14
How Much Time Is Left
Chapter 14 How Much Time Is Left
Jiang You looked dazed for a moment, froze for two seconds, then slowly withdrew the cake in his hand.
Compared to his usual stubbornness and domineering attitude, Fu Jing found his defeated expression rather amusing.
Fu Jing unconsciously lifted the corner of his lips, like a mischievous teenager. “By the way, Jiang You, did you know eating cake makes you ugly?”
“Huh?” Jiang You was taken aback before realizing Fu Jing meant he was ugly because he had eaten too much cake.
He explained seriously, “I haven’t eaten much. I’ve never been good-looking since I was young.”
It wasn’t the cake’s fault.
Fu Jing: “……………………”
Fu Jing just didn’t want him to eat the cake with a clear conscience.
The hospital room door was knocked on again, and Jiang You’s attending physician Sun Qi pushed it open and walked in.
Seeing Fu Jing, Sun Qi raised his hand and waved. “Sorry, I’ll come back later.”
“It’s fine, I was just leaving.” Fu Jing pulled out his car keys.
“You’re Jiang You’s husband, right? Really handsome.” Sun Qi walked over smiling, hands in the pockets of his white coat.
Fu Jing was surprised that this doctor recognized him. He extended his hand, “Hello, Fu Jing.”
“Sun Qi.”
They shook hands.
“About Jiang You’s illness…” Sun Qi was about to say something.
Jiang You interrupted him, “Dr. Sun, what did you need me for?”
“What about Jiang You’s illness? Isn’t it just acute alcohol poisoning?” Fu Jing asked Sun Qi.
Jiang You: “Fu Jing, you should go. I’ll talk with Dr. Sun.”
Fu Jing turned to look at him, remained silent for two seconds, then turned and left without a word.
After Fu Jing left, Jiang You said to Sun Qi, “Dr. Sun, Fu Jing doesn’t know about my illness. There’s no need to mention it to him.”
Sun Qi widened his eyes, looking quite surprised. “How could you not tell him something this important?”
“You recognized Fu Jing but don’t know about our situation?” Jiang You thought Sun Qi knew about their gossip.
“I don’t know him.”
“Then just now…”
“I guessed. Who else would such a handsome man be in your hospital room late at night if not your husband?” Sun Qi said.
Jiang You: “…”
“Why aren’t you telling your husband about your illness?” Sun Qi asked Jiang You.
“We don’t get along well.”
“Whether you get along or not, he should know about something like this.”
“There’s no need.” Jiang You said. He didn’t know how to tell someone who talked about divorce every day that he was sick and dying.
Sun Qi was left speechless.
After a moment of silence, Jiang You hesitantly spoke up: “Dr. Sun, I wanted to ask… approximately… how much time do I have left?”
He knew his own physical condition best. While Jiang You appeared calm on the surface, he was actually scared inside.
Scared to hear that specific number.
As if by not hearing it, not knowing it, the clock hanging over his head wouldn’t exist.
Sun Qi sat on the chair, remained silent for a few seconds, then said, “Jiang You, something like drinking hard liquor last night shouldn’t have happened.”
“Yes, I understand.” Jiang You sounded like a subordinate sincerely admitting his mistake.
He continued, “You can be direct. I’m mentally prepared. I just need to confirm the timing to see how to arrange things going forward.”
His face showed restraint and calm, but his hands under the blanket had already clenched into fists, his palms cold and damp.
“About six months.” Sun Qi’s expression wasn’t particularly serious. As a doctor, he had probably grown accustomed to such matters.
Being mentally prepared didn’t mean one wouldn’t be afraid.
In that instant, Jiang You felt as if he were being dragged into the abyss by some terrifying leviathan—cold, despairing, and fearful.
Jiang You’s Adam’s apple bobbed slowly, and he nodded absently.
He took a slow, deep breath, steadying his breathing to calm his frantically pounding heart.
Sun Qi patted him on the shoulder. “Are you alright, Jiang You?”
Jiang You looked up and forced a faint smile. “I’m fine… I’m fine, Dr. Sun.”
Sun Qi gently rubbed his back a couple of times, offering what little comfort he could.
How could he possibly be fine? Only immortals could face life and death with such equanimity.
From Sun Qi’s perspective, he pitied this young man. For over a year since his diagnosis, Jiang You had always come to the hospital alone, accompanied at most by an assistant.
No parents, no relatives, and his only lover was emotionally distant, their relationship existing in name only.
Sun Qi used to believe that impoverished patients were the most pitiable, but now he realized that wasn’t entirely true.
“Jiang You, your condition has progressed much faster than I anticipated. You haven’t been taking good care of yourself,” Sun Qi said as he settled back into his chair.
His expression was stern, almost reproachful—more severe than when he had just delivered Jiang You’s life expectancy.
Jiang You offered no defense. He knew Sun Qi meant well.
Sun Qi continued, “Jiang You, no one can remain strong in the face of death and illness. Don’t force yourself to endure this alone. You must tell your husband. Family support is crucial for patients.”
“Maybe he’d be happier if I died,” Jiang You replied with a bitter laugh.
“How could that be? Even a day as husband and wife binds you for a hundred days. If he knew you were ill, he surely wouldn’t stay angry with you.”
And then what?
Let Fu Jing pity him and accompany him on his final journey?
Watch him lie bedridden, unable to care for himself? Watch him grow increasingly disfigured? Watch him take his last breath?
No, thank you.
If they were in love, it might have been a tragic romance of parting in death.
But the problem was, Fu Jing didn’t love him.
He’d better not make a spectacle of himself.
Then again, Fu Jing probably wouldn’t pity him anyway. Forced into this marriage, Fu Jing had resented him all these years.
When he died, it would be a mercy if Fu Jing didn’t pop open champagne with Zhang Zhisen to celebrate.
The news of Jiang You’s emergency hospitalization the previous night was still making rounds. Before bed, Jiang You posted a Weibo update:
“Yesterday was my beloved’s birthday. I ate a bit of everything and ended up with acute gastroenteritis at night. I’m recovering now. Thank you for your concern, dear fans.”
Rumors about Jiang You’s midnight hospitalization had spiraled out of control, and Fu Jing was being vilified by netizens from all sides.
Jiang You’s post served a dual purpose: it hinted at a harmonious relationship with Fu Jing while dispelling rumors about his critical condition.
This was only Jiang You’s third Weibo post in all these years.
The first was years ago, promoting his film:
A movie trailer with the caption: “Hope someone likes it.”
The second was on the day his film won the Best Director award:
“Thank you, everyone,” just five words, accompanied by a photo of the trophy.
After that, Jiang You had remained silent until now. His Weibo followers had grown from single digits to millions.
His film had resonated deeply with many young viewers.
Fu Jing would never believe him if he told him the truth, but quite a few fans praised his looks.
In the director’s circle, handsome men were rare. Jiang You might not be conventionally attractive, but his clean, refined aura had captured the hearts of a small group of young admirers.
Jiang You’s first Weibo post in years quickly propelled him to the top of trending searches.
However, the hashtag read: Jiang You Posts to Whitewash His Husband Fu Jing, Affectionately Calling Him “My Love”.
…
Two days later, Jiang You was discharged from the hospital.
Fu Jing hadn’t visited him since that night.
It was past 9 p.m. when Fu Jing finally returned home that day.
When Fu Jing returned to the bedroom after showering, Jiang You was already in bed wearing pajamas.
Jiang You asked why he came back so late. Fu Jing glanced at him, “What? Want me to set a curfew?”