At six in the morning, a nurse came to check the patient’s temperature. Seeing that Cheng Ji was awake, she frowned and asked, “Why haven’t you emptied the urine bag yet?”

Still shaken by the lingering remnants of his dream involving Qi Beisong’s chest, Cheng Ji didn’t immediately comprehend her words. He blinked at her, confused.

“You sleep like a rock, huh?” The nurse lifted a corner of Ms. Cheng’s blanket. “Hurry and empty the urine bag.”

Following the direction of her finger, he spotted a nearly full urine bag.

Ms. Cheng had a brain tumor. Even before the surgery, they knew the situation was dire. But driven by her strong will to survive, the doctors allowed her to proceed. Unfortunately, the outcome was as grim as expected. They opened her skull, found the tumor inoperable, and immediately closed it back up.

Post-surgery, she had been in the ICU and had never regained consciousness, though her other organs, such as her kidneys, continued functioning.

Typically, leaving a catheter in for too long increases the risk of infection. However, given Ms. Cheng’s condition, she was no longer a typical patient. Keeping the catheter in helped reduce the burden on her family by avoiding frequent diaper changes.

Cheng Ji stood up from the caregiver’s chair and said, “I’m sorry, I—”

“You should empty the bag when it’s around 500 milliliters full. How many days has your mother been hospitalized, and you still don’t know this basic fact?” The nurse was visibly annoyed.

Cheng Ji genuinely didn’t know. In his previous life, he had never taken care of a patient.

Clumsily, he began handling the task as the nurse guided him step by step. When it was done, she sighed and reminded him to turn his mother over regularly.

“She should be as comfortable as possible in these last days. Lying in one position for too long can cause bedsores. Even though she won’t feel it anymore, it’s heartbreaking for us to see, right?” the nurse said softly.

Cheng Ji nodded and gave her a small smile.

“Are you planning to discharge her today?” the nurse asked.

Having spent so many days with him, she and her colleagues had grown concerned about this young man. They felt both sympathy and sorrow for him, often reflecting on how hard life could be.

In truth, none of the patients or families in this ward had it easy. But this boy, who had only his mother to rely on, was about to lose her as well. The road ahead for him seemed unbearably difficult.

Whenever she worked a shift, she would encounter him, and today she noticed something different. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but the aura around him had changed. While he seemed clumsier in performing tasks, he no longer carried the same oppressive gloom.

Curious, she glanced at him again. His mood couldn’t be described as good—his handsome brows were furrowed, and the corners of his mouth pulled down—but he smiled before speaking, as if trying to put others at ease.

Unlike before, when he was withdrawn and unresponsive, today, he answered every question.

Scratching his nose, Cheng Ji said, “We’re not discharging her. We’re transferring her.”

“Transferring? To where?” the nurse asked.

“Dr. Zhu mentioned a hospice nearby. He looked into it for me, and they said they could take her. The fees are also lower than here.”

The nurse nodded. “That makes sense. Hospices focus on palliative care. Since your mother is in a deep coma, she doesn’t even need painkillers—just basic IV fluids.”

Cheng Ji forced a smile and rubbed his eyes, which felt uncomfortable.

The nurse thought he was about to cry and leaned closer. “It’s okay to let go. It’s not a sin. I’m sure your mother would understand. Don’t you think?”

Cheng Ji nodded. “Yeah.”

“Be at peace with it. Stay strong.” The nurse patted his shoulder.

He smiled faintly and asked, “So, just accept it as fate?”

The nurse replied sternly, “Young man, sometimes accepting fate is a blessing. I’ve seen too many people refuse to, and in the end, what happens?”

She turned to leave, taking the thermometer from the table with her.

Ms. Cheng had been running a low-grade fever that no antibiotics could suppress. Perhaps her soul had already departed, and her body had begun its quiet burning, preparing to say goodbye.

Cheng Ji suddenly thought of something and asked the nurse, “Do you have any anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving ointment?”

The nurse asked, “Where’s the inflammation?”

“My eyes,” Cheng Ji replied.

