultants were summoned at once to examine Cheng Jiu.

Xin Gan could do nothing to help, so she waited outside the ward, her heart pounding, watching the minute hand crawl around the clock. There was still no news from the doctors.

Cheng’s father said, “Why don’t you go home first? You haven’t been home in so long; your parents must be worried.”

Xin Gan replied, “It’s fine. I’ll wait a bit longer. When the doctors come out and I know how Cheng Jiu’s doing, then I’ll go home.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve contacted the top specialists. With them here, you can rest assured. Xin Gan, if Cheng Jiu were here, he wouldn’t want to see you so tired.” Cheng’s father’s heart ached for her; he saw her concern for Cheng Jiu.

Xin Gan relented and agreed.

Back home, Xin Gan’s mother saw her pale face and could only feel pain, unable to speak. She hurriedly instructed the maid to make a nourishing ginseng soup for Xin Gan.

Xin Gan showered and changed, and when she emerged, her mother waited in her room, watching her. “Are you going back to the hospital?”

On the way home, Xin Gan had already told her mother about Cheng Jiu’s condition.

Xin Gan, drying her hair, answered, “Yes. I’m still uneasy. I want to be at the hospital.”

“Maybe... you should reconsider?” her mother ventured.

Xin Gan was momentarily stunned. “No.”

“It’s not that I’m selfish, but Cheng Jiu’s condition is so severe. If he never wakes up... what will you do?”

It was the truth.

Her mother had been agonizing over it, unable to eat or sleep, unwilling to let Xin Gan gamble her future happiness.

“Even if he wakes up, what if he’s left with incurable aftereffects? Xin Xin, you need to think it through. I need to help you consider this carefully, plan step by step—it concerns your future happiness.”

Xin Gan was silent.

Her mother knew her words were selfish, but the circumstances warranted it. Besides, the two hadn’t registered their marriage yet, nor truly confirmed their relationship. There was still a chance to turn back.

Xin Gan finished drying her hair, changed in the dressing room, and came out to face her mother, her tone resolute: “Mom, I’m sorry. I have no mood to consider these things. Everything will be decided when Cheng Jiu wakes up.”

“But—”

“There aren’t so many ‘buts.’ He saved me, risked his life for me. I can’t do anything to betray him now.”

“He saved you? What happened?”

Xin Gan recounted what had happened in Beiyu before, “He saved me more than once. Mom, I understand how you feel, and I know why you say these things. But please, don’t bring it up again, all right?”

Her mother was finally persuaded and no longer tried to stop her.

...

That night, Xin Gan’s parents accompanied her to the hospital to see Cheng Jiu.

Cheng’s father was still there, sharing the latest from the specialists: not bad, not good—surgery was needed.

Xin Gan wanted to see him in the ward, but too many visitors weren’t allowed. Cheng’s father let Xin Gan go in alone.

Xin Gan carefully moved a chair to sit by the bed, watching Cheng Jiu, unconscious, and called his name. He did not move. Her nose stung. She leaned close, gently pinched his ear, and whispered, “Wake up soon, get better. I won’t be conflicted anymore, nor hesitate.”

Every part of him was injured, except his ear, which she could touch. She dared not touch anywhere else.

Outside, Cheng’s father spoke with Xin Gan’s parents, “If Cheng Jiu never wakes up, the marriage between our families will have to be reconsidered.”

Xin Gan’s father and mother exchanged a glance. Her mother felt guilty and said nothing.

Her father insisted, “Cheng Jiu will wake up. We must believe in him.”

Cheng’s father wanted to smile, but could not. He was grateful the couple did not kick them when they were down.

...

Days passed. Xin Gan was at the hospital every day, caring for him. She even stopped going to work.

She’d informed HR in advance of her resignation. HR said they had to consult President Song, since she’d been recommended by Song Chen.

While waiting for their reply, Shen Ruxin called. When Xin Gan answered, Shen Ruxin asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about such a big incident?”

Xin Gan pressed her lips together.

“Xin Xin, are you at the hospital now? Which one? I’ll come find you.”

Xin Gan gave the address, then sat in silence outside the ward.

Through all this, she hadn’t allowed herself to break down, always holding back. When Shen Ruxin arrived at the hospital, she embraced Xin Gan at once, patting her shoulder gently. “Song Chen said you’d taken a long leave, and I couldn’t reach you. I had to ask my aunt to find out Cheng Jiu was in trouble. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Xin Gan blinked and forced a smile as if nothing were wrong.

Shen Ruxin studied her face, touching her head. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I’m all right, really.”

“Still stubborn. I know you too well.” Shen Ruxin pinched her cheek with exasperation. “How’s Cheng Jiu doing?”

“He hasn’t woken up. He’s scheduled for surgery in a few days—there’s a blood clot in his brain causing pressure. The doctors say it needs to be removed.”

Shen Ruxin stroked her face, “If the doctors say so, don’t worry. He’ll get better.”

