After Old Zhao's soul went to the Underworld, Wen Ning kept thinking about his wife in the hospital. He made a special trip to see her, buying some warm porridge and nutritional supplements before heading over.
As he pushed open the ward door, a faint smell of disinfectant greeted him. Sunlight streamed through the window, but it could not warm the oppressive atmosphere inside.
Old Zhao's wife, Auntie Xiulian, lay quietly in her hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her face was even paler than before, her lips were dry and cracked, and she had grown so thin she was barely recognizable. There was not a trace of vitality in her.
The medicine prescribed by the doctor sat neatly on the bedside table, untouched. The nutritious meal that had just been delivered had gone cold without her taking a single bite.
The nurses had tried persuading her several times, but she never said a word. She either closed her eyes and shook her head or silently shed tears. She had given up on treatment entirely, seemingly waiting to follow Old Zhao into death. Despair filled her heart, leaving her with no desire to live.
Wen Ning walked in softly, afraid of disturbing her, and gently sat down in the chair beside her bed. Seeing the defeated woman before him filled his heart with sympathy.
"Auntie, I'm Wen Ning, Uncle Zhao's friend. I used to play chess with him. I came to see you."
At the sound of his voice, Xiulian slowly turned her head. She looked at Wen Ning with numb, unchanging eyes and merely blinked. She said nothing, but tears had already begun slipping from the corners of her eyes.
"I know you're hurting. With Uncle Zhao gone, it feels like your whole world has collapsed. Anyone would