The hospital room was dimly lit; the nurse had only turned on the small lamp by the patient’s bedside. Seeing Cheng Ji constantly rubbing his eyes, she assumed he was genuinely uncomfortable and said, “I don’t have any here. Wait until around eight when the pharmacy near the hospital opens. You can buy a tube of tetracycline eye ointment. If you don’t know how to apply it, ask the next nurse on duty. I’m about to hand over my shift.”

“Thank you,” Cheng Ji said, covering his eyes.

After the nurse left, Cheng Ji lay back down on the caregiver’s bed, silently contemplating the tasks ahead, such as dealing with bodily waste, washing hair, cleaning the body, and turning the patient over.

No matter how long Ms. Cheng lived—be it a month or just a day—he resolved to ensure she remained clean and dignified.

In the deep of winter, dawn was still a while away. Cheng Ji went back to sleep until full daylight. When he checked his watch, it was close to seven.

Other caregivers in the ward had also started to wake up, washing their faces, brushing their teeth, and fetching hot water. Cheng Ji followed suit. Ms. Cheng didn’t need food, as she was sustained by IV fluids, so he only had to take care of himself.

A young caregiver in the adjacent bed, also under thirty, greeted him. “Morning, Xiao Cheng. You’ve been working hard.”

“It’s not hard,” Cheng Ji replied.

The other caregiver said, “I heard you get up several times during the night. Couldn’t sleep, huh? Hang in there.”

Cheng Ji said, “I can’t hang on anymore. I’m giving up. Leaving today.”

The young man looked at him seriously, then leaned in and said, “You think we don’t want to give up? My grandpa is 85, bedridden for years. This time, he had a stroke and ended up here again. Even if he survives, he’ll have no awareness. Honestly, we’ve wanted to give up for a long time, but no one dares to make that decision or voice it out loud.”

“Xiao Cheng, I envy you. I admire you, really,” the caregiver said. “I wish someone would help us make up our minds.”

Cheng Ji smiled faintly.

The caregiver added, “Xiao Cheng, you should smile more often. You look better when you smile.”

Cheng Ji teased, “Handsome, huh?”

The caregiver chuckled, “Tsk, I didn’t think so before, but today you’re especially handsome.”

Cheng Ji laughed heartily. “Alright, handsome guy is off to breakfast.”

Despite his cheerful front, as soon as he stepped out of the ward, his mask slipped. He groaned in pain.

The pain in his left chest had lessened since the middle of the night. Though still dull and occasionally sharp, it was tolerable. The real issue was the muscle and joint pain throughout his body.

It felt as if his bones had been disassembled and reassembled piece by piece, every joint grinding uncomfortably against its neighbors.

His muscles were unbearably sore, particularly in his thighs and lower back, making him grimace with every step down the stairs.

His hands and feet were in even worse shape. The clumsiness he displayed while handling the urine bag earlier was due to his injured finger joints, which couldn’t fully bend.

Yesterday’s fight with Qi the benefactor had taken a toll. If he had known it would hurt this much—well, he still would’ve fought.

Even though walking was a struggle, Cheng Ji remained optimistic, greeting the first rays of the world’s sunlight with a bright smile. He headed toward a small alley opposite the hospital.

The alley bustled with life. Street food vendors were busy serving breakfast. Cheng Ji entered a small, cramped soy milk shop and ordered a table full of food, eating quickly and voraciously.

From last night until now, he hadn’t eaten or drunk a thing and was starving. The warm soy milk filled his cold, empty stomach, making him feel like he’d drunk a divine elixir.

The shop’s proprietress stood by the cash register, watching him with amusement.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. “Watching you eat is such a joy. You eat like my husband’s cooking is the best in the world.”

“It is delicious,” he said. “And it’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal.”

If time flowed here as it did in his previous world, it had been at least six months since his death. He’d died in summer, and now it was the depth of winter.

Six months without food—it really had been a long time.

The proprietress looked at him sympathetically. “No money for food? You’re so thin, and you don’t look well.”

Cheng Ji shook his head with a smile and continued eating his buns.

Taking matters into her own hands, the proprietress handed him another large pork bun. “Come by often. My shop has the fairest prices. Even if you don’t have much money, you’ll leave full.”

