The World Ends In 27 Days

"The bleeding hasn’t increased," Qinghe answered, turning the display toward Shichen. "The swelling hasn’t worsened either. Those are encouraging findings."

Shichen’s grip loosened on the chair, and he finally sat down.

Qinghe watched him look toward Zhiyi, recognizing the hope before his friend attempted to conceal it. He wanted to let him have that relief without adding qualifications, but Hanchuan was already studying his face.

His friend had become very good at that.

A pause invited questions, a frown brought him closer, and any expression resembling relief made him look toward Zhiyi as though she might open her eyes immediately.

Qinghe had never been so conscious of what his features did while he worked.

"Then why hasn’t she woken up?" Hanchuan asked quietly, his fingers resting against Zhiyi’s wrist.

Qinghe placed the tablet on the counter. There were explanations he could offer, but Hanchuan wasn’t asking for a lecture. He wanted Qinghe to name whatever was keeping his wife unconscious so someone could remove it.

"The scan gives us part of the picture," Qinghe replied, keeping his voice gentle. "It doesn’t tell me when she’ll wake. I wish it did."

Hanchuan lowered his gaze to her hand, and Qinghe allowed him the silence.

He recognized when another sentence would only give someone more to fear. Usually, he could remain steady through their disappointment.

Tonight, he wanted to take back his answer and replace it with something kinder.

He approached the bed, and Shichen shifted his chair aside. Qinghe thanked him with a small nod before reaching for his penlight.

"I’m going to check your eyes again," Qinghe told Zhiyi, bending close enough that she would hear him if she could. "Hanchuan is beside you, and Shichen is here too."

He still explained everything before touching her.

She had so little control over what happened to her now, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her hearing them without understanding what they were doing.

Even if the reassurance reached no further than the men beside her bed, it was something he could provide.

Qinghe completed the examination and settled the blanket back into place. His hands remained steady, as they had throughout every check and adjustment.

He was grateful for that much. He didn’t know how he would bear frightening them with his own fear.

Shichen rose when Qinghe stepped away, but lingered beside the chair.

"Can I bring you something to eat?" Shichen offered, glancing toward the counter. "You haven’t stopped long enough to get anything."

Qinghe nearly declined. Then he caught himself preparing the same excuse he had refused to accept from Hanchuan.

"Something small would help," he admitted, offering Shichen a tired smile. "Thank you."

Once Shichen left, Qinghe began updating his notes.

He recorded what he could support and checked the time of the next examination. The ordinary task steadied him until he realized Hanchuan was still watching.

"Do you believe she’ll wake up?" Hanchuan asked. His shoulders had drawn tight beneath his shirt, although his touch remained gentle against Zhiyi’s hand. "I’m asking what you believe, Qinghe."

Qinghe set down the pen.

He understood the distinction Hanchuan was offering him, the chance to speak as a friend instead of a doctor.

For a moment, he imagined giving the answer Hanchuan needed and watching some of the strain leave his face.

"I hope she will," Qinghe answered, his throat tightening despite his careful tone. "There are reasons to keep hoping. But I can’t give you a promise I might not be able to keep."

Hanchuan closed his eyes briefly.

Qinghe remained beside the counter, wishing he had found a gentler way to tell him without leaving room for misunderstanding.

When Hanchuan opened his eyes, his attention returned to Zhiyi.

"Tell me if anything changes," he instructed, his thumb moving slowly across her knuckles. "Even if you think I won’t want to hear it."

Qinghe nodded, relieved to have something he could give him honestly. "I will. You won’t have to guess from my face."

He returned to his chair while Hanchuan leaned closer to speak softly to his wife.

Qinghe couldn’t distinguish the words, and he made no effort to listen. There was something painfully private about the way his friend waited after speaking, allowing her time to answer.

Qinghe missed her answers too.

He missed the effort she put into being precise, even when the information concerned something most people would have dismissed.

She trusted him to understand what she told him, and that trust had seemed straightforward when he could do something with it.

Now she couldn’t tell him where she hurt.

He looked down at his notes, troubled by how much he wanted something that should have been ordinary.

He wanted her looking at him with that serious expression, describing a discomfort and expecting him to help.

He had imagined years of caring for the core. Somehow, he had begun looking forward to reminding her to rest, listening while she explained why she couldn’t, and finding an argument she might accept.

Qinghe returned to the bedside and gently settled her hand more comfortably against the blanket.

"You can argue with me when you wake," he murmured, keeping his touch light. "I expect you’ll have plenty of objections."

He watched her face for a moment before allowing himself to finish.

"I’d like to hear them," Qinghe added softly, surprised by how difficult those few words were to get out.

Hanchuan looked up, his attention lingering on Qinghe before returning to Zhiyi. Then he carefully settled her hand on the blanket and stood.

Qinghe straightened, surprised enough to forget what he had been about to record. He had spent hours trying to persuade Hanchuan to leave that chair.

"Stay with her," Hanchuan instructed, looking toward the door. "There’s something I need to bring her."

"I’ll be here," Qinghe assured him, although his gaze followed his friend across the room. "What are you getting?"

Hanchuan stopped at the doorway and looked back at his wife. His fingers tightened around the frame before he answered.

"Something I should have given her while she could still argue with me about it."