Wen Shaozhuo knew that if anyone heard what he’d just done, they would absolutely laugh at him.

All that talk about gods and spirits, about life qi and death qi…

Even if gods really existed in this world, after all these years of living the way he had, Wen Shaozhuo had long since lost all faith in any so-called deities.

But besides doing this, what else could he do?

…He couldn’t do anything else.

Nervous and uneasy, Wen Shaozhuo waited all the way until nine o’clock that night.

Those few hours of anxious waiting were enough for despair to start drowning him again. He lowered his head in dejection and couldn’t help silently mocking himself for being so panicked that he’d actually believed in such an obvious scam.

Just then, the soft, urgent sound of “beep beep beep” suddenly rang out.

Blankly, he lifted his head and looked toward the source of the sound, only to see that on the EEG monitor, the originally sluggish, widely spaced waves had quickly become tighter and denser.

Wen Shaozhuo didn’t know what that change in waveform meant.

But he stared for a couple of seconds, and suddenly his eyes flew wide open.

Could this be… could this be…?!

He snapped his head toward the bed, his breathing growing rapid.

His body leaned forward involuntarily, hands braced on his brother’s pillow. His eyes were opened so wide it hurt, terrified of missing even the slightest movement.

On the breathing mask, the rhythm of mist condensing and fading suddenly sped up a little, and the eyelashes that had been still for three days gave a faint tremble.

Wen Shaozhuo didn’t dare blink.

He was afraid this was just a hallucination born from missing his brother too much.

The lashes went still again for a few seconds. Then—one twitch, another twitch, and another…

Wen Shaozhuo’s breath caught.

He called softly, “Gege…”

The moment that word fell, his brother’s eyelashes fluttered more forcefully. His brows drew together slightly, as though he was uncomfortable.

Unable to help himself, Wen Shaozhuo cupped his brother’s face in both hands, fingertips gently stroking between his brows.

His voice was hoarse as he called, “Gege, Gege… are you waking up? Gege, Gege, can you open your eyes and look at me…?”

Maybe his calling had some effect.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

But as his words fell, his brother’s brows knit tightly and his eyes truly began to slowly open, just a thin slit at first.

Through that slit, the pupils stared into emptiness, unfocused.

He blinked slowly twice before his gaze began to gather and shift sideways, turning toward Wen Shaozhuo.

“Ah… Shao…?”

His brother’s voice was even hoarser than his own.

The breath behind it was weak, nothing like his usual strength and health.

The instant those eyes cracked open, Wen Shaozhuo’s own eyes somehow filled with tears.

And when his brother finally squeezed out that “A-Shao,” the tears could no longer be held back. They surged out like a spring, spilling down until his whole face was wet.

Seeing him like this, his brother’s fingers twitched, slowly and stiffly slipping out of Wen Shaozhuo’s grasp, struggling to lift and reach toward his cheek.

“Gege… Brother A-Heng…”

With a thick sob stuck in his throat, Wen Shaozhuo called him again and again.

He lowered his head, actively pressing his cheek into that hand. His brother’s palm was so, so cold, like all the blood had been drained out from beneath the skin.

But his brother’s voice was warm.

His fingertips softly traced along Wen Shaozhuo’s face, slowly wiping away the tears, and asked in a terribly hoarse voice, “What’s wrong, A-Shao? Why… are you crying so badly?”

His brother was still as gentle as ever.

Even now, the very first complete sentence out of his mouth was to worry about him.

Barely able to speak through his sobs, Wen Shaozhuo forced the words out, broken and halting: “Hu… Gege… I thought… I thought you weren’t going to wake up… hu… I, I really thought… I was going to lose you…”

A single short sentence took him at least half a minute to get out through his crying.

His brother listened patiently until he was done. Beneath the white mist clouding the oxygen mask, it seemed that he smiled just a little.

Brother A-Heng soothed him. “Didn’t I wake up? …A-Shao, don’t cry, or you’ll break your brother’s heart.”

He couldn’t control his tears at all. Hearing that only made him cry harder.

Just then, a nurse outside, hearing movement, opened the door and, seeing that Wen Siheng had regained consciousness, gasped in surprise. She hurried over to check his vitals and all the lines and tubes, then pressed the call button by the bed to summon the doctor.

After the doctor came, Wen Yifeng and Wen Qingcai also got the news and rushed in one after another.

The previously empty and silent room suddenly filled with the presence of living, breathing people.

Under the eyes of the crowd, Wen Shaozhuo’s overflowing tears were all forced back down.

By the time everyone left and it was just him and his brother in the room again, his mood finally settled enough for him to speak normally.

Wen Shaozhuo really didn’t know how to take care of people, nor did he know what he should say at a time like this. So he tried to remember everything that had happened over the last few days and told his brother one thing at a time.

Like how they’d caught the hit-and-run driver.
How the man had cried and begged for forgiveness after regaining consciousness.
How so many people on the platform had tried to commission him these days, but he’d turned them all down.
And how he’d kept feeling recently like there was a “ghost” staring at this room…

Midway through that last part, Wen Shaozhuo suddenly stopped.