Cheng Ji quickly expressed his gratitude. Picking up his chopsticks again, he suddenly felt a bit like his old self.

Back then, he jokingly claimed to have a string of girls—and perhaps even some boys—trailing after him, though he never really noticed.

Good looks were only part of it—the main reason was his great personality. He was straightforward, calm, and cheerful, able to get along with everyone. He could be gentle when gentleness was needed, intense when necessary, stubborn when the situation called for it, and willing to yield when appropriate.

He also loved to work. He was always the first to take on tasks and never hesitated to help out.

The only flaw, perhaps, was that he was a pure-hearted virgin who couldn’t handle jokes. Say one too many teasing words, and he’d get flustered and angry.

Of course, these were all evaluations made behind his back. He himself was unaware and only occasionally thought he was “not too bad.”

So, pulling him into doing b was a waste. Shaking his hips would only last a moment, but bringing him into the family as a son-in-law would mean having a strong laborer for decades.

After filling his stomach, Cheng Ji noticed there was still some time before the doctors started work. He decided to take a walk around the area.

The sights and sounds of the streets here weren’t much different from his previous world, perhaps set a few years earlier. This might have been due to this world being based on a novel written some time ago.

Cheng Ji felt a pang of nostalgia. It reminded him of the streets he used to walk daily to and from school during his middle and high school years. Even the breeze brushing his cheek felt familiar.

Passing the entrance of an old residential area, he noticed a barbershop already open. An elderly barber was inside sweeping the floor.

Cheng Ji walked in and asked, “Do you do haircuts?”

The barber looked at him in surprise. It was rare for young people to step into this shop.

“Yes, I do. Who’s getting the haircut?” the barber asked.

Cheng Ji sat in the chair. “Me.”

The barber, still baffled, asked, “What kind of haircut do you want? I only know a few middle-aged styles.”

“Whatever. Just make it short,” Cheng Ji replied.

“How short?”

“As short as possible.”

The barber didn’t want to turn away paying customers, so he cautiously gave Cheng Ji a cut.

“It’s too long,” Cheng Ji said. “Shorter.”

Reluctantly, the barber cut it shorter.

“Still too long,” Cheng Ji insisted.

“Any shorter and it’ll be a buzz cut!” The barber asked, “Young man, are you okay? Did you have a fight with your girlfriend?”

At that, Cheng Ji decided to stop pushing. He stood up and looked into the mirror.

Without the overly long hair, his sharp and clean-cut features were fully revealed. Compared to yesterday, he looked like a brand-new person.

He was quite satisfied. Running his hand over the short bristles at the back of his head, he thought of what the family member in the next bed had said—he did look handsome, fresh, and ready for a new start.

After paying, Cheng Ji left the shop feeling refreshed. Just as he was about to stride off confidently, someone ran into him.

It was a schoolboy, probably late for class. Head down, the boy ran straight into Cheng Ji’s chest—his left chest, to be precise.

That cursed spot was the worst place to get hit.

For a moment, Cheng Ji nearly passed out from the pain. He had no idea when the kid ran off. When he came back to his senses, he noticed his undershirt was damp. Touching it, he realized it was bleeding again.

It seemed there was no avoiding a doctor. With no other option, Cheng Ji headed back to the hospital, trying to figure out how to explain such an embarrassing injury to the doctor. Which department should he go to—surgery?

Unable to decide, he asked a nurse at the front desk, “Excuse me, my friend, uh, isn’t feeling well.”

The nurse, busy and impatient, asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

“His chest,” Cheng Ji said.

“Chest?”

“Uh, the, um, breast,” he muttered.

“Breast clinic,” the nurse replied decisively.

Cheng Ji fled in embarrassment, went to a pharmacy, and bought an ointment. Hiding in a public restroom stall, he lifted his shirt, gritted his teeth, and applied it himself, enduring the humiliation.

To ensure the medication stayed effective, he even did a makeshift bandage. It wasn’t as painful as last night, thankfully.

He intended to return to the ward to handle the transfer paperwork but ran into someone at the crowded elevator lobby of the inpatient building.

No need to guess who it was—he knew them.

From a distance, Cheng Ji looked at the person and sneered. “Still not giving up, huh?”