Zai Ni Mei Shao Dian Hua Deng – Chapter 50

“Heart rate, sixty-one beats per minute; blood pressure, seventy over one-twenty… is this a one or a two?”

Dr. Zhang held up a number in front of Cheng Chang.

Cheng Chang: “…Four.”

“Recite your ID number.”

“Three-three-zero-one-zero-zero…”

“Alright.” Dr. Zhang removed her stethoscope. “Everything’s normal. No issues with memory or comprehension.”

Cheng Chang said, “Thank you, Dr. Zhang.”

“Thank me for what? You’re lucky to be alive. If the delivery guy hadn’t happened to show up right when your heart attack hit and called an ambulance for you, whether we could’ve saved you this time is another matter entirely.”

She added, admonishing him, “Young man, don’t work yourself to death for your job. In a few days, once you’re discharged, talk to your company about switching to a different position. This kind of high-intensity work — best not to do it anymore.”

Cheng Chang nodded. “Alright.”

The special care unit was thick with the smell of disinfectant. A basket of fruit sat on the bedside table, sent by someone unknown. Dr. Zhang was the top surgeon in the cardiothoracic department at People’s Hospital, his attending physician. Besides her, there were two nurses in the room — all of them, he had seen before, in his dreams.

Dr. Zhang finished writing the medical orders and continued, “The triple-chamber pacemaker has settled in well — the readings show you can be discharged. But since you just woke from a deep coma, we’ll observe you for two more days to make sure everything’s fine before you go.”

Cheng Chang said again, “Alright.”

“Come back for a follow-up a month after discharge. This model of pacemaker has a lifespan of about four to five years. It’ll give a warning when the battery runs low, and at that point you’ll come in for a minimally invasive procedure to replace it.”

“Understood.”

It was the bustling morning hour, sunlight streaming through the window, illuminating Cheng Chang’s pale face until it looked almost translucent. Though dressed in hospital garb, his bearing was unmistakable — his slender, jade-like hands rested on the blanket. Perhaps because he’d just woken, his handsome features carried a trace of fatigue, his eyes holding a cool, watery glimmer, somewhat hazy yet very lucid.

No wonder the young nurses at the hospital all vied to care for him.

Dr. Zhang closed the medical chart with a smile. “I called your brother to come, but he had an unexpected meeting and can’t make it — your college classmate is coming instead, said he’s already on his way. I can only give you the basic rundown for now. I hear you live alone, which isn’t ideal — you should hire someone to help after you’re discharged.”

Cheng Chang nodded. “Mm.”

After Dr. Zhang left, the two nurses checked the medication and IV drip, then left as well. One of them, worried Cheng Chang might get bored, turned on the TV for him and set the remote on the bedside table.

This was a hospital, and the TV volume was very low. Cheng Chang had no interest in watching it, and once the nurse had shut the door, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the bed.

Before his eyes rose the image of the cliff on Baiyun Mountain again — his arm wounded, assassins closing in step by step behind him, all four guards protecting him dead. His heart had seized with sudden pain, and he’d fallen to his knees by that old elm on the cliff’s edge, the distant dusk sky blood-red and tragic, thick fog rising from below the cliff. Unable to hold on any longer, he’d fallen — and when he woke again… he was here.

Like waking from a great dream.

Cheng Chang sat in silence, unable to fully distinguish whether everything he’d experienced in Great Sui over the past half-year or so had merely been a dream.

But dreams, for people, always had gaps — they faded gradually as one woke, eventually forgotten entirely.

Yet recalling Jinling now, recalling Prince Cong’s household, every detail remained as vivid as yesterday, coherent and continuous. Every person he’d met — their faces, their voices, even their habits — he remembered with perfect clarity.

He had never believed in gods or spirits before; he was a straightforward materialist.

After crossing into Great Sui, he had still been able to convince himself with concepts like relativity and parallel worlds.

But now, having returned to the twenty-first century, with barely two weeks having passed since his heart attack — how was he supposed to explain that?

Cheng Chang didn’t know.

His materialist education had taught him that every theory must be grounded in practice, that one couldn’t simply speculate without evidence — one needed proof.

He had none.

The TV volume rose and fell erratically. Advertisement after advertisement played, then a drama series began. Cheng Chang had rarely watched dramas or variety shows before, and finding it a bit noisy, he picked up the remote on the bedside table, meaning to turn it off.

His thumb was already on the power button when he paused.

The drama was a period piece, and in it was a young woman dressed in red, sword in hand.

At first glance, she looked a bit like Yun Xi.