Xin Gan smiled, “Cousin, you don’t have to comfort me. I’m fine.”

“Xin Xin, don’t be sad. Look how much weight you’ve lost.”

“I’m fine. I just wish he’d wake up soon.”

...

Cheng Jiu’s surgery was scheduled for the end of the month, and soon the day arrived.

All of Cheng’s family came, sharing Xin Gan’s anxiety and unease. Though Xin Gan remained calm, she couldn’t quell the turmoil inside—she could hardly sit still.

Cheng’s family was no better. For a time, no one cared for anyone else, nor dared speak, waiting anxiously outside the operating room.

Shen Ruxin brought Keke, hoping to distract Xin Gan and ease her worry.

Keke proved useful, sitting quietly on Xin Gan’s lap, her small hands cradling Xin Gan’s face, blowing gently.

Xin Gan asked softly, “What are you doing?”

“Blowing, blowing. If Keke blows for Auntie, she won’t be sad.”

Xin Gan bent and kissed her cheek, “Keke is so sweet, but Auntie isn’t very sad. You don’t need to blow for me.”

Keke said, “Auntie is lying. Auntie is very sad. Mommy says when Auntie is sad, she doesn’t talk. Not talking means she’s sad. Keke feels for Auntie—don’t be sad, Auntie, don’t be sad.”

Xin Gan was surprised to realize this about herself, and pinched Keke’s cheek, “No sadness. With little Keke around, how could I be sad?”

Keke nodded vigorously, “That’s better.”

Not until after ten at night did the surgery finish. The doctor emerged, “The operation was successful. Now we wait.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Success was all that mattered.

It was late. Cheng’s father called for a driver to take Mrs. Cheng and Cheng Hui home to rest. Cheng Hui refused to leave, insisting on staying, and Cheng’s father let her.

Xin Gan’s parents stayed another half hour before Xin Gan sent them home.

Xin Gan remained at the hospital with Cheng Jiu, unwilling to leave. Shen Ruxin didn’t try to dissuade her. Keke couldn’t stay up late and had already fallen asleep, so Shen Ruxin carried her home.

Cheng Hui was exhausted, her nerves on edge. When the adults left for a moment, she asked Xin Gan, “Sister Xin, when will my brother wake up? Did the doctors say?”

“They’re not sure. I don’t know when he’ll wake.”

Xin Gan sighed, feeling helpless.

Cheng Hui’s eyes were red, her voice hoarse, “I’ll never fight with him again. I’ll be good.”

Xin Gan comforted her, patting her shoulder.

Cheng’s father had hired professional caregivers for round-the-clock care. After some time, doctors advised the caregivers to give Cheng Jiu muscle massages to prevent atrophy from immobility.

Xin Gan learned, too, though her technique wasn’t as good as the professionals. With practice, she improved.

...

Some time later, mid-September arrived. Cheng Hui started school, and with military training from the second day, she had no time to visit the hospital. He Chuan came instead. He’d been busy and hadn’t kept up with news about Cheng Jiu.

He Chuan brought flowers and fruit to the hospital, asking about Cheng Jiu’s condition.

After Xin Gan told him, he said, “He’s lucky. He’ll wake up. Don’t worry too much.”

Yes, everyone believed he would recover.

Xin Gan nodded, “Mm.”

“Sorry I came so late.”

“It’s all right,” Xin Gan replied.

He Chuan stayed a while, then said, “Xin Gan, may I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

“It might be abrupt to ask now—sorry. But I have to ask, what’s the story between you and He Cheng?”

He Chuan’s gaze was direct, watching her profile.

Xin Gan answered calmly, “My mother knows Aunt He. Aunt He arranged for He Cheng to study abroad, learned I was in London, and asked me to look after him. He was new, unfamiliar with the environment. I agreed without thinking much.”

He Chuan listened, not interrupting.

“That’s how I met He Cheng.”

“He likes you, did you know?”

“I knew,” Xin Gan admitted, biting her lip, furrowing her brow. “He confessed the first time on his eighteenth birthday. He was drunk, and I told him he was talking nonsense. I didn’t take it seriously. Later, other things happened, and we had a falling out.”

She didn’t say why, unable to voice it.

It had been so long.

He Chuan glanced out the window, then asked, “Was it because he took secret photos of you?”

Xin Gan nodded, a little surprised.

He Chuan’s lips curled, his expression serious. “I had people investigate for a long time, checked his overseas social accounts, had hackers crack them, saw your photos in his albums.”

Xin Gan fell silent.

“My fault, and my family’s—we didn’t keep him in line, caused you harm. I’m sorry.”

She was silent again, then after a while, asked, “Does Cheng Jiu know?”

“He knows a little, not much.”

Xin Gan looked at Cheng Jiu, “Did he ask you?”

“Yes, he asked me a bit.” He Chuan smiled, “When he wakes, he’ll want to settle accounts with me. I sold him out.”

Xin Gan smiled, saying nothing.

She thought, when Cheng Jiu woke, she would tell him herself.

