Upstairs, in Su Qiao's room, Qi Muhan had moved a single-seat sofa to the side of Su Qiao's bed and sat down, a book in his hand.
"How are you feeling? Does your chest still hurt?"
Leaning against a soft, oversized pillow, Su Qiao half-reclined against the headboard and looked at him with curved eyes. "It doesn't hurt anymore. Big Brother Qi, your medicine really works."
Qi Muhan nodded slightly. "Good. As long as it doesn't hurt anymore."
"You need to take things easier normally. Don't let your thoughts run wild, and don't get nervous. If anything happens, call me. I'll take care of it for you."
Qi Muhan still couldn't tell whether Su Qiao had noticed anything unusual.
So he didn't dare make things too clear and could only comfort her as he usually did.
"Big Brother Qi, you're really good to me."
Su Qiao wasn't being polite when she said this, nor was she flattering or ingratiating herself.
His face rarely showed any expression, and his eyes were exceptionally composed. His lips were thin, and he was taciturn by nature, usually keeping them pressed tightly together.
At the hospital, he was famous for being a cold beauty who could only be admired from afar and never approached.
Many doctors and nurses liked to sneak glances at him. Some had even privately described him as a handsome, elegant sculpture.
Yet this very person was exceptionally concerned about and attentive to Su Qiao, far beyond what a doctor would normally show a patient.
Qi Muhan said matter-of-factly, "You ended up like this because of me. It's only right that I treat you well."
Su Qiao knew that he had always felt guilty about that car accident.
"How could you be blamed for that?"
"You weren't drunk driving, you weren't speeding,