But she wasn’t Yun Xi.

The young rising starlet’s acting left something to be desired — she was clearly trying her hardest to portray a stubborn, resilient, righteous wandering swordswoman of the martial world, but her every gesture felt somehow awkward, and her delivery of lines was weak too.

Stubbornness, really, was a quality of bearing.

Like Yun Xi — her stubbornness radiated from deep within her bones, yet in everyday life she was actually very easy to get along with. This young starlet, by contrast, played it all too loudly, too forced.

Cheng Chang silently criticized the performance in his head, yet couldn’t help continuing to watch.

He paid little attention to the plot itself; his gaze simply followed the red-clad swordswoman throughout, and only once her scenes ended did he pick up the remote again, meaning to skip ahead — only to find, in frustration, that this wasn’t a digital TV at all, but an old relic meant simply to pass the time for patients, playing whatever was on the channel, without even a fast-forward button.

Cheng Chang had no choice but to sit there in a daze again, waiting for the red-clad swordswoman to reappear.

Before long, someone knocked at the hospital room door.

The visitor pushed the door open — it was Duan Mingcheng, Cheng Chang’s college roommate, who often came to visit and keep him company.

“Yo, actually awake?” Seeing Cheng Chang sitting up, Duan Mingcheng sighed. “Not an easy feat, that.”

He carried a large bag of things, walking straight in and sitting down on the sofa nearby, staring at Cheng Chang. “You remember who I am?”

“Old Duan,” Cheng Chang said. “Duan Mingcheng.”

“Which brother number?”

“Number two.” The second-eldest among his college roommates.

Duan Mingcheng nodded. “Good, Dr. Zhang wasn’t lying to me — you’re not a vegetable, kid.”

Then he asked, “Do you know how long you’ve been unconscious?”

“I’ve heard,” Cheng Chang said. “Two weeks and some.” Then, to Duan Mingcheng, “Thanks for everything.”

“Hey, why are you suddenly being so formal with me? We’re close as anything, no need for that.”

He patted the bag beside him. “Last night you suddenly went into convulsions, sweating in waves, muttering nonsense — scared me, your brother, and Liao Zhuo half to death. Once things stabilized a bit, I figured you’d be staying in the hospital long-term, so I ran out and bought you a change of clothes, toiletries, everything. If only I’d called Dr. Zhang first to check before coming — I ran into her in the hallway just now, and she told me you’ll be discharged in a couple days. So this whole bag was for nothing.”

Dr. Zhang had mentioned this to Cheng Chang already.

Apparently he’d had a sudden convulsion in the middle of the night, cause unknown. His heart rate and blood pressure had destabilized for a while, and the hospital had been considering opening his chest for an examination as a last resort — but then, close to dawn, he’d suddenly calmed down entirely and returned to normal.

Cheng Chang was silent for a moment, then picked up his phone from beside him and asked Duan Mingcheng, “How much did it cost? Let me transfer it to you.”

He’d left a card at the hospital, with medical expenses deducted directly from it. But this bag of things had been bought by Duan Mingcheng out of his own pocket — accounts should be settled properly, even between close friends.

“Haven’t tallied it up yet, let me find the receipts.”

Duan Mingcheng dug out the receipts and handed them to Cheng Chang, who did a rough mental calculation — about eight hundred yuan total — and transferred a thousand to him directly.

Duan Mingcheng asked, “So what are your plans going forward? Back to the company once you’re discharged?That company of yours is good — one of the top-ranked conglomerates in the world — but at the end of the day, you’re still working for capitalists. You can’t put your life on the line for it.”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Cheng Chang said. “We’ll see.”

He truly hadn’t decided. His experience in Great Sui had woven an entire other lifetime in his mind, and now, back in his homeland, it still felt somewhat unreal.

“If you ask me, you should just quit that job. With your abilities, what couldn’t you do well? What kind of job couldn’t you find? Why put yourself through this?” Duan Mingcheng said. “Also, your brother and I have discussed it — we think you can’t keep living so alone anymore. No matter what, the family’s going to hire you round-the-clock care. This time you got lucky — the delivery guy happened to see you when your door wasn’t shut properly during your attack — but you can’t just keep counting on luck like that forever.”

He glanced at Cheng Chang, then asked carefully, “You know Liao Zhuo came by several times during your ten-odd days unconscious, right?”

Liao Zhuo was the name of Cheng Chang’s ex-girlfriend.

The one who’d brought him back an omamori from a trip to Japan, before they’d broken up.

