Chapter 65: When His Sister Wakes Up, She’ll Definitely Want To See That B*stard…

The hospital was in complete chaos.

A group of interns from Lan University returning from Sakura State had been scheduled to fly back that afternoon. The accident happened on their way back to campus after landing.

There were about a dozen students, and the university had sent four cars to pick them up—standard procedure, with four students assigned to each car. Unfortunately, Zhi Qi had been in the car that got into an accident on Huai North Road.

It was a typical rear-end collision. The car had flipped over after the crash. The driver had instinctively swerved to protect himself, but the student in the passenger seat was reportedly killed on impact.

Thankfully, Zhi Qi had been sitting in the back and had obediently fastened her seatbelt. Now, she and two other students—both in critical condition—had been rushed into the emergency operating room.

When the teachers in the other cars heard the news, their minds went blank with horror. Some nearly collapsed on the spot.

But at least they managed to pull themselves together, trembling as they contacted the emergency contacts of the students involved—parents first, of course.

When Zhi Minglin and Mei Ran received the call, they nearly fainted from the shock. In the end, they had to call Zhi Yu to drive them to the hospital. Along the way, the man ran two red lights, his face as pale as paper.

With three unconscious victims rushed in at once, the emergency room was in complete disarray. Amid the frantic examinations and preparations for surgery, shouts of “Family members, come sign the consent forms!” echoed everywhere—it was as chaotic as a marketplace.

Mei Ran forced herself to stay strong long enough to sign the surgical consent form before collapsing to her knees.

She had asked about Zhi Qi’s condition, but the doctors couldn’t give her a clear answer—only that the patient had been rushed into emergency surgery.

But if it was serious enough to require immediate surgery, how could it be a good sign? Catching fragments like “epidural hematoma” and “brain injury,” Mei Ran nearly passed out.

To keep her and Zhi Minglin from collapsing from shock, Zhi Yu suppressed the overwhelming dread in his chest and forced himself to stay composed, guiding the two elders to the waiting area.

Only after everything was settled did Zhi Yu retrieve Zhi Qi’s phone from one of the university staff.

That was when he realized—just before the accident, his sister had been texting Jiang Qi. The chat log was filled with affectionate messages, and her last unsent text read: “I’m back! On my way to campus now.”

Then, like a devil’s curse, disaster had struck without warning.

Zhi Yu shut his eyes, fighting the urge to smash the phone in frustration. After taking several deep breaths, he finally scrolled through the contacts and dialed “Jiang Qi.”

He just felt that Jiang Qi needed to know.

When his sister woke up—because he refused to believe she wouldn’t—she would definitely want to see that b*stard.

*

Qu Heng had never seen Jiang Qi like this.

After that phone call, it was as if his soul had been ripped away. His face turned deathly pale in an instant, his phone slipping from his fingers and shattering on the ground—but he didn’t even notice. He just stood up and walked out like a man possessed.

“Jiang Qi?” Qu Heng’s heart dropped, and he quickly chased after him. “What’s wrong?”

Jiang Qi’s pupils were unfocused as he stared blankly at him. “City Hospital. I need to get to City Hospital.”

Qu Heng didn’t know what had happened, but his instincts told him it was serious. Hospital—someone must have gotten hurt.

Without hesitation, he said, “I’ll drive you.”

If Jiang Qi were left to drive or take a taxi in this state, Qu Heng was certain he’d end up in the hospital himself.

During the frantic drive, Qu Heng glanced over and saw Jiang Qi’s fingers digging into his own palms hard enough to draw blood—yet his pupils remained dilated and unfocused. This unconscious self-harm was a clear sign of unbearable mental anguish.

Qu Heng gritted his teeth, unsure what to say. Could someone like Jiang Qi be consoled through words?

Instead of speaking, he ran another red light, pushing the car as fast as he could through the tangled city streets.

Jiang Qi’s heart pounded so violently it drowned out all sound. His mind clung to the location Zhi Yu had given him, deaf to Qu Heng’s questions, the noise of the hospital, even the fact that he hadn’t bothered with a mask.

Amidst the startled gasps around him, only one thought burned in his skull: Eighth floor. Operating room.

The elevator line was too long. He couldn’t wait.

Blindly, Jiang Qi found the emergency stairwell and lunged upward—only to trip on the first step, his knees slamming hard against the concrete. Blood seeped through his pants, but he didn’t feel it.

He hauled himself up like a man possessed, then took the stairs two at a time, moving so fast Qu Heng stared after him in disbelief.

It was faster than a sprint, faster than anything. The pain in his knees seemed to fuel him rather than slow him down.

Qu Heng shouted after him, “Jiang Qi!”

No answer. By the time he blinked, the boy was already a floor ahead.

Swearing under his breath, Qu Heng gave chase. He didn’t know why he was subjecting himself to this torture—maybe because leaving Jiang Qi alone felt unthinkable. The kid was volatile at the best of times. If something happened now… would the movie shut down again?

(That was the excuse he told himself. The truth was, he was just worried.)