He felt like telling his brother that kind of thing might not be very good. So he forced a hard turn in the subject. “Right… Gege, I have an exam tomorrow morning, I…”

Brother A-Heng understood at once and smiled. “Go, A-Shao. First semester after transferring — you have to get good grades.”

Wen Shaozhuo spent the night by his brother’s side.

Since the accident, it was the first time he’d managed to sleep deeply.

So naturally, he didn’t notice…

After he had fallen asleep, a short-haired youth quietly stepped out from behind a big tree outside the ward, expression blank. He walked to the window, placed his hands on the glass, and stared fixedly at the person lying in the hospital bed.

…

The exam the next day was scheduled for the morning.

Before leaving, Wen Shaozhuo specifically found a nurse and asked her to stay in the ward to keep his brother company.

The nurse agreed—this was a special care ward. The staff would try their best to meet the family’s requests, and besides, an easy morning of sitting around wasn’t a bad deal.

But not long after she started her “shift,” there was a steady knock at the door.

Puzzled, the nurse went to open it. Outside stood an unfamiliar young man in an overcoat.

The aura around him felt low and heavy. There were dark circles under his eyes. The nurse was secretly startled, but when the young man spoke, his voice was calm and courteous.

“Hello, I’m Siheng’s friend. I heard something happened to him, so I came to see him.”

The nurse politely asked, “Have you contacted the patient’s family?”

The young man nodded and held up his phone, showing her the just-ended call on the screen.

She didn’t recognize the number, but the contact name clearly said “Wen Yifeng.”

Considering that anyone who could get into the special ward area would have already registered at the front desk and definitely wasn’t some random person, the nurse let him in and said softly, “The patient regained consciousness only yesterday and is still resting. You see, you are…”

The young man in the overcoat said, “I know. It’s fine. I’ll just sit here and wait for him to wake up.”

The nurse nodded. “No problem, sir. But please keep your movements quiet so you don’t disturb the patient.”

She sat back down at the foot of the bed and watched as the young man expressionlessly checked over every number on the monitors connected to the patient. Then he moved to the head of the bed, gently lifted a corner of the blanket, placed his hand over the patient’s wrist to feel the pulse, and only after a long while did he withdraw his hand. His face showed almost no change; he simply sat down straight-backed at the bedside, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the person in the bed.

The heater in the ward was on full, but from her spot at the foot of the bed, the nurse felt cold sweat starting to form on her back. She didn’t dare touch her phone, and she was too embarrassed to relax her posture. All she could do was keep her professional smile and sit up straight.

Lin Chen’s sleep these past few days had blurred the line between night and day.

When he slowly woke up, the pain that hadn’t been completely blocked by medication made irritation flare before his mind had even cleared.

His first instinct was to drag the System out and give it a good scolding, but before he could, an intense, impossible-to-ignore gaze seized his attention.

He lifted his eyes and met a pair of deep, dark pupils.

At the same time, a low, steady voice sounded at his ear. “Hello, Siheng.”

Lin Chen blinked slowly twice. Eight-tenths of his irritation dissipated, and he smiled. “Hello, Brother Huanzhen.”

He glanced down and indeed spotted a nurse at the foot of the bed.

He spoke gently and politely to her. “This is my friend. Could you let us talk alone for a bit?”

The nurse had been waiting for this moment.

She stood up at once. “Of course, Young Master Wen. If you need anything, just press the call button.”

Lin Chen thanked her.

After reminding them of some basic precautions, the nurse quickly left the room.

Lin Chen turned his gaze back to Cheng Huanzhen’s face.

Right now, Cheng Huanzhen sat very straight, his expression blank, lips pressed into a hard line. He looked down at Lin Chen in silence, without saying a word.

Lin Chen slipped a hand out from under the blanket and rested it lightly on Cheng Huanzhen’s knee, asking gently, “Didn’t I tell you not to come? Why did you still come anyway?”

Cheng Huanzhen’s lips flattened even more.

He continued to stare at him without speaking, his face emotionless.

Lin Chen blinked. “Worried about me? It’s acting, after all. How could it work if it didn’t look real? But look at all these tubes — honestly, even if you pulled them out, it wouldn’t make much difference. Want to try?”

His lips drew even tighter.

Still with no expression, still no words. Only his fists, clenched hard on his knees, creaked audibly with the strain.

Lin Chen sighed softly.

Seeing this, he knew very well that today’s Cheng Huanzhen wouldn’t be easily coaxed.

So he let his brow crease, let out a muffled sound of pain.

Cheng Huanzhen’s pupils contracted. The rigid mask on his face instantly shattered.

He leaned forward in alarm, reaching for the call button. “What’s wrong, Little Uncle? Where does it hurt? I’ll get the doctor—”

But then he saw the pained frown smooth out into a smile.

The free hand on the bed slid up, and taking advantage of his bent posture, landed lightly at his nape.

Lin Chen smiled faintly. “Alright, Young Master Cheng. I’m already lying in a hospital bed here. Isn’t it a bit much to keep being mad at me? Besides, I really didn’t lie to you. Just look at my condition now — does this seem like someone who was really in a car accident?”

He lowered his voice. “Want to take my oxygen mask off? The cameras can’t see from here.”