Chapter 23: The Ice Queen’s Fierce Love
“Zhichun had an asthma attack? Is she alright? I know a specialist. Should we transfer her to a different hospital?” Tao Ning asked, already scrolling through her contacts on a second phone.
Xu Qiuyi, standing by the window in the designated smoking area, her fingers massaging her temples, replied softly, “She’s stable now. The doctor wants to keep her for observation for a couple of days. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
Tao Ning hadn’t received a reply to her messages, so she had called, only to hear about Zhichun’s asthma attack. She was relieved it wasn’t as severe as in the original timeline. At least Zhichun was out of danger, just needing a short hospital stay.
And Xu Qiuyi hadn’t injured her hand, missing exams, and been forced to take a risky part-time job, leaving her vulnerable.
“You’re still at the hospital? Not going home tonight?” Tao Ning asked.
Xu Qiuyi looked out the window, the occasional figure passing under the streetlights, their faces etched with worry.
The air smelled of disinfectant, punctuated by the cries of children in pain. Xu Qiuyi was no stranger to hospitals, yet the environment always made her feel uneasy.
“My mom’s working the night shift,” she explained. “I’ll stay with Zhichun. We can share a bed.”
Zhichun was still young and needed someone to look after her.
“How did it happen?” Tao Ning asked.
The night air was cool, a welcome contrast to the day’s heat.
Zhichun, always frail, had gotten cold during her afternoon nap. She hadn’t pulled the blanket up properly, and then the shouting had startled her. Her inhaler had rolled under the bed, and, unwilling to open a new one, she had reached for it, only to have the dust trigger an attack.
Xu Qiuyi’s voice, low and tired, carried over the phone. If it had been anyone else, Tao Ning might have offered words of comfort, urged her to rest, but she instinctively knew Xu Qiuyi didn’t need rest; she needed someone to talk to.
And Xu Qiuyi did talk, pouring out her worries and frustrations, Tao Ning listening patiently, offering the occasional reassuring response.
Suddenly realizing how much she had revealed, Xu Qiuyi tried to change the subject. “I think I heard a pen drop. Are you still doing homework?”
Tao Ning, a blank sheet of paper in front of her, on which she had written “gambling debts,” “trap,” “how to prevent,” and “strict control,” quickly came up with an excuse. “No, that was the housekeeper cleaning up.” The housekeeper, who was already asleep, was now her unwitting alibi.
Xu Qiuyi asked, “Why are you still talking to me? Shouldn’t you be spending time with your… great-aunt’s neighbor’s daughter’s grandmother?” It was a rare seven-day holiday, after all.
Tao Ning glanced around the brightly lit, yet empty, house. “My mom’s working the night shift too. She hasn’t been home lately.”
In reality, Tao Yan, the head of the Tao Corporation, was a workaholic, currently overseas, attending endless meetings, likely oblivious to the national holiday.
Xu Qiuyi murmured, “Oh,” and a moment of silence followed, only their breathing audible over the phone.
Tao Ning, pushing the paper aside, turned to her computer, where Xu Zhihong’s profile was displayed. She scanned the information as she spoke. “You must be tired, staying up all night. I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow. I’d like to meet Zhichun.”
A pause followed, and Tao Ning straightened up, hearing Xu Qiuyi’s gentle refusal. “It’s okay. Grandma Pan is coming over tomorrow to help. I’ll be fine.”
Tao Ning’s carefully prepared words were rendered useless. She knew Xu Qiuyi was fiercely independent, indifferent to some things, but not everything.
It was rare for her to be rejected, and it felt… strange.
“Okay,” she said, her disappointment evident.
Her tone made Xu Qiuyi’s heart ache, but she wouldn’t change her mind.
The next morning, Guan Ruolin, having just returned from her night shift, arrived at the hospital, her face pale with exhaustion. After checking on Zhichun, Xu Qiuyi sent her home to rest.
The shared hospital room was crowded, three beds lined up against the wall, decorated with cartoon stickers. Most beds were surrounded by anxious family members, the room filled with a cacophony of crying, chatter, and the sounds of toys.
The nurses, during their rounds, always noticed the unusually quiet sisters. The younger one never cried when getting her IVs, didn’t need her hand held or a cartoon distraction. She simply sat quietly, reading, rarely asking her sister for help with unfamiliar words.
Zhichun was the youngest patient in the room, yet she seemed to know every character.
The other families marveled at her composure, then, seeing her older sister diligently working on her homework at the bedside table, they understood.
Despite her quiet strength, however, Zhichun was inseparable from her sister, her eyes welling up whenever Xu Qiuyi left her sight.
The nurses would reassure her, “Your sister just went downstairs to get food. She’ll be back soon.” They learned from Zhichun that her older sister had practically raised her. Their mother, having returned to work three months after Zhichun was born, relied on neighbors during the day, but it was Xu Qiuyi, barely old enough for elementary school, who had taken on the primary caregiver role.
A fragile child, cared for by another child who still needed a step stool to change her diapers.
The nurses had assumed it was a single-parent household, the mother forced to work, leaving the older sister with the responsibility of caring for the younger one.
Then, the next day, the girls’ father appeared, dramatically pressing a wad of cash into Guan Ruolin’s hands.
“Ruolin, take this. Buy Zhichun something nice when she gets out. To help her recover,” Xu Zhihong said.
Guan Ruolin, her brow furrowed, asked, “Where did you get this money?”
Several people in the room looked at them, their eyes fixed on the money, then on Xu Zhihong.
Xu Qiuyi, sitting on the bed beside Zhichun, also looked up, her eyes clear and questioning.
Xu Zhihong, avoiding her gaze, which he found unsettling, like a mirror reflecting his own inadequacies, said, “The client finally paid me. I stopped by the bank on my way here.”
Xu Qiuyi wanted to point out that it was a national holiday, and the banks were closed.
Xu Zhihong, taking Guan Ruolin’s hands and placing the money in them – it wasn’t a thick stack, perhaps a little over ten thousand yuan – said, “Take it, Ruolin. Buy the girls some new clothes, some good food. Look how thin Zhichun is…”
Zhichun, frowning, pulled away from his touch, her voice small. “Papa, you’re hurting my face.”
Her skin was delicate, and his rough hands, their grip often too tight, made her cry out in pain.
Xu Zhihong, when he wasn’t gambling, could almost pass for a normal father. “Hey, if I hadn’t been working so hard, you wouldn’t even be able to afford to stay in this hospital!”
Zhichun replied, “Jiejie paid for the hospital.”
“…” Xu Zhihong, feeling the weight of the other patients’ gazes, pulled out a few more bills and stuffed them into Guan Ruolin’s bag. “Happy now?”
Zhichun, without another word, buried her face against Xu Qiuyi’s side, hiding like an ostrich.
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