The atmosphere grew tense. Seeing that Political Commissar Yan was having trouble saving face, Shen Lin stepped in to smooth things over. "I'm an older brother myself, so I can understand some of what young Ji is feeling. We won't reach a decision about Ji Ting anytime soon anyway. Political Commissar Yan, why don't we let young Ji go in and see his brother first?"
Given an easy way out, Political Commissar Yan took it and called over the guard stationed outside the hospital room.
After closing the door, Ji Yanzhi's heavy footsteps grew lighter. By the time he reached the bed, his hands at his sides had already clenched into fists.
Ji Ting still lay unconscious on the bed, a breathing mask over his face. He looked as thin and fragile as a sheet of white paper.
A sudden agitation welled up in Ji Yanzhi's chest. He couldn't tell whether it was anger or frustration, but his chest felt stifled, as though trapped inside a steamer.
He drew a deep breath, as though wrenching it out from the depths of his body.
"Aren't you supposed to be so capable? You always have an answer when you talk back to me at home. Did you turn mute as soon as you left?"
"Don't you have a mouth? Didn't you know to tell them you weren't feeling well? Didn't I tell you not to get involved in Lu Yanchu's..."
It felt as though a wad of cotton had lodged in Ji Yanzhi's throat. Those harsh words stuck there, and he couldn't get another one out.
He stood beside the bed, staring at Ji Ting without blinking. After an unknown stretch of time, he bent down and gently pressed Ji Ting's shoulder through the blanket.
"Your big brother's here. No one will