Water droplets clung to the mirror’s surface, and faces overlapped and blurred. Pain pierced his brain like steel needles, sinking deep into his nerves. The hallucinations began to set in, and a piercing sound echoed in his ears.
Someone was speaking.
The night sky was ablaze with fireworks, their explosions booming incessantly.
A bowl shattered against the tiled floor, shards scattering in every direction. A young boy cowered under the table, fragments embedded deep in the flesh of his knees. Blood flowed uncontrollably, the wound a gruesome mess. “Mom…”
The gentle woman screamed hysterically. “Why did you cheat? What did I do wrong? Everything you have now is because of my family, the Fangs! You tricked us out of our shares, and now our family’s company is all yours, Shen Deyuan!”
“How could you? How could you do this?”
Shen Deyuan’s expression remained impassive. “The child is still here, Fang Ning. I don’t want to argue with you. You were never like this before. I just made a small mistake, slept with someone else once, and now you won’t let it go.”
“As for the company, those were the shareholders’ decisions. I was merely following their wishes. Besides, you don’t understand how to run a company. I worked my way up from the bottom; I know how to manage it better than you ever could.”
Gao Ning laughed bitterly, her voice dripping with mockery and disdain. The eyes that were once as gentle as water now seethed with hatred for the man before her. “That’s just a joke you tell to deceive people. You can fool yourself with it, but do you really think anyone else will believe it?”
“Shen Deyuan, you are an absolute bastard.”
“A hypocrite pretending to be a gentleman.”
Shen Deyuan’s brow furrowed in extreme displeasure. Wrinkles creased his smooth suit, and his refined face betrayed his impatience.
A fierce argument erupted between the two.
Shen Qiu crouched on the ground, the bone-chilling cold seeping into his flesh through the wound on his knee.
The facade of their already shattered “perfect family” was completely torn away.
The man had remarried. And he had chosen to do so on the anniversary of his mother’s death.
The scorching flames engulfed the car’s skeleton. A woman lay in the driver’s seat, her white dress torn and tattered, charred black patches spreading across it. The searing heat intensified the pain. Her face, as beautiful as a painting, remained gentle. Facing her child, she could only manage a faint, weak voice, filled with profound sorrow, her eyes brimming with tears and reluctance.
“Go, Qiuqiu.”
“Live.”
The next moment—
A deafening explosion tore through the sky, followed by billowing black smoke.
The memories of the past resurfaced relentlessly, fueled by the brain cancer. The long-simmering hatred had already stripped Shen Qiu of his composure.
Shen Qiu’s lips parted slightly, his breathing grew heavy, and his heart raced. The pill bottle he gripped tightly in his palm was empty, his knuckles strained.
How much time did he have left?
Wait a little longer. Just give me a little more time.
He hadn’t yet accomplished what he set out to do. He hadn’t even witnessed Shen Deyuan’s downfall.
Meng Xinghui, if it’s possible, I hope your ending is a happy one. Don’t be sad, don’t be heartbroken.
Your life shouldn’t be dimmed just because of one person.
“Thump, thump, thump—”
Meng Xinghui strained his ears, listening for any movement inside the room. There was no sound. Had Shen Qiu not gotten up yet?
He knocked on the door again.
Still, there was no sign of the familiar voice.
Something was wrong. A successful man like Shen Qiu, with his disciplined routine, would have been up and out for his workout long ago.
“Shen Qiu, are you awake?”
Meng Xinghui found the spare key to Boss Shen’s room and unlocked the door.
The curtains blocked the sunlight, leaving the bedroom in deep shadow.
Shen Qiu lay with his eyes closed, completely undisturbed by Meng Xinghui’s approach.
His deep-set brows, usually so stern, were now furrowed, and sweat soaked the roots of his hair.
As Meng Xinghui’s hand neared Shen Qiu’s forehead, the sticky sweat and rising heat made his heart skip a beat.
He immediately called Yang Wenlun. “Dr. Yang, Shen Qiu has a high fever. You need to come over right away.”
Yang Wenlun was lamenting how his wife had beaten him again yesterday. Clatter, crash, bang! One wine bottle after another. All for a single kiss! How heart-wrenching, how tragic. His wife had turned on him without mercy, even though the bartender had been staring in awe before the kiss.
When his little brother called for help, he didn’t even lift his eyes. “Give him some fever reducers. I remember you have some left over from the last time you had a fever—they’re in the drawer under the TV in the living room. Go look.” He drained the rest of his drink.
He started muttering, “Tell me, why are we two such hopeless romantics? Why are we so addicted to one person, unable to leave, our hearts itching, our minds completely consumed by the desire to be with the one we love?”
Meng Xinghui stared at his phone in silence. “I’m not like that.”
Yang Wenlun scoffed. “Liar. You were the one who chased Gao Jiade relentlessly, refusing to let go even when he was paying you for nothing.”
His tone was so infuriatingly smug that it practically begged to be slapped.
Meng Xinghui glanced at the thermometer. “That’s all in the past. He’s almost at 104 degrees, Dr. Yang.” He fetched a basin of water from the bathroom and used a towel to wipe the sweat from Shen Qiu’s forehead and neck, then carefully placed an ice pack on his forehead.
Only when the tension in Shen Qiu’s face finally eased did Meng Xinghui’s own heart settle slightly.
“Fine, fine. I’m the only one suffering for love,” Yang Wenlun waved a hand to settle the bill.
The bartender looked puzzled. “Mr. Yang, aren’t you staying for another drink? My monthly sales quota depends entirely on you.”
Yang Wenlun grabbed his coat from the chair. “I’ll come back and support you another time. Right now, I have to save my buddy’s life.”
“Sigh, this damn professional ethics and brotherhood. I don’t even have a moment to mourn my own wounded heart.”
Yang Wenlun patted Shen Qiu’s shoulder. He was unconscious.
A flashlight beam shone on his pupil, which remained unresponsive.
Yang Wenlun’s playful mood vanished instantly. “To the hospital, now.”
Meng Xinghui’s dangling hand clenched. His eyes were fixed on Shen Qiu. The chill at his fingertips reminded him that Shen Qiu was in critical condition, making him feel as if he were bound by a thin rope.
He helped lift Shen Qiu, whose heavy body pressed against his side. Gritting his teeth, Meng Xinghui strained to hoist him steadily onto Yang Wenlun’s back.
Yang Wenlun wrapped his arms around Shen Qiu’s legs, using his free hand to call the hospital.
Meng Xinghui grabbed a jacket Shen Qiu usually wore and ran to keep up with Yang Wenlun.
The Mercedes sped away, the scenery outside the window blurring past in an instant.
A chill seeped through the open window and down their collars. Shen Qiu lay across Meng Xinghui’s lap, his deep-set features devoid of any sign of life, his breath barely brushing against Meng Xinghui’s abdomen.
This was the first time Meng Xinghui had been this close to him. He held his breath as a surge of emotion swirled through his mind. He reached out, gently smoothing the troubled crease between Shen Qiu’s brows. His fingertips traced the contours of Shen Qiu’s face, memorizing every line of his handsome features, etching them deeper into his heart.
Shen Qiu, what’s wrong? You have to be okay. You can’t let anything happen to you.
After the emergency team took him away, Yang Wenlun followed close behind, disappearing from sight—apparently, he was heading into the ICU as well.
Meng Xinghui paced back and forth, the seconds ticking by. He kept glancing back at the tightly closed doors, his anxiety mounting. He bit his lower lip until it broke, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.
The emergency doctor finally emerged, his expression grim.
Yang Wenlun rubbed his tired eyes and pulled off his mask. He remained silent for a long moment, the words he needed to say seemingly impossible to utter. Finally, he managed, “Xinghui.”
“Shen Qiu has cancer.”
“The disease is progressing rapidly. His body is on the verge of collapse; it just can’t hold up any longer.”
Meng Xinghui blinked, his eyes dry and stinging. He thought Yang Wenlun was joking. How could this be? How could he have cancer? Everyone dies eventually, but Shen Qiu—Shen Qiu has to live. He has to stay alive.
No.
“Dr. Yang, don’t scare me.” The blood in Meng Xinghui’s mouth thickened.
The deathly silent air remained unbroken by Yang Wenlun’s reply.
Even the emergency doctor beside him said nothing.
The grief surging in Meng Xinghui’s throat was uncontrollable. “Yang Wenlun, you have to find a way. You saved me back then, even though I was so badly injured. I survived. Why can’t Shen Qiu?”
Yang Wenlun grasped the hand Meng Xinghui had used to clutch his arm and slowly pulled it away, trying to calm the frantic man. “There is no way.”
“No, how is that possible? Shen Qiu has money. As long as we have money, we can contact the best doctors in the world to save him.”
“Money can’t solve cancer, Xinghui.”
CRASH!
The phone in Lin Yi’s hand smashed onto the floor, the sound echoing.
Lin Yi couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Yang Wenlun had said Shen Qiu had cancer. He strode forward, slapped Yang Wenlun across the face, and seized him by the collar. “I don’t care what you say, stabilize President Shen’s condition right now!”
“Yang Wenlun, you’re his childhood friend. Don’t you dare say Shen Qiu is going to die.”
Yang Wenlun wiped away a tear that had appeared out of nowhere. It was all Shen Qiu’s fault—that bastard had pretended nothing was wrong, keeping everything hidden from them.
“He’s survived so many times,” Yang Wenlun muttered. “What’s different this time?”
“The car accident left him with sixty percent skin damage, but he secretly recovered over four or five years. Then he was kidnapped while studying abroad, nearly dying from a gunshot wound.”
“I’m sorry, I just…” Yang Wenlun tilted his head back, forcing the tears back. He couldn’t cry. When Shen Qiu got better, he’d have to mock him for this.
“I’ll go contact the doctor and see if there’s anything else we can do.”
Behind the glass, Shen Qiu lay on white sheets, covered by a heavy blanket. He was hooked up to a ventilator, and the eyes that had once watched him so intently were now closed, drained of color. The monitors beeped steadily, tracking his vital signs.
Meng Xinghui felt like an outsider. A distinct line seemed to stretch between them, pulling them apart. He realized he had always been far from Shen Qiu.
Lin Yi noticed Meng Xinghui’s distress and offered comfort. “Xinghui, go back and rest. Staying here like this won’t help.”
“You have three months left before the college entrance exam. Shen Qiu wouldn’t want to see a disappointing report card.”
Meng Xinghui’s eyes were rimmed with dried tears, a familiar pain resurfacing. I just wanted to see him more. I thought— I thought we would part ways again like parallel lines after the contract ended.
But the contract wasn’t over yet. How could Shen Qiu die?
Shen Qiu, I want to talk to you.
Gao Cheng remained composed. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, a hint of disgust and dislike flickered in his eyes.
Shen Ziqi had brought a large team from the Group to the company for an audit, instructing them to inquire about Shen Qiu’s work style during his tenure.
“President Shen, I’m not sure what brings you to Qingxiang today. Your performance review is still a month away.”
Unable to restrain his impatient nature, Shen Ziqi picked up the picture frame from the desk. He sneered at the photo inside, his lip curling in contempt. “What’s wrong with me inspecting my own company? Do you find my presence intolerable?”
“Not at all, President Shen is overthinking things,” Gao Cheng replied with a faint smile. He was utterly indifferent to Shen Ziqi’s petty display of triumph and quietly began to retreat.
“Qingxiang’s been doing well lately. I’m quite pleased,” Shen Ziqi said, turning the picture frame face down and plucking out a bellflower, tearing it apart with a playful smirk. “By the way, I’m here to relay the board’s unanimous decision: Given President Shen Qiu’s health issues, he is to be relieved of his duties.”
Gao Cheng’s anger flared. “President Shen, this is heartless. Shen Qiu hasn’t even woken up yet. This is completely uncalled for.”
“It can’t be helped,” Shen Ziqi replied. “After all, this is the very style of Great Executive President Shen—strictly business, no exceptions. When it comes to him, the Group must follow the precedent he himself set.”
“Strictly business!”
“Don’t worry,” Shen Ziqi whispered, leaning close to Gao Cheng’s ear as if granting a royal favor. “The presidency of Qingxiang is yours now.”
The gesture was so nauseating that Gao Cheng threw his entire suit into the trash can the moment he left.
His secretary watched in confusion. “Manager, shouldn’t you be happy? You were already the president of Qingxiang. Shen Qiu was only demoted to our company because he was a fallen tiger bullied by dogs. He got to be our president for a while, but now…”
“Shut up!” Gao Cheng had never spoken so harshly to anyone. He was always the picture of propriety, a perfectly calibrated machine, flawless in every detail.
“Shen Qiu wasted his time trying to impress you,” Gao Cheng continued, “and you’ve learned absolutely nothing from him.”
A man carried a vase out of Shen Qiu’s office, followed by others hauling desks and chairs.
“What are you doing?” Meng Xinghui blocked the hallway, his eyes scanning the items they were removing, searching his memory.
The man at the front whispered, “President Shen has been dismissed. Xinghui, don’t make this difficult for us. The Group’s President ordered us to clear this office immediately.”
“How could Shen Ziqi do this!” Meng Xinghui’s eyes burned with fury.
“Oh? Who does this person think he is, calling me by my name?”
The crowd parted as Shen Ziqi strode forward with an arrogant swagger. “So it’s you. I’d heard Shen Qiu picked up a piece of old trash.” His eyes roved over Meng Xinghui’s body.
“You’re not bad-looking. I wonder how many times Shen Qiu fucked you. If you follow me, I can guarantee you’ll live in luxury, never wanting for money.”
Meng Xinghui raised his gaze to the arrogant man before him. “Watch your mouth.” His clenched fist cracked ominously.
“You should be grateful I’m even interested in you. Shen Qiu is a dead man walking. Wake up! I’m the one who will inherit the Shen Group.”
Shen Ziqi used to live in fear that Shen Qiu would return to the company and seize his position. Now, he wasn’t afraid at all. After all, Shen Qiu was out of time.
Shen Deyuan, that cunning old fox, must have known this.
“You really deserve a beating.”
A fist shot out, striking Shen Ziqi’s face before he could even react. He howled in pain as more blows rained down on him.
Meng Xinghui had always been strong, but he’d never been this reckless. Fortunately, Shen Qiu had trained him, teaching him boxing and wrestling.
The bodyguards and employees who had accompanied Shen Ziqi rushed forward to protect their president.
Their mouths hung open in shock. This wasn’t the Meng Xinghui they knew. They finally snapped out of it and scrambled to break up the fight.
Seeing his chance, Meng Xinghui fought like a man possessed, throwing himself forward and taking several punches in return.
His elbow throbbed with pain.
Shen Qiu, please don’t die.
If someone has to go, I’d rather it be me.