“She’s really been devoted this time, honestly. Your brother and I are both busy with work — corporate slaves, you know how it is. For most of the time you were unconscious, she was the one here with you. Worried the hired caretakers weren’t attentive enough, she even stayed up several nights herself watching your IV drip. She was the one who went and requested leave from your company for you, too.”

Cheng Chang nodded. “I’ll find a chance to thank her properly.”

“Thank her how? Take her to dinner, or buy her a gift?”

“Dinner, I guess.” Worst case, he’d pick some upscale restaurant. If he bought her a gift and she reciprocated, it’d just go back and forth endlessly. With this thought, Cheng Chang said, “You come too, when the time comes.”

Duan Mingcheng laughed. “Are you dense, or just pretending not to get it? Does Liao Zhuo really need a meal from you? She’s been running herself ragged taking care of you — you can’t tell what that means?”

Cheng Chang said nothing.

He could tell. He just didn’t think it mattered.

The drama episode ended, the closing theme playing. The red-clad swordswoman was the female lead, appearing again in the closing credits montage — edited clips that, oddly, resembled Yun Xi even more than the show itself had.

Cheng Chang’s gaze drifted back to the television.

“That Liao Zhuo, well… she’s a bit materialistic, but Third Brother,” Duan Mingcheng paused, “I’ll be honest with you — these days, there’s almost no girl who isn’t at least a little materialistic. Even getting married these days requires a car, a house, a betrothal gift. And it’s not like you’re short on money. Besides, staying single like this indefinitely, us friends can’t help but worry. With your qualifications, you could find anyone — but who knows what kind of monster you’d end up with? At least with Liao Zhuo, we know her background. And she knows about your condition, and now, having thought it over, she’s willing to come back, reconcile, and take care of you — that’s not easy, is it? Sure, they say a good horse doesn’t return to old pasture, but that’s for ordinary circumstances — this is a special case, isn’t it?”

“And even if — I’m just saying, even if — she has some interest in your money, well, it’s a material world, equal exchange and all that. Even if you hired a professional caretaker, you’d still have to pay them. At Shanghai prices, a top-tier one costs several tens of thousands a month anyway — how much more could Liao Zhuo possibly cost you? Probably about the same. You studied finance, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders — just use some reasonable legal measures to protect yourself, you won’t lose out. And a girl’s youth is worth something too.”

Cheng Chang understood what “reasonable legal measures to protect yourself” meant.

Hiring a lawyer, drafting a will, notarizing assets.

But that wasn’t why he wasn’t accepting Liao Zhuo back. He didn’t care about the money either. He simply… had no feelings for her.

Having crossed over, whether in dream or reality, into another life for the better part of a year, and now returned to the twenty-first century, he found himself, somehow, unusually particular when it came to matters of the heart — unwilling to let anyone casually into his life, especially not under the banner of romantic feeling.

The drama’s closing theme ended, and commercials started up again.

Cheng Chang was startled for a moment, feeling a bit lost, then turned to ask Duan Mingcheng, “Did you watch that show just now — what’s it called?”

Duan Mingcheng was startled too. “That’s a pretty abrupt change of subject.”

He added, “Don’t try to deny it — I know you’ve still got Liao Zhuo on your mind, that’s why I’ve been going on about her like this. Last night, in the middle of your convulsions, you were mumbling something, calling out for a ‘safety talisman,’ asking someone to help you find it. In these past couple years, hanging around with us rough guys, who ever gave you a safety talisman? I thought about it carefully afterward, and remembered — it must’ve been two or three years ago, right before you and Liao Zhuo broke up, when she went to Japan and brought one back for you. She called it something… oh right, omamori.”

A safety talisman…

Cheng Chang was momentarily lost in thought.

But he knew clearly — the talisman he was looking for wasn’t the omamori Duan Mingcheng meant.

“And then—” Duan Mingcheng said, as if suddenly remembering something, reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out an object, “the caregiver was wiping your hands down this morning and found this clutched in your palm.”

The moment Cheng Chang saw what Duan Mingcheng held out to him, he froze completely.

Duan Mingcheng was a rough sort of guy, unable to tell the difference between a safety talisman and an omamori — but Cheng Chang could tell instantly.

This wasn’t an omamori. It was a plain, old-fashioned safety talisman.

The talisman was folded into a triangular shape, one end open, and inside… there should be a slip of paper.

The one Yun Xi had given him had been lost by the cliff’s edge — but this one seemed to be the one he’d requested for Yun Xi at the Guanyin Shrine at Baiyun Temple.

The monk at the shