Chapter 17: Isn’t It Just a Weed?
The lights in the hospital corridor were a stark white, and the smell of disinfectant was pungent.
Several doctors had spent a long time swarming around him, asking all sorts of questions, taking various notes, and even drawing blood.
By the time he left the outpatient building, dusk was already falling.
Back at the family residence, his parents were already in the living room, waiting anxiously.
Ling Zhenkang stood at the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the courtyard gate.
Suddenly, the sound of familiar footsteps came from outside.
Everyone in the room shot to their feet, and the atmosphere instantly grew tense.
"I’ll get it!"
Ding Qin was the first to react, practically leaping off the sofa.
She had been waiting for her son all day. His phone wasn’t going through, and there had been no word from him at all.
Relying on nothing but a few vague updates from the aide, her heart had long since jumped into her throat.
Ling Zhenkang watched his wife hurry toward the door. His lips parted, but in the end, he said nothing.
As the door opened, Ling Anxun’s figure appeared in the doorway.
A few unmelted snowflakes rested on his shoulders. His brow was slightly furrowed, his gaze distant.
"Anxun, you’re back!"
Ding Qin grabbed his arm, looking him up and down.
"Hurry inside, you must be frozen out there! Your hands are so cold! Are you hungry? I made you a hot meal with all your favorite dishes..."
The words tumbled out of her mouth, but her voice trembled slightly.
Ling Anxun glanced at his mother. He saw the redness in her eyes and the few new strands of white hair at her temples, and something stirred within him.
"I’m fine. I’m not hungry. I’m just going to my room to lie down for a while."
Looking at her son’s stern yet weary expression, Ding Qin’s heart ached so much she could barely breathe.
She bit her bottom lip, forcing back the tears.
Just then, Ling Zhenkang walked over and calmly pulled his wife into his arms, gently patting her back with one hand.
Then, he looked toward the aide who had brought Ling Anxun home.
"What’s the situation?"
"It’s about the same as last time. Two of the test results aren’t back yet. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow for a definite answer."
"Alright. Thank you for everything. You’ve been running back and forth this whole time; you must be exhausted. It’s getting late, so hurry home and get some rest."
The aide nodded and murmured, "Don’t worry, sir," before turning to leave.
The door to a room was pushed open, then slowly closed with a soft CLICK.
Ding Qin stood there rigidly until the footsteps faded completely, and not another sound could be heard.
She suddenly threw herself into Ling Zhenkang’s arms, finally breaking down into sobs.
"How could this be happening...? Anxun is so young, not even twenty years old! He has his whole future ahead of him, so many things he hasn’t had the chance to experience... How can he just be trapped in bed, unable to even walk? How can Heaven be so cruel? Why does a child have to endure this...?"
Ling Zhenkang held his wife’s trembling body tightly, gently patting her back with one hand.
"Don’t panic. This isn’t the time to break down. If this hospital can’t find the cause of his illness, we’ll go to another. If we can’t find an expert in the north, we’ll go south. If we can’t find one in the country, we’ll contact doctors abroad. I will not allow him to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. As long as I’m alive, I won’t let that happen."
In stark contrast to his wife’s emotional collapse, Ling Zhenkang grew even calmer.
They sat side by side on the living room sofa.
Ding Qin rested her head on her husband’s shoulder, her tears having long since soaked his shirt.
Time ticked by, second by second.
She cried for a long time until her throat was raw and her eyes were red and swollen. At last, her emotions slowly began to settle.
"It’s getting late. Anxun must be hungry."
She sniffled, wiped her face with her sleeve, and got to her feet.
"I’ll go to the kitchen and get him some hot food. I’ll make a bowl of soup, too."
"Go wash your face first."
Ling Zhenkang reminded her softly, his gaze gentle.
"Don’t let him see your eyes all red. He may not say anything, but he understands better than anyone. If you go in looking like this, you’ll only make him feel worse."
"Mm, I know."
Ding Qin replied softly.
The woman in the mirror had tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.
She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face again and again.
In his room, Ling Anxun was still sitting quietly.
The winter day had darkened early, and twilight crept in through the gaps in the window frame.
He stared out at the darkening sky, his gaze vacant.
He didn’t so much as move a finger until a soft knock sounded at his door.
He rolled his stiff neck, slowly lifting his head to look toward the door.
After a moment, he reached out to push his wheelchair, gliding toward the door. As he moved, he raised his right hand and flipped the light switch on the wall.
With a CLICK, light flooded the room.
"Anxun, dinner’s ready. Come out and eat something."
His mother’s gentle voice came from outside the door.
The door then creaked open a sliver.
"I made some of your old favorites: braised pork ribs, steamed fish, and the pumpkin and millet congee you loved so much as a kid."
Ding Qin stood in the doorway, a strained smile on her face as she forced the corners of her lips upward.
Ling Anxun silently moved his wheelchair to the side, clearing enough space to indicate that his mother could come in.
He knew she would always insist on bringing the food right to him.
It was no use telling her not to.
"Thanks, Mom."
Ever since his paralysis, he rarely ate with his family.
He’d rather hole up in his room alone than have to see their helpless looks again.
"Silly boy, there’s no need to be so polite with your mother."
Ding Qin gave his shoulder a light, playful tap, feigning annoyance.
"Hurry and eat. It’s cold, and the food will get cold fast. Here, take off your overcoat first. The heat will kick in soon, you don’t want to work up a sweat and catch a cold."
"Okay."
Ling Anxun gave a slight nod, the corners of his mouth barely managing a curve. He complied with his mother’s request, slowly raising his arms, undoing the top buttons one by one, and shrugging off the heavy overcoat.
Just as he bent over to drape the coat over the back of his chair...
"Huh? What’s this?"
Ding Qin’s sharp eyes spotted a shriveled sprig of grass that had slipped out of the coat pocket. It was yellowed and wilted, its roots still caked with dried, cracked mud.
"Why was this tucked in your clothes? It’s filthy. Who knows where you picked it up."
Ding Qin frowned, pinching the dirt-stained sprig of grass between her slender fingers.
She muttered under her breath as she examined it.
"What is this? It’s so grimy. Why would you bring it inside?"
Without hesitation, she started toward the trash can in the corner.
But for Ling Anxun, it was as if a chord had been struck deep inside him.
The image of Shanshan’s innocent smile surfaced in his mind.
"Mom, a friend gave that to me. Don’t throw it away."
He gently took the sprig of grass from his mother’s hand.
Then, he turned and went to a drawer, pulling it open to retrieve a clean, neatly folded handkerchief.
It was one of the cotton handkerchiefs he usually kept with him.
He gently placed the sprig of grass in the center of the handkerchief and carefully folded the cloth around it, layer by layer.
Once it was wrapped, he studied it for a moment before slowly placing it in the back of his nightstand drawer.
Watching her son’s meticulous, almost reverent actions, Ding Qin’s heart gave a slight flutter.
’It’s just a weed, isn’t it?’