His name echoed in the air before Yuyan's mind could comprehend it.But her body… already knew.
She stood up in a rush, her hurried steps matching Xiaoqing's down the hospital corridor. No words passed between them. None were needed. There was something in the urgency of the gaze that dismissed explanations — only movement.
The world around them seemed to fall silent. As if even the hospital, for a moment, held its breath.
At the emergency entrance, the paramedic was waiting.
— Fell from the second flight of the side stairwell in the science building. A professor. He was conscious for a few minutes but passed out on the stretcher during the ride.
The stretcher passed through the doors.
And time… slowed down.
As if the moment stretched until it hurt.
On the white mattress, a half-limp body. The face stained with dried blood, eyes clenched in pain. His breathing shallow. Shirt stained. Forehead gashed. Right ankle swollen. The name she never wanted to hear like this.
Wen Zhaonan.
Behind him, panting, a tall man entered, his face drenched in sweat and eyes hollow.
— He… fell while trying to help an elderly man from the supply room. The man slipped with a heavy box. Wen tried to catch him. Lost his balance. I arrived seconds later.
Yuyan turned slowly. It was the first time she'd seen that face — a living portrait of guilt.
— Li Cheng. Friend. Professor of pharmacology. I was supposed to be with him. But I was five minutes late.
His hand trembled as he extended it.
Yuyan nodded but didn't respond. Her fingers were already pulling on gloves — almost out of instinct.
The blood inside her ran faster. Not from clinical fear.
It was another kind of terror.
The fear of seeing someone who, until now, had been synonymous with steadiness… succumb to pain.Fallen. Unarmed. Exposed.
— He hit his head hard. He's very pale — said Xiaoqing, adjusting the oxygen mask. — And look at the ankle...
— Hematoma on the brow, possible concussion — murmured Yuyan, already in autopilot. — Oxygen saturation fluctuating. Let's stabilize. CT scan. Light analgesia. No morphine now. No time… for fear.
The monitor beeped. 94. Then 90. Then returned.
Wen murmured something.
Yuyan leaned in, steady and gentle. She touched his arm carefully, as if not wanting to wake the pain.
— Wen… can you hear me?
He blinked. Once.
But didn't answer.
— You're going to be okay — she whispered.
Li Cheng watched her. Not just her technique. But her gestures.
The way she touched the wound. How she held the cloth — and the silence.
— He fell helping someone. It was instinct — he said, almost like a confession.
Yuyan bit her lip. She knew what to do. What to measure. What to contain.
She did it every day.
But here… her heart raced for a reason that had nothing to do with protocols.
It was the anguish of watching what had always been silence and steadiness — collapse.
Xiaoqing changed the IV with precision. But her eyes… weren't on the veins.
They were on the two of them.
She said nothing. But she was starting to understand. That which is not said — but shown.
Because sometimes, love doesn't begin with kisses.But with absences that scare us.
With trembling hands.With names that echo like an emergency inside the chest.