Chu Yilan still carried the chill of the elements, mingled with a faint smell of blood. The bright corridor lights seemed unable to reach him as he stood motionless outside the operating room.
Sun Binghe was an eloquent man, but at that moment, he could find nothing to say.
He had thought that seeing Shen Lian standing there safe and sound meant it was all over.
After an unknown length of time, the operating room light went out. The doctor pushed open the door, removed his mask, and said, "He's out of danger."
At those words, the deathly stillness surrounding Chu Yilan fell away. His movements were stiff and slow, and his chest, which had barely been rising and falling, seemed finally freed of some crushing emotion. Only then did the desire to live surge into him like a roaring tidal wave, making him gasp for breath.
Chu Yilan took a step forward. Perhaps he used too much force, because he staggered slightly. Sun Binghe reached out to steady him, but Chu Yilan gently blocked his hand.
Chu Yilan shook his head, then looked at the doctor.
"It was a heart problem. He also has a lung infection from exposure to the cold and a high fever, but fortunately, it isn't serious. The blood he coughed up came from ruptured capillaries in his throat. Everything is under control now."
An eerie, lifeless gleam shone in Chu Yilan's eyes. At those words, he trembled slightly.
Shen Lian was soon wheeled out, with several tubes attached to his body. The transport bed stopped beside Chu Yilan, who pressed one hand hard against its edge and studied Shen Lian intently. The blood had been cleaned from the young man's face. Aside from his excessive pallor, he looked as though he were simply asleep.