Chapter 10 — Quiet Hearts and Unsaid Truths
The morning light seeped gently through the hospital curtains, soft and forgiving. Sang Zhi tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she carried a steaming cup of honey water into Jiaxu's room—it had become a ritual she found deeply comforting. Despite feeling grown-up, she still cherished the small things that reminded her of how far they'd come.
But beneath her calm, a swirl of unspoken emotion churned. She reminded him to rest, to stop checking his messages, to let his body heal.
He chuckled, easing her tension: "If you scold me one more time, I'll pretend I can't hear you." His tone was teasing, but she sensed the tremor of fatigue beneath it. Internally, she chided herself—he'd just gone through surgery, and here she was acting like his guardian.
Later that afternoon, Sang Zhi called him from a quiet café before class. She offered to bring him a movie treat this weekend—something light to lift his spirits. He reluctantly declined, citing work, but she caught the weariness in his voice and pressed softly, "Promise me you won't overdo it, okay?"
Jiaxu hesitated, then whispered, "Okay," and the simple word felt like a soft promise between them.
Returning Home
When Jiaxu was finally discharged, Sang Zhi arrived with bags full of his essentials and a laptop he insisted wasn't necessary. She tried to refuse, arguing that he'd just had surgery and needed rest—not work. But he managed a wry smile, saying, "You've truly grown." It stung and warmed her in equal measure.
At his apartment, she noticed small, quiet things—a framed photo of them together, a picture of him with his mother. She quietly introduced herself to his precious keepsakes, feeling both familiar and distant in his world.
Despite her earlier protest, she packed the laptop into his bag—his passion drew him back to work too quickly, and she feared for his health. Her worry outweighed her pride.
The Hospital Joke
Back at the hospital, the elderly patient in the adjacent bed squinted at Sang Zhi and exclaimed he assumed she was Jiaxu's wife. Afraid of embarrassment, Jiaxu quickly corrected him: "She's my little sister." Yet the old man, hard of hearing, misheard and praised their supposed upcoming parenthood—misunderstanding spiraled and mortified Sang Zhi. She rebuked loudly, "I told you he's old enough to be my father!" The patient insisted on congratulating them, and Jiaxu—beyond exhausted—smiled through it, telling her afterward it was just a joke to placate him.
As they left the hospital the next day, Sang Zhi refused any help with her bags. She accused him of being the instigator of that joke; he chuckled and gently apologized.
Hidden Care and Sticky Notes
Later, she quietly wrote sticky notes—small, practical reminders: "Eat well," "Don't work late," "Remember to rest," and posted them on his bookshelf. She explained she'd be busy but promised to treat him once he was well. She insisted on parting as just siblings, though her heart knotted with more.
At the apartment, she watched as he followed her advice—going to bed earlier, eating better, even turning off his laptop at a reasonable hour.
Meanwhile, back at the office, Jiaxu shared his worries with Siyun. She bluntly joked that she was his accomplice in teasing Sang Zhi and advised him to take her out for a meal to mend any misunderstandings—now that she was an adult, her feelings mattered more.
At the same time, Sang Zhi went out with Jiang Ming to a movie—giggling when he got spooked by a monster on screen. His friendly enthusiasm was a warm contrast to the quieter storm in her heart.
Silent Realizations
That night, in her room, Sang Zhi sat by her desk with soft moonlight illuminating the crinkled sticky notes. She realized with aching clarity how deeply Jiaxu's care had shaped her—how his concern, his jokes, his gentle teasing had always carried more than they let on.
End of Chapter 10