106 Guilt

“Young master.” Seeing Xu Yichen remain still, the driver spoke up to remind him.

After all, this was right outside the hospital, a place bustling with people, and the car lingering here was far too conspicuous.

“Let’s go.” Xu Yichen turned his head slightly, his voice indifferent.

The black glass window slowly rolled up, concealing his strikingly handsome face.

Xie Xitong, consider yourself lucky.

However, for someone like you, now crippled, this might be even more unbearable than death.

Just enjoy this grand gift I’ve bestowed upon your life—it’s my way of repaying you for the years you “cared” for Ziqing.

A girl spoiled rotten by her family like you deserves to taste the bitter unpredictability of life.

After Xie Xitong’s accident, Lin Xia and Zhao Qian barely rested a few hours before rushing to the hospital.

The Chen family still guarded the entrance to the intensive care ward. Chen Zimo’s clothes were slightly disheveled, his eyes reddened from a sleepless night, yet his brows retained a cold sharpness, giving him an extraordinary aura.

Lin Xia was somewhat amazed, and Zhao Qian stared at him in stunned silence for a long moment.

Only Zhao Xin’s call brought her back to reality.

“Cousin,” Zhao Qian finally remembered the matter at hand, glanced at the exhausted Zhao parents, and whispered, “How is Tongtong?”

Zhao Xin led Lin Xia to the window, casting a glance at the Chen family outside the ward, then shook her head. “Same as before. No improvement. It’s all up to fate now.”

The previous night, she had taken water and fruit from her space to share with the Chen family, helping them regain some spirit. Otherwise, the effects wouldn’t have been so remarkable. Especially for Xie Fanghua—her heart was breaking, and she looked considerably older after just one night.

It was only by drinking a bit of water from the space that she appeared somewhat better.

Still, Xie Xitong remained in a critical condition. Though she possessed a treasure, no one could reach her. The intensive care ward was sterile, forbidding outsiders from visiting.

When Zhao Xin learned no one could enter, her heart sank. She recalled from her previous life reading Guo Jingming’s “How Much Flowers Fall in Dreams,” where the male protagonist died from a gentle push by the female lead. But here, they couldn’t even get inside.

Inwardly, Zhao Xin grumbled about that book but could only pray silently that Xie Xitong would hold on.

She had no way to sneak into the hospital unnoticed.

Xie Xitong was now sustaining life through IV drips and nutrients, unable to eat. What else could be done?

Was waiting truly the only option?

Watching Zhao Xin like this and glancing again at the ward, Lin Xia fell silent. In this situation, there was nothing she or Zhao Xin could do but wait.

“Is waiting really all we can do?” Zhao Qian protested, clenching her fist.

“Waiting is all there is,” Zhao Xin said firmly, locking eyes with her.

Faced with her cousin’s resolve, Zhao Qian felt a pang of frustration but knew the reality: there was nothing to be done.

Never before had she had a clear goal for her future. But now, she told herself quietly: from now on, I will become a renowned doctor, heal every patient, and rid the world of suffering caused by illness.

Years later, when Zhao Qian became a well-known doctor in City B and even nationwide, having witnessed birth, aging, illness, and death countless times, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, glass of red wine in hand, and watching the bustling streets below, she would inevitably smile faintly at the memory of her younger, naive self.

Is life a story or an accident?

No one knows. When young, we think each question has only one answer.

But after much experience, we realize every problem has countless solutions, none absolutely right.

Among those countless answers, one is without solution.

Faced with birth, aging, illness, and death, everyone is so small; besides adjusting oneself and accepting calmly, what else can be done?

Back then, she hated her youthful helplessness. Now, with hands that had once been immersed in formalin, confronting the same problems and circumstances, she still felt powerless.

Xie Xitong regained consciousness three days later. Lin Xia could not recall how those days passed.

When the doctor examined her and noticed her eyes slightly opening, informing the Chen family, their joyful expressions etched themselves in Lin Xia’s memory, aging like fine wine with the passing years.

Upon hearing the news, Zhao Xin breathed a sigh of relief. If only she could enter Xie Xitong’s room to wipe her down with water from the space, sprinkle some inside—breathing it was good for health.

In Rongcheng, after finishing piano practice at the Youth Palace, Liu Ziqing returned home to find her parents absent from the living room.

Throwing her bag on the sofa, she brewed herself a cup of tea, planning to go upstairs to practice.

Passing by the study door, she noticed it was ajar. Surprised, she approached and heard her parents’ fragmented conversation inside.

Mother Liu: “How is Tongtong now?”

Father Liu: “They say she’s out of the danger period, but still unconscious.”

Mother Liu: “Ah, such a tragedy, so young and already facing such misfortune. What will become of her?”

Father Liu: “Did you confirm it’s really a broken leg?”

Mother Liu: “Do you think I’d lie? Tongtong is practically our daughter, having grown up with us. Though she and our Qingqing have their little disputes, they’re just kids—things will settle as they grow. Now with this, as parents, how can our hearts not ache…”

Liu Ziqing lost focus on the rest. Upon hearing of Xie Xitong’s accident, she didn’t know what her heart felt.

When she came to, she was already in the music room, sitting before the piano.

All her life, Xie Xitong had been at odds with her. To say she had no feelings towards her was impossible.

Yet upon hearing the news, instead of happiness or satisfaction, she felt a faint guilt.

Liu Ziqing was puzzled by this unexpected guilt.

After all, Xie Xitong had always provoked her, and she had always avoided conflict.

Why then did she feel such clear remorse?

Lost in thought, her fingers unconsciously traced the piano strings.

“Qingqing, are you home?” A gentle voice and a knock at the door snapped her from her reverie.

She looked up to see her mother leaning against the doorframe.

Composing herself, she replied, “Yes, just got back. Didn’t see you downstairs, so I came up to practice.”

“Oh, by the way, did Mom want to see me for something?”

The room was quiet, the weight of unspoken worries hanging in the air.