By the time Qu Heng wheezed his way to the eighth floor, Jiang Qi had already burst through the stairwell door with a crash, sending nearby visitors scrambling back in alarm.

The boy who emerged was wild-eyed, disheveled, and bleeding, his entire being radiating desperation.

“Operating room,” he rasped, seizing a nurse’s arm. His voice was barely human. “Where is it?”

The nurse flinched. “L-left ahead—”

(Why did he look so familiar?)

But Jiang Qi was already gone, sprinting down the hall until he spotted Zhi Yu.

“Yu-ge.” He grabbed the older man’s hands with bruising force, his own shaking violently. “How is she? Is Qiqi okay?”

His hair was a mess, his face corpse-pale yet slick with sweat, his eyes so bloodshot they looked like they’d been painted red.

A living nightmare.

“Calm down.”

Just three minutes ago, Zhi Yu would never have imagined that he—someone on the verge of smashing his head against a wall—would be telling another person to calm down. But looking at Jiang Qi now, he was half-convinced the boy needed a sedative.

“Qiqi’s still in surgery. She’s only been in for half an hour.” He sighed, forcing his voice steady. “It was an emergency. The surgeon didn’t have time to brief us.”

Jiang Qi stared at him blankly. The desperate light in his eyes—the kind that appears when someone is clinging to life—flickered out in an instant.

Then, without a word, he slid down the wall and crumpled to the floor, motionless.

Zhi Yu and Qu Heng—who had just caught up, panting—exchanged a glance before turning back to the boy huddled in the corner.

For some reason, both men felt an instinctive prickle of unease. There was something terrifying about Jiang Qi in this state, something primal.

Like a wounded beast. One wrong move, even a gentle question, might provoke a violent reaction.

What they didn’t realize was this: Jiang Qi had simply given up.

“I’m Jiang Qi’s director,” Qu Heng ventured cautiously, addressing Zhi Yu. “Can I ask… who was in the accident?”

Zhi Yu’s eyes were red-rimmed. He looked up, his voice icy. “My sister. Zhi Qi.”

Oh god. Qu Heng’s stomach dropped. If it was Zhi Qi… He didn’t even want to imagine what that meant for Jiang Qi.

Time crawled. The hallway, once filled with the angry shouts and sobs of anxious families, gradually fell into a suffocating silence. Only the occasional muffled cry broke the tension.

Jiang Qi remained slumped against the wall, his gaze fixed on the floor. One thought looped in his mind:

If something happens to Zhi Qi… I won’t keep living.

Without her, his life had no meaning.

The moment this realization took root, an eerie calm settled over him. His lips even twitched into a faint, hollow smile.

Yes. There was nothing to fear.

Wherever she went, he’d follow. He’d never let her go.

Voices around him blurred into meaningless noise—background static, like the buzzing of flies. He ignored them.

Instead, he sifted through every memory of Zhi Qi, replaying them like a final farewell. Each moment was a treasure, and he refused to forget a single one.

Even when Zhi Minglin and Mei Ran arrived, even when they exchanged shocked glances with Zhi Yu and tried to speak to him—Jiang Qi didn’t react.

He was already gone.

He didn’t want to deal with anyone—consumed by his own obsessive, almost pathological fixation.

——Until the surgical light flicked green, and the doctor stepped out.

It was as if Jiang Qi’s soul slammed back into his body. He jolted upright like a man waking from a nightmare and lunged forward, reaching the doctor first.

“Zh-Zhi Qi—” His tongue felt heavy, the words stumbling out in fragments. “How is she? Is she okay?”

“Are you family or a patient?” The doctor winced as Jiang Qi’s grip crushed his wrist, nearly bending the pen in his hand. He frowned. “Someone get him a sedative.”

Qu Heng rushed over and forcibly dragged Jiang Qi back, barely managing to restrain him.

“D-doctor, I’m Zhi Qi’s mother—I signed the consent form.” Mei Ran pushed forward, her voice trembling, her eyes swollen from crying. “How is she?”

“Zhi Qi—the third girl brought in.” The doctor removed his mask and delivered the news in a calm, clinical tone. “Fortunately, she was wearing a seatbelt and sitting on the left side of the backseat, so her head wasn’t severely injured. She has a fractured leg—we’ve fixed it with a steel pin. There’s also widespread soft tissue damage, but overall, no critical issues. Once the anesthesia wears off, she can be moved to a recovery room for observation.”

As the doctor finished speaking, the tension in the hallway dissolved into collective relief—even Qu Heng, who was still gripping Jiang Qi like a man holding back a storm, exhaled sharply.

And then—

He felt the rigid, almost skeletal frame in his arms go limp.

Jiang Qi’s body, which had been wound tighter than a coiled spring, collapsed all at once.

As if the sheer force of his terror had finally snapped the last thread holding him together, he passed out.

——This was the weakest moment of his life.

And it had unfolded, raw and exposed, in front of everyone.

Zhi Qi was his only weakness.

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