He rubbed his eyes and whispered, “I promise I’ll be good.”
Gu Lao frowned slightly and pulled him close. “Little Fish, the doctors say too many people can’t stay inside. If we go in, we’ll interfere.”
“But…”
“But…”
Zhou Chiyu held back his tears, biting his lip hard. “Brother must want to see me too.”
Gu Lao gripped his cane tightly, veins bulging on his aged hand. “Just wait a little longer.”
With Bai Wenran’s emotions unstable and Gu Yuan still in danger, he feared she might say something rash that could hurt Zhou Chiyu.
…
That evening, Zhou Chiyu sat obediently on a small stool, bowl in hands, watching the activity inside.
Bai Wenran and Gu Cheng hadn’t touched a drop of water, still keeping watch over Gu Yuan.
Zhou Chiyu rubbed the corner of his eye, tears plopping into his favorite beef rice.
He tried to bolster himself. “Don’t worry, Brother will be fine.” He took a bite of beef, but his little hands trembled holding the bowl. With a clunk, the porcelain bowl shattered on the floor. Staring at the spilled rice, he hung his head and wailed.
Butler Chen hurried over and, after much coaxing, finally persuaded the sobbing Zhou Chiyu to go back.
But that night, Zhou Chiyu refused to sleep, insisting on draping a blanket over himself to stay by Gu Yuan’s side.
Butler Chen knew the truth of the lake incident and why Gu Yuan was so ill, but Gu Lao had forbidden the family from telling Zhou Chiyu anything—including the school teachers. Everyone knew that if Gu Yuan didn’t pull through, the psychological damage to Zhou Chiyu would be immense.
“Just let me go, please.”
Zhou Chiyu sat by the glass window, staring intently at the doctors inside.
They crowded around Gu Yuan so tightly he couldn’t see a thing.
Time in the hospital dragged on, long and agonizing.
The foreign medical team arrived hurriedly at 4 a.m.
Zhou Chiyu wasn’t sleepy at all. He sneaked in after the doctors, peeking at Gu Yuan from a corner.
Though young, he knew he wasn’t wearing a white coat and might contaminate the sterile environment—Gu Yuan’s bedroom even required it.
Gu Cheng spotted the trembling Zhou Chiyu huddled in the corner first. He settled his exhausted wife into a chair, then crouched gently before the boy, stroking his head. “Go back to sleep first.”
Surgery was about to start, and all the sharp instruments coming and going could easily hurt a child.
Zhou Chiyu clutched Gu Cheng’s clothes, holding back tears. “Uncle, when will Brother wake up?”
Gu Cheng led him away from the operating room and said gravely, “When Little Fish wakes from sleep, Brother will wake too. Can you do Uncle a favor?”
Zhou Chiyu wiped his tears, gripping Gu Cheng’s hand tightly. “What favor? I can definitely do it, Uncle!”
Gu Cheng patted his hand gently. “If you dream of a fairy, tell them to bless Brother with good health, okay?”
“Okay!” Zhou Chiyu’s eyes reflected Gu Cheng’s comforting smile. He nodded solemnly. “I’ll go sleep right now!”
Gu Cheng watched Zhou Chiyu’s frantic little figure dash away, then leaned against the cold wall tiles. Fatigue and resolve filled his eyes, tinged with the icy blue glow of the monitors.
The Gu family stayed up all night.
Zhou Chiyu curled up in bed, dreaming a long, long dream. He saw Gu Yuan in a spotless white robe, with wings sprouting from his back like an angel from TV.
He chased desperately after Gu Yuan, but Gu Yuan waved and prepared to leave. At the critical moment, he grabbed Gu Yuan’s robe and held on for dear life—even if it took him to the heavens.
“Brother!”
Zhou Chiyu jolted awake clutching the bedsheet, drenched in sweat, his little chest heaving with hot, anxious breaths.
The dream had felt so real, like it truly happened.
Butler Chen handed him a cup of warm water, soothing him softly. “Little Fish, the doctors say your brother is out of danger now.”
“Really?” Zhou Chiyu leaped off the bed, slapping on his slippers and racing down the corridor. When he reached yesterday’s room, he saw Grandpa and the others gathered around Gu Yuan.
“Brother!”
Zhou Chiyu burst in joyfully, but a doctor at the door stopped him. “Little friend, you can’t go in.”
“Why!” Zhou Chiyu stomped his feet in frustration, pushing past the doctor’s hand to shout, “Brother, I’m here!”
“Because you’re not wearing sterile clothes.” The doctor took his hand. “Let’s get you dressed first, okay?”
On the hospital bed, Gu Yuan had just opened his eyes.
The breathing mask strapped to his face prevented any struggle.
He wanted to speak but lacked the strength to remove the uncomfortable device.
He slowly scanned his surroundings but didn’t see Zhou Chiyu.
“Little Yuan, how do you feel?”
In just two days, Bai Wenran had withered away. She pressed her forehead gently to Gu Yuan’s cold hand, tears soaking her sleeve.
Gu Yuan looked heartbroken at his family, tears streaming down.
It was wonderful—his family was all there.
But—
Why wasn’t Zhou Chiyu here?
He clearly remembered untying the rope at the lake bottom.
“…”
He struggled to raise his hand. His chest pained more with each breath, like countless needles stabbing him.
Gu Cheng saw Gu Yuan’s agonized expression and asked anxiously, “Little Yuan, where does it hurt?”
Gu Yuan furrowed his brows, neck arched in silent sobs.
Had his little brother died?
But he distinctly remembered seeing Zhou Chiyu in his dream.
Zhou Chiyu had cried, shouted, chased after him begging him not to leave—even scraping his knees bloody. That blood had awakened his heart. He opened his eyes to his caring family, but Zhou Chiyu was missing.
“Wah…”
Gu Yuan cried like a fledgling with its neck pinched, weak and hoarse whimpers escaping through clenched teeth.
He clutched the bedsheet, eyes full of despair as he looked at his parents and grandpa, desperate to move but powerless.
Gu Lao’s expression turned puzzled, then realization dawned.
Before he could speak, a head of tousled curly hair barreled in.
“Brother.”
Zhou Chiyu’s sterile suit was on crooked, snot and tears mingling as they slid down his chubby face. He cried ugly tears. “Brother.”
Gu Yuan snapped back to awareness, gently opening his tear-soaked eyes.
