Fu Hanchuan rushed into the room to find blood all over the floor.
Wen Yanyu lay slumped at the edge of the balcony. Filthy, dark-red blood kept spilling from his mouth, as though he meant to drain every drop of blood from his body and replace it. It flowed endlessly, soaking a large patch of carpet.
Fu Hanchuan's breath caught. He rushed onto the balcony, wrapped Wen Yanyu in a blanket, and carried him out.
Wen Yanyu's eyes were half closed, his consciousness muddled. Pain came in wave after wave, and his whole body was cold. In just a few short minutes, he looked as bedraggled as if he had been hauled out of the water.
He lay in the ambulance.
He could not make out the sounds, only vaguely hear Fu Hanchuan's choked, tearful voice telling him over and over not to be afraid.
Wen Yanyu instinctively wanted to smile and tease him. You're the one who's scared.
But all his strength was long gone.
Even opening his eyes took tremendous effort.
So sleepy.
The doctors around him kept performing examinations he could not see clearly.
So noisy.
They were chattering about something beside his ears.
I want to go home.
He saw it. Fu Hanchuan was crying.
He instinctively assumed Fu Hanchuan was crying so hard because he was ill.
The pain slowed his thoughts until they could barely turn.
He only wanted to go home.
He wanted to tell Fu Hanchuan he was fine.
He tried, in fits and starts, to say something to him.
Take me home.
Why are you crying?
Don't cry.
So cold. It's too cold.
I want you to hold me.
Please hold me.
I don't want to lie here.
I want to go home.
He watched the look in Fu Hanchuan's eyes