Chapter 9 — Unspoken Gratitude and the Hospital Vigil
The afternoon sun softened campus shadows as Sang Zhi wandered through corridors with thoughts heavy on her shoulders. It was her brother Sang Yan's text that made her pause: Duan Jiaxu's quiet concern had always been rooted in genuine care, not obligation. He'd checked on her grades, sent thoughtful gifts whenever she did well—or when nothing significant had happened at all. The realization cut through her—she'd been distant, cold even, toward someone she cared for so deeply.
Ashamed and determined to make amends, Sang Zhi dialed Jiaxu to invite him to dinner. But the voice on the other end was strained. He deferred, saying work had unexpectedly kept him. It took her a beat to catch the tremor in his tone. He was sick.
Sang Zhi didn't hesitate. She rushed to his company building, dread churning in her chest. He appeared at the lobby—pale, slumped, clearly suffering more than he let on. Despite his protests, she returned with him to their car and insisted they head to the hospital. As they climbed in, their movement caused her to brush against him. The taxi driver misinterpreted the moment, eyed them with suspicion; Sang Zhi brushed it off with blushing urgency.
Inside the hospital, her heart jolted as the doctor revealed the diagnosis: acute appendicitis—and it had almost perforated. Immediate surgery was non-negotiable. Sang Zhi realized how close she'd let him come to danger—he might not have sought help without her.
That night, after wordlessly slipping away, Sang Zhi called her mother. Her voice trembled as she explained everything. Her mother, moved, revealed a truth Sang Zhi had never known: years ago, when Jiaxu's mother fell ill, her parents lent him a substantial sum. Even after her mother passed, Jiaxu quietly paid them back within six months. It was a testament to his integrity and his quiet strength.
The surgery was completed successfully. Jiaxu, still groggy and confined to liquids, insisted Sang Zhi return to her dorm. Hesitant at first, she left—but couldn't stay away. She returned, bread and water in hand, knowing that if things were reversed, he'd never have left her bedside.
He greeted her with quiet concern: "Have you eaten?" She showed him the bread; he offered to order more, but she shook her head—firm and gentle. He teased with a soft smile: "[You eat] like a pufferfish," a moment that made her heart flutter. When she gently cleaned his face, he let her—even though he'd argued she might mess with his stitches.
As night draped the hospital, they settled into a fragile peace. No loud proclamations—just a quiet intimacy born from shared vulnerability. Sang Zhi realized, more clearly than ever, how deeply Jiaxu's care had woven into the fabric of her heart. And in that realization, hope stirred anew.
End of Chapter 9