Wen Jinhai was so scared stiff that he would never forgive himself if anything happened to Lin Su. He didn't think he could bear the thought of losing someone again. As soon as the ambulance got to the hospital, Lin Su was immediately wheeled to the operating room.
Fourteen long hours of trying to resuscitate her back to life, fourteen hours of restlessness, fourteen hours of blame—and then finally, the emergency room doors opened and a pale-looking Lin Su was wheeled out.
In that instant, Wen Jinhai and everyone else let out a sigh of relief.
The doctor in charge removed his gloves, his expression tired but steady. "She's stable for now. The bullet missed any major organs, but she lost a significant amount of blood. We managed to stop the bleeding just in time."
Wen Jinhai stepped forward immediately. "Will she wake up?"
The doctor glanced at him briefly. "That depends on her condition over the next few hours. She's still unconscious, but she's strong. If there are no complications, she should regain consciousness soon."
Then he added more firmly, "She'll need proper rest. No stress, no disturbance. Only a few people are allowed to see her at a time."
Everyone nodded, though the tension hadn't completely left their faces.
In Lin Su's VIP ward, Wen Jinhai sat beside her bed, looking at the frail girl in front of him. He felt a mix of emotions he hadn't known was inside him. That little girl who would continuously give him her food despite having so little—
He could still remember it clearly.
The Tianjin orphanage had always been cold in the mornings. The floors were hard, the blankets thin, and meals were never enough. He had been the quiet one, the boy who stayed in the corner and spoke only when necessary. No one really approached him. No one except her.
Lin Su had been smaller back then, her hair always slightly messy, her clothes never fitting properly. But her eyes—those eyes had always been bright.
"Here," she had said one day, pushing half of her steamed bun into his hand.
He had frowned at her. "You'll be hungry."
She had shrugged, smiling like it didn't matter. "You look hungrier."
And she had done that again. And again.
Even on days when her own portion was barely enough, she would still split it with him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
He never understood why.
He never asked.
But he remembered everything.
That same little girl who gave without thinking had grown into someone strong, distant, and beautiful. Someone who no longer looked at him the way she used to.
When he first saw her at the training academy, he brushed off the feeling that she was the same little girl he had come to love, despite not showing it back then. When they first exchanged greetings, he was a bit sad that she didn't recognize him and decided to keep it that way, observing her from afar.
Now he regretted it so much.
What if she never woke up?
What if they never got a chance together?
What if she didn't feel the same way?
What if she had completely forgotten about him?
So many what-ifs, and zero answers to them.
He looked at the girl one last time and stood up, walking to the room's balcony. He picked out a cigarette and lit it—a bad habit he had been trying so hard to quit.
The smoke curled into the night air as he exhaled slowly, his grip on the railing tightening. His thoughts refused to settle.
Behind him, the room remained quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitor. Each sound reminded him that she was still here—still breathing.
He took another drag, closing his eyes briefly. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to feel it fully—the fear, the regret, the guilt he had buried for years.
A soft knock came from the door.
Wen Jinhai didn't turn immediately.
"Can I come in?"
It was Mei Lin.
He flicked the cigarette away, crushing the remaining ember against the railing before stepping back inside. "Yeah."
Mei Lin entered quietly, her usual composed expression slightly softer than before. Her gaze shifted to Lin Su on the bed, then back to Wen Jinhai.
"She's strong," Mei Lin said. "She'll wake up."
Wen Jinhai didn't respond immediately. He just looked at Lin Su again, as if trying to memorize every detail.
"I should've…" he started, but stopped.
Mei Lin watched him carefully. "You can't change what already happened."
His jaw tightened. "I could've said something. Back then. At the academy. Even now."
Mei Lin didn't argue. She just stood there, letting the silence settle between them.
Outside, the night stretched on.
Inside, the machines kept beeping.
And on the hospital bed, Lin Su remained still—caught somewhere between the past they shared and the future they might never get.