He Chuan didn’t look any more relaxed, his face still grim, brow furrowed for a long time. “Xin Gan, there’s something else I wanted to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Never mind, it slipped my mind. If I remember, I’ll ask next time.”

...

He Chuan visited several times. Cheng Hui never saw him, nor knew he’d been to the hospital. When she had free evenings from training, she often came to the hospital and chatted idly with Xin Gan.

The wounds on Cheng Jiu’s body were healing well, scabbing over with no need for bandages. But even when healed, they would leave scars.

Big and small, some would always remain.

Xin Gan wondered if, when he woke, he might find them ugly—especially the scars on his back and chest, the wounds uneven and raised.

But to have survived, a few scars mattered little.

She didn’t find them unsightly—rather, she felt more tenderness.

...

One evening, He Chuan attended a banquet. The hosts had invited celebrities to entertain, singing and performing. By coincidence, He Chuan saw He Cheng, newly debuted.

He Cheng was not among those invited to perform, but was a brand ambassador for the hosts—a clear sign he had powerful supporters.

Otherwise, how would he have endorsement events so soon after entering the industry?

He Chuan’s face was full of mockery. Before he could seek out He Cheng, He Cheng approached him.

“Long time no see,” He Cheng raised his glass in greeting.

He Chuan didn’t respond, “I wouldn’t have guessed—you look quite the star.”

“The company wanted me to model, so I shot a magazine cover. It went well, so they arranged acting gigs, though I’d never tried it. Luckily, they’re willing to invest in my training.”

Their conversation drew attention, especially from MK staff accompanying He Cheng—his agent among them.

Tan Yazhuo was there, too.

She had met He Chuan before, knew his reputation, and seeing He Cheng converse with him, came over to greet He Chuan.

He Chuan smiled politely, shifting his gaze to He Cheng, saying nothing.

Tan Yazhuo’s eyes flicked between the two, smiling, “He Cheng, do you know President He?”

He Cheng replied, “We share a surname—how could I not?”

“Oh? Is that so?” Tan Yazhuo’s smile was meaningful.

Compared to the two, He Chuan’s expression turned cold, but he played along, joking, “Agent Tan, you’re impressive—recruiting talent from my own family.”

Tan Yazhuo feigned surprise, “What’s that supposed to mean? Is He Cheng your...?”

He Cheng interjected, “My brother said not to flaunt, not to rely on the family name. Tonight’s meeting was a surprise. I didn’t expect to meet my brother here. Seems fate brings us together, right, brother?”

He Cheng rarely called him brother; when he did, it was never good.

He Chuan had anticipated this day, and let it pass, but didn’t play along, giving no warmth.

Tan Yazhuo’s status wasn’t on He Chuan’s level—he was a major boss, she merely an agent with no real power, despite grooming many popular stars. In He Chuan’s eyes, she held no real standing.

He Chuan smiled silently and went to the restroom. Tan Yazhuo watched He Cheng, “I should have realized you were He Chuan’s younger brother.”

He Cheng replied, “Does being his brother matter?”

“It does, somewhat. It means your path will be smoother—powerful backers will invest in you.”

He Cheng said nothing, sipping his wine.

...

After using the restroom, He Chuan saw He Cheng washing his hands.

In the mirror, the brothers didn’t look alike, nor did their personalities match. If not for the blood, He Chuan might have doubted He Cheng was really family.

With no outsiders present, He Cheng asked, “I heard Cheng Jiu’s in trouble?”

“Where did you hear that?” He Chuan washed his hands, retorting coldly.

“Who but our mother would tell me?”

“Don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“With your reaction, I believe Cheng Jiu is nearly a vegetable.”

He Chuan didn’t respond, his gaze icy.

He Cheng finished washing, shook his hands, pulled a paper towel, and said leisurely, “Seems heaven has eyes. If Cheng Jiu’s a vegetable, Xin Gan will be pitiable.”

He Chuan frowned at him, “Don’t stir up trouble.”

“If I want to, can you stop me?”

“Try it if you dare.”

He Cheng was unafraid, “He Chuan, don’t think you can still control me. Whatever I want to do, you can’t stop it. You’d better take care of yourself.” He leaned close, whispering, “You and Cheng Hui’s mess—keep it hidden. Don’t let it be discovered.”

He Chuan didn’t hold back, grabbed his collar, and snarled, “Threatening me?”

...

Tan Yazhuo had high hopes for He Cheng, believing he’d become hugely popular. She secured many endorsements for him. Naturally, a newcomer made little splash at first, requiring heavy investment—but with powerful backers, that was no problem.

He Cheng returned to the venue, his clothes rumpled.

Tan Yazhuo asked, “Why are your clothes wrinkled?”

He Cheng’s face was grim, “Nothing.” He certainly wouldn’t admit He Chuan was responsible—he’d been roughed up, but never struck in the face, only in unseen places. He wasn’t He Chuan’s match, especially in a restrictive suit, and suffered for it.