So Mu Dai’s recent absence wasn’t because she was staying in Wuyou Town to “care for her dying master” or “inherit the teachings”—she had been kidnapped by someone Luo Ren had once offended.
That poor girl—who knew whether she had suffered in the kidnappers’ hands? She used to cry at the slightest grievance.
Reading the room, Wan Sanshi hurriedly added, “Our boss’s wife is fine—just some minor scrapes. Luo Ren’s condition is serious. He’s been sent to the hospital for emergency treatment.”
She’s fine, good, that’s good. Huo Zihong let out a long breath, then realized her expression had relaxed too much and felt a bit embarrassed.
People were inevitably selfish, always worrying more about those closest to them.
Half to cover it up, half out of concern, she asked, “Then Luo Ren… how badly is he hurt?”
How badly?
Thinking of how Luo Ren had looked, covered in blood, Wan Sanshi shuddered.
The following hours were agonizing. Wan Sanshi stared at his phone nonstop—afraid it would ring, yet desperate for it to ring.
At dusk, the phone finally rang. Wan Sanshi practically lunged for it, hands shaking as he answered. It was Yan Hongsha.
Through sobs, she said, “Wan Sanshi, Qingmu says you need to bring Luo Ren’s family—Pinting and Uncle Zheng—over here. You should all come too. In case… in case it’s time to say goodbye…”
Wan Sanshi’s mind exploded. “Is Luo Ren doing badly? Huh?”
“We don’t know. He’s been in surgery for a long time and still hasn’t passed the critical stage. The doctors say… they can’t say for sure. Anything could happen.”
After hanging up, Wan Sanshi realized Huo Zihong, Uncle Zhang, the fortune-teller, and Cao Yanhua were all gathered around him.
His lips trembled as he tried to speak. Suddenly, he felt warmth on his face. He wiped it—he was crying, and hadn’t even noticed.
He murmured, “Let’s… let’s all go see Luo Ren.”
That night, for the first time, Jusan Suiyuan put up a sign that read: Closed.
Everyone split into two taxis and set off. As the cars drove away, Wan Sanshi looked back at the bar, darker than ever against the surrounding lights, and suddenly felt that the words jusan suiyuan—gathering and parting left to fate—were unbearably sad.
Why couldn’t coming together or parting be something you held in your own hands, instead of handing it over to something as vague as fate?
The ICU was on the hospital’s top floor. Perhaps because the incident involved sensitive foreign matters, Zheng Mingshan had pulled some strings. The hospital was especially accommodating; no other patients were assigned to that entire area.
Zheng Mingshan wasn’t there yet—there was too much for him to deal with. When they arrived, only Qingmu and Yan Hongsha were with Mu Dai. Mu Dai sat curled up on a hallway bench, hugging her knees. The wound on her collarbone had been bandaged, white gauze visible at her neckline, but aside from that, she hadn’t cleaned up at all. She was still wearing bloodstained clothes, dried blood crusted on her face—if she wiped it, large flakes would fall off.
Huo Zihong’s heart ached. She hurried over. “Mu Dai, are you okay?”
Mu Dai looked up at her, smiled oddly, then reached out and hugged Huo Zihong’s waist, resting her head against her lower abdomen.
Huo Zihong burst into tears. She wrapped her arms around Mu Dai and gently stroked her hair. In a daze, she felt like she had gone back years ago—after Shen Wen’s accident, when Shen Wen’s family had come to cause a scene, and young Mu Dai had curled up in her arms, asking, “Aunt Hong, what should I do?”
Back then, she had answered, “We’ll move.”
But now—how was she supposed to comfort this child?
She heard quiet sobbing nearby. Pinting was crying. Uncle Zheng was sighing, his sighs heavy with age. A doctor came over and cautiously told them, “The condition is still unstable. If he can make it through the night, his life might be saved. But whether he’ll wake up—or when—no one can say.”
Huo Zihong comforted Mu Dai. “Don’t worry. Good people are protected by fate. Luo Xiaodao will be fine.”
Then she asked softly, “Mu Dai, do you want to find a place to lie down for a bit?”
Mu Dai shook her head. “No. I want to wait until morning.”
Huo Zihong sighed and stayed standing beside her, gently stroking her hair. At one point, Uncle Zhang brought over a chair and gestured for her to sit, but Huo Zihong shook her head lightly. Mu Dai didn’t want to move and didn’t have the strength to—if she sat down, it would disturb her.
The girl resting quietly in her arms felt just like when she had first adopted her.
Back then, one piece of candy was enough to make her stop crying and smile.
In a corner, Qingmu carefully explained what had happened to Pinting and Uncle Zheng. As the closest “family,” they had the right to know everything.
Huo Zihong noticed Pinting’s face growing increasingly pale, her lips clenched, her gaze repeatedly flicking toward Mu Dai.
Sure enough, Pinting suddenly stood up and rushed over, pointing at Mu Dai and shouting, “This is all your fault!”
She didn’t get close. Wan Sanshi slammed his palm down on a chair and roared, “What are you yelling for? Blaming your own people now?”
Pinting broke down crying. “Who’s her own people?”
Mu Dai sighed, lifted her head from Huo Zihong’s arms, and gestured for Wan Sanshi to sit. “Wan Sanshi, sit down. Don’t make noise.”
Her voice was soft, exhausted, barely audible. Wan Sanshi said nothing and slid down to sit against the wall. Yan Hongsha glanced at him and whispered, “Nice shot. I wanted to yell at her too.”
Mu Dai then looked at Pinting. “You sit down too. Don’t disturb Luo Xiaodao.”
Pinting sobbed and wiped her tears. “You don’t get to decide.”
“You and Uncle Zheng aren’t related to Luo Xiaodao by blood. But Luo Ren proposed to me. I’m the one closest to him. What I say goes. No noise. No one makes a sound. Whoever does—don’t blame me if I’m not polite.”
She finished, looked around at everyone one by one, then slowly rested back into Huo Zihong’s arms and gently closed her eyes.
Uncle Zheng came over, speaking softly as he led Pinting away.
In the corner, the fortune-teller nudged Cao Yanhua with his elbow and whispered, “Look at our little Pocket—doesn’t she really carry herself like the proper wife?”
…
The night dragged on endlessly. Mu Dai waited. Sometimes she felt like she had fallen asleep; sometimes she felt she had been awake the whole time. When dawn came, she heard the clatter of medical tools on a tray. She lifted her head and realized she had been holding onto Huo Zihong all night.
She asked, “Aunt Hong, you stood all night?”
The doctor pushed open the door to Luo Ren’s room and, meeting everyone’s hopeful gazes, said, “He’s passed the critical stage. But… there are no signs of waking up. The family… should be prepared… for the long term.”
Mu Dai smiled.
It was as if she hadn’t heard the second half at all. She said to Huo Zihong, “Aunt Hong, Luo Xiaodao made it through the night.”
Huo Zihong forced a smile and nodded again and again.
“No matter whether Luo Xiaodao wakes up or not, I’ll take care of him forever.”
Huo Zihong nodded, her voice choking. “Okay. However, it turns out to be fine.”
Mu Dai let out a long breath, slowly lay down on the bench, and said, “Now I’m going to sleep. I’m exhausted.”
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152