Chapter Sixty-Three — The Duty of Love

She saw him at the entrance to the operating room.

Yishu’s footsteps changed from hurried to steady as she drew near. Xu Shixi stood by the door, which meant the injured person wasn’t him.

The familiar presence approaching caught Xu Shixi’s attention. He lowered his head, tilting it to the right to glance at her with his left eye.

Yishu’s anxious heart finally settled back into her chest. She walked over calmly, and he approached from the other side. Outside the window, sunlight brushed the uppermost leaves of the low trees, filtering into the corridor.

“Are you hurt?” Yishu asked, still uncertain. “Why are you at the hospital?”

Or was it some hidden illness? He had always seemed robust—well into his thirties, yet showing none of the middle-aged spread common to his peers. He barely touched cigarettes or alcohol, only having them when work required it, and otherwise avoided them altogether. He had once told her that breathing in the acrid smoke reminded him of the garbage incinerator he’d passed as a child—the same stinging odor. As for alcohol, he found it bizarre—neither sweet nor pleasant, merely a tool to drown sorrows for many. Yet he lacked exercise, likely because work left him little leisure time, and what little he had was insufficient for training. Besides, exercise itself could be exhausting and punishing.

“It’s not me, it’s…” Xu Shixi faltered, his gaze evasive.

Who could it be? His parents didn’t live in Cloud City, and here, he had no friends close enough to unsettle him—except perhaps Qiao Siming.

He saw her eyes searching for answers, and swallowed nervously. “It’s Tang Dai.”

“What happened to her?” Yishu asked, curious, too startled to be jealous. She imagined the woman must have suffered a grave injury to be lying in the operating room.

But shouldn’t Tang Dai be in Xiamen right now? How could she have ended up in Cloud City’s operating room? Yishu answered her own question in the very next second—the reason was obvious, as clear as a gifted exam question.

“She was in a car accident.” Xu Shixi’s spirit remained low.

Yishu understood—after all, they had known each other, and it was only natural for him to worry.

“How did it happen… wasn’t she in…” Yishu deliberately left both sentences incomplete.

“I’m not entirely sure. I got a call saying she was hurt, so I rushed over,” Xu Shixi explained, piecing together the events.

“How long has she been inside?”

“Two hours now.”

Yishu asked simply, then fell silent, leaning against the wall, watching people pass back and forth in the corridor. Her mind churned with waves, at times stormy, at times calm—each mood rising and falling in turn.

“What are you doing here?”

A tall, striking figure appeared in Yishu’s view—it was Qiao Siming. She looked up at him; his face was covered with scratches, a patch of gauze stuck to his cheek. Judging by appearance, the wounds were minor. His arm was wrapped thickly, perhaps dislocated or fractured.

What did he mean by that question, and at whom was it aimed? There were only the two of them—Yishu and Xu Shixi—in the corridor. So it was directed at one of them.

Qiao Siming limped over. Xu Shixi hurried to help him. “Why are you out here? Go back and lie down. I’ll let you know as soon as there’s any news.”

He pushed Xu Shixi’s hand away, glaring. “Don’t bother. Standing here pretending to feel guilty, to play the good guy—where were you when it counted? Get out, both of you! I’m all the company she needs. Leave!”

Both of them? Yishu was shocked—apparently, she too had become the unwanted third. But why was Qiao Siming so suddenly furious?

“Calm down,” Xu Shixi replied, unfazed.

“How can I be calm? She’s in there, and could vanish from this world at any moment.” Qiao Siming gripped the back of his neck with his uninjured hand. If only he’d confessed to her from the start, regardless of whether she’d hate him or cut ties—anything would’ve been better than the agony of waiting.

Qiao Siming had met Tang Dai during a campus singing contest in university. Since losing to her, she had captured his entire heart. Fueled by confidence, he believed his charm would win her over easily, without much effort.

Time galloped ahead, slow yet fast. When Qiao Siming finally decided to confess, his close friend Xu Shixi announced that he and Tang Dai were together. In that moment, under the orange-red sun, Siming felt a darkness and dizziness unlike anything before.

After they started dating, Qiao Siming confessed to Tang Dai once, but she told him not to make jokes that could be easily misunderstood. He could only smile bitterly and say, “Smart girl—you saw through my joke in a glance.”

Last night, in the waiting hall, Qiao Siming asked Tang Dai a hypothetical question, afraid of her rejection, prefacing it with “If.”

—If you hadn’t been with Xu Shixi, would you have chosen me?

Tang Dai refused to answer. She herself didn’t know; had Xu Shixi never existed, would she have ended up with Qiao Siming? That belonged to another dimension. If parallel worlds existed, maybe they’d have their answer. Yet even if she were with Qiao Siming, it might not have been the right choice.

Yishu watched the two men play out a scene like a tragic parting of life and death. She was shaken, unable to comprehend or reason it out.

To Yishu, Tang Dai was nothing but an acquaintance. She had no spare feelings to invest in her—at best, a reluctant sympathy.

Yishu’s emotions were “selfish”; they were reserved for those she cared about. If she poured feelings into strangers, even a flood would be a drop in the ocean.

“What are you doing here again?” Qiao Siming shot at Yishu. “Now that you’re with Shixi, you don’t need to come here to prove anything!”

His words struck Yishu like shrapnel, igniting her instantly. When she had been with Xu Shixi, she hadn’t even known Tang Dai existed. Stranger still, he’d witnessed it all from the start—so why hadn’t he spoken up then? Why now, after everything?

Coming to the hospital wasn’t her intention; she’d rushed over thinking Xu Shixi was the one injured. The melodrama common in soap operas felt utterly out of place in reality; unvarnished performances showed their flaws at a glance.

Seeing Qiao Siming battered and bruised, Yishu couldn’t be bothered to argue. It seemed Yan Lu was wise not to be with him.

“I don’t need to prove anything,” Yishu replied, her tone calm. “Nor do I represent anything. There’s no cause for us to lecture each other—we’re not at that stage.”

Her ambiguous words left Qiao Siming momentarily confused. Thinking for a few seconds, he was about to retort when the red light above the operating room turned green. The sliding doors opened.

Tang Dai was swathed in white bandages, her face waxen, like yellowing paper. A needle was inserted into the back of her hand, and at the head of the bed, an IV bottle slowly delivered cool, clear fluid through a slender tube.

Qiao Siming lunged forward, nearly falling, saved only by the bed’s handrail. He glanced at Tang Dai, lifeless as if dead, and forced himself upright, pressing toward the doctor. “How is she? Is she alright, is she…”

Faced with such urgent, incoherent questioning, the doctor remained composed. “The surgery was very successful. She needs to rest in bed and get more nutrition. She should recover quickly.” With that, he removed his surgical gown and departed, visibly relieved.

The nurse wheeled Tang Dai toward the inpatient ward. Qiao Siming followed closely, never leaving her side; Xu Shixi walked slightly behind. Yishu hesitated, unsure whether to follow. When the distance reached some two hundred meters, she finally fell into step with them, matching their pace.