Chapter 30: Ruan

“Jingliang, how is the situation?”

Zhang Jingliang had just come down the stairs.

He wearily removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, when a familiar voice called out.

Putting his glasses back on, he saw Ruan Suhua walking in from outside.

She wore a beige suit jacket over a matching romper.

Her black hair fell smoothly over her shoulders, clean and sharp, her dark eyes carrying depth.

As she approached, her whole presence radiated a biting chill.

“Miss, you really do forget things. If you open your email right now, you’ll still see the medical report I sent you.”

Zhang Jingliang let out a breath and sank into the sofa, utterly drained.

Ruan Suhua slipped off her jacket.

Handing him a cup of hot tea, she smoothed her skirt and sat across from him with calm elegance.

“Did you eat New Year’s Eve dinner?”

“I managed to go home at noon for a quick meal.”

After a sip of tea, his tone softened, the earlier irritation fading.

He had just gone to bed at dawn when his friend dragged him from under the covers.

He hadn’t even had time to say goodbye to his drowsy wife before shivering in the freezing wind for over two hours, waiting for the plane to land.

He’d thought she was making a fuss over nothing, ready to lecture her, until he saw the person in her arms.

Limbs icy cold.

Lips drained of color.

Dark bloodstains covering his clothes.

His heartbeat so faint and intermittent that even his breathing nearly vanished.

Clutched tightly in her embrace like a porcelain doll ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

“You fu—” He almost cursed aloud.

“Respirator!”

He had no time for pleasantries, roaring at the assistants behind him.

In a scramble, they fitted the oxygen mask and rushed him onto the ambulance.

Just as things stabilized, Ruan Suhua insisted on transferring them to Tianxing Villa.

“All equipment must be ready.”

“But—”

Zhang Jingliang frowned, about to object.

Her gaze pinned him as she added firmly:

“All of it.”

Beneath the dark night sky, they sped anxiously toward Tianxing Villa.

But this emergency patient’s condition was far more critical than appearances suggested.

On the way, his heart stopped once, terrifying everyone into stillness.

Only after repeated adrenaline injections did a weak heartbeat return, leaving Zhang Jingliang drenched in cold sweat.

By the time they reached the villa, the simple bandages on his left hand were soaked through with blood, still seeping drop by drop.

His clotting ability was abnormally poor, almost inconceivably so.

All morning, they worked without pause to keep him alive, racing to patch up a sinking ship riddled with holes.

Yet no matter how much water they bailed, waves crashed down anew.

Fortunately, when she said “all,” she meant it.

And fortunately, though faint, the boy’s will to live never fully gave out.

By noon, exhausted and drained, they finally pulled him back from death’s edge.

Only after another hour of monitoring did Zhang Jingliang dare leave briefly for New Year’s dinner.

But the comprehensive tests that afternoon…

“I want to know his exact condition.”

Breaking the silence, Ruan Suhua spoke abruptly.

The tea’s fragrance curled in the air, mist clinging to the lenses of his glasses.

Zhang Jingliang set them aside and dropped his usual indifference.

“To be honest, are you the one who put him in this state? After all these years of friendship…”

“Of course not. Otherwise, why would I come to you?”

Her eyes lifted, calm, meeting his pained gaze.

“Good.”

Relieved, he continued:

“The kid’s stable now, but his coma won’t be short. Optimistically, more than a week. Pessimistically…”

Ruan Suhua’s brows drew together.

“He might never wake again.”

“And even if he does, it may be more painful.”

Her frown deepened.

“His left wrist is severely fractured. Old injuries were never properly treated. Even if it heals, his hand won’t function normally again. Forget heavy lifting—he may not even be able to hold a glass of water.”

“Old injuries?”

“You didn’t know?”

Zhang Jingliang sipped his tea.

“His left palm has a penetrating wound—likely from a sharp weapon—that damaged the nerves. Recovery was already unlikely. Now, with the fracture, it’s even worse.”

