It had been a long time since I last stepped into a hospital. The sharp, familiar sting of 84 disinfectant still lingered vividly in my memory.

The ceiling was white. The walls were white. The floor was white. The cabinets and beds were white. Even the people inside seemed washed in white.

If I could avoid it, I truly disliked coming here. Hospitals were too quiet, carrying an inexplicable weight of oppression.

Every face wore solemn expressions. A gloomy atmosphere hung heavy in the air. After all, this was the place in the human world closest to death.

Right next door was the morgue.

My instinctive fear of hospitals stemmed from their inhuman modern treatments.

Doctors relied less and less on basic observation and questioning, depending instead on cold, mechanical medical devices.

While accuracy improved, so did people’s dread.

A minor inflammation meant pricking a finger for blood tests or piercing a vein for an IV drip. Something more serious? Cutting people open like fixing machines.

Modern humans might live longer, but if they died in a hospital after an illness, their bodies were likely already poked full of holes.

…

Mom rushed frantically into Jiang Muqing’s apartment. The scene before her eyes shocked her so deeply that her handbag slipped from her fingers and thudded to the floor.

A girl lay on her back on the ground, unconscious. I stood beside her like a criminal, hunched and utterly lost.

Everything that might have happened between the girl and me had already spun into countless scenarios in Mom’s mind.

A sharp glint flashed in her eyes as she weighed each possibility.

"Xiao Fan, this is…"

Mom glared at me.

"Mom, she’s my classmate. She wasn’t feeling well, so…"

My words held zero conviction.

Was a girl collapsing unconscious really just "not feeling well"?

Mom glanced at Jiang Muqing on the floor, then at me—trying so hard to sound calm despite my obvious tension.

"Hand me your backpack. Now."

After a pause, Mom’s anxious gaze unexpectedly softened. She reached out her hand.

"Huh?"

I didn’t understand.

"Do you expect your old mom to carry your classmate? I’ll hold your bag. You carry her. We’re going to the hospital. Now." Her tone left no room for argument.

Hesitating only a second, I slid the backpack off my shoulder and handed it to her.

Ignoring my dazed reaction, she hurried over, lifted Jiang Muqing, and did a quick check.

"She’s burning up!"

Mom pressed her forehead against the girl’s, her worry deepening. "Hurry! Don’t waste time. What if the fever damages her brain? How will she study then?"

She hoisted the unconscious Jiang Muqing onto my newly freed back.

I managed to carry the lightweight girl easily. I reminded Mom to grab Jiang Muqing’s phone, room key, and other essentials.

We locked her apartment door swiftly, rushed downstairs, and flagged a taxi.

After a frantic ride, we rushed Jiang Muqing to the city hospital’s emergency department. Mom navigated registration, payments, and finding a doctor with practiced ease. I just followed blindly, still carrying her.

We were frantic—as if Jiang Muqing were our own family.

Finally, the ER doctor studied the test results, his expression calm. That eased our worries considerably.

The report showed high white blood cell count, low blood sugar, and slight dehydration.

The thermometer confirmed a high fever. Her throat and tongue were badly swollen and red.

A classic heat-type cold—just severely neglected without medication.

The doctor prescribed fever reducers: one pill now, skip the next dose if the fever broke by midnight. Anti-inflammatories too: one pill three times daily for three days.

He also ordered an IV drip to replenish salts and nutrients. "Finish this here, then she can rest at home."

Earlier, Jiang Muqing kept clutching her chest, crying "My heart!" At my insistence, the doctor ran an ECG. Her heart was perfectly healthy.

She’d looked so deathly pale before—like she had some terminal illness.

But just as expected, it was only a bad cold and fever, worsened by skipped meals and emotional stress. That triggered the alarming fainting spell.

Only when the nurse hung the IV bag did I finally set Jiang Muqing down and slump into a chair in the infusion room.

By then, Jiang Muqing had woken up, though she seemed listless. I gently touched her forehead. Her temperature had dropped. The medicine worked faster than my ice-water attempts.

Seeing her condition improve, Mom finally took Jiang Muqing’s phone to call her family contacts.

"How could you raise a child like this?!"

"Your child’s in this state, and you don’t even come to see her?!"

"…"

Mom’s furious shouts echoed from the hallway outside the infusion room.

I’d never seen her this angry.

After carrying Jiang Muqing all evening, I sat bewildered—watching my furious mother, then the dazed girl beside me. I didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, homework flashed in my mind. Thankfully, assignments were done during study hall. Only corrections and review remained.

Final exams were near. I still hadn’t fully grasped the mistakes on my practice test.

Instinctively, I shifted away from Jiang Muqing and pulled out my test paper.

Red ink marked my errors. Correct answers and the teacher’s solution steps were neatly noted beside them.

I’d use this downtime to review. I hadn’t studied properly tonight. After taking Jiang Muqing home, I’d likely pull an all-nighter.

After a while, I grumbled inwardly: Why no tables in hospital infusion rooms? Holding up a test paper to scribble corrections was exhausting.

Don’t they know people study during IV drips? A table would be so practical. I silently criticized the room’s setup.

Absorbed in my test questions, I ignored everything around me. The hospital’s quiet suited studying perfectly.

Then.

*Squeak-squeak…*

The sound of IV pole wheels scraping the floor.

A shadow fell over me, blocking the light. I couldn’t see the math problem I’d missed.

I looked up.

Jiang Muqing stood before me, pushing her IV pole.

Her face was still pale, but her expression had calmed.

She wouldn’t try to murder me again with the IV pole, would she? I tensed slightly.

"Feeling better?"

My voice came out stiff.

How do you face someone who once held a knife, trying to send you to the morgue next door?

"Tired."

Jiang Muqing rubbed her eyes.

"Exhausted?"

I noticed her weariness.

Naturally. Now that her body could relax, sleep demanded its due.

She glanced at my test paper, frowned faintly. Then, without hesitation, she sat beside me, looped her arm through mine, and rested her head on my shoulder.

She closed her eyes peacefully. Soft snores soon followed.

What was she doing?

Asleep?

Why lean on *my* shoulder?

Just then, Mom finally hung up—scolded repeatedly by hospital staff for her loud voice. She stormed back in, fury still burning on her face.

She saw Jiang Muqing asleep on my shoulder. Saw me still holding my test paper.

"Xiao Fan! What are you two doing?"

"I’m reviewing my test. She’s… sleeping?"

I answered truthfully.

"I mean why are you leaning together like this?"

Suspicion hardened Mom’s gaze.

"We’re leaning together because we’re leaning together."

I forced a weak explanation.

"Then put that test away! Stop ruining the mood!"

Mom’s eyes turned icy, a sarcastic smirk on her lips.

"No wonder you’ve been coming home late these days with strange expressions. So *she’s* the reason?!"

Her sarcastic tone was deeply annoying.

"Mom, are you misunderstanding something?"

My expression turned grave.

If parents found out about high school romance… well, death would be too kind.

…

"Foolish son. Your taste is surprisingly good!"

Mom’s stern face relaxed into a smile.

"You’re focusing on the *wrong* thing, Mom!"