“A sharp weapon…”

Something flickered in Ruan Suhua’s mind, leaving her momentarily dazed.

Unaware, he went on:

“And beyond external injuries, his internal condition is far worse. It’s not something that formed overnight.”

“Severe malnutrition, anemia, hypoglycemia, muscle atrophy. He’s already had a third of his stomach removed, yet it’s still in poor shape.”

“When you brought him in, his lungs were filled with blackened blood from inhaling heavy smoke, with serious pulmonary damage…”

Here he paused.

“Honestly, Miss, next time you save someone, take them straight to the hospital. A little later, and not even a god could have saved him.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Fine. These are just the preliminary results. As for other sequelae, only once he wakes can we know for sure.”

“All right. Thank you.”

Gathering her calm, Ruan Suhua said, “I’ll go see him. You should head home—maybe you can still have another meal with Sister Qianqian.”

“Tch. Every time, you use me and toss me aside.”

He stood, adjusted his glasses, and lowered his voice.

“External wounds are treatable. Heart wounds aren’t.”

“Since you brought him back, let me remind you: his body is covered with scars, some festering. He may have been abused. He could carry psychological trauma. When he wakes, watch for signs. If something happens, just…”

“Forget it. You’d only call me anyway. I’m leaving.”

Zhang Jingliang wrapped his scarf and walked toward the door.

“Oh right—I forgot. Happy New Year, Miss.”

“Happy New Year. Go home early and enjoy your dinner.”

“Che.”

His figure disappeared outside.

The butler who’d seen him off returned and stood quietly in the corner.

With a warm smile, Ruan Suhua said:

“Uncle Wang, it’s late. You should go home too. No need to stay with me tonight.”

“Yes, Miss.”

She climbed the stairs.

Her tall figure suddenly stilled halfway.

Turning, she said:

“Wait, Uncle Wang. The one I brought back—he needs a brand-new identity. Start preparing it tomorrow.”

“Yes, Miss.”

The butler left.

Outside, the distant crackle of firecrackers echoed faintly.

The villa grew quiet, the chandelier casting a silvery glow overhead.

Ruan Suhua ascended to the second floor, stopping before the deepest room.

Yu Zhu.

She recalled the feel of the boy falling into her arms that morning.

Her hand on the doorknob recoiled as if burned.

Yu Zhu.

She would give him a new identity.

One that belonged to her alone.

His name…

Name…

Ruan.

Ruan…

Xi…he…

Ruan Xihe.

His new name.

From now on, he would no longer be Yu Zhu.

He would be her Xihe.

The doorknob turned softly.

For once, Ruan Suhua drew a deep breath, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

The room was dim, the bedside lamp casting a circle of gentle light.

Machines beeped steadily.

The boy’s crow-feather-black hair was loosely tied, spilling over the pillow.

His face was utterly bloodless.

Condensation clouded the oxygen mask.

His long dark lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks.

Ruan Suhua lightened her steps, bending close to the bed.

This was the first time she had looked at him like this, peacefully, up close.

The fine white texture of his skin.

The delicate black tips of his hair.

The sharp curve of his eyes.

The soft, thin lips.

Every detail crafted with divine precision, perfect enough to ensnare hearts.

“Yu Zhu.”

She whispered his name, softly, yet solemnly.

His broken left hand was fixed in place, swathed in bandages and plaster, still so thin it shocked her.

Lowering her gaze, she brushed the white wrappings with her fingertips.

The name Yu Zhu was too light.

Too light, suspended, subject to coveting and prying.

Even she was not immune.

But from the first meeting, this drifting cloud had already been caught in her grasp.

In City C, at the Gu household.

Ruan Suhua’s thoughts snapped back.

Her fingertips grazed the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric.

She remembered what the future would bring.

Her breath, soft as orchids, brushed across his face.

“Xihe.”

This time, I wasn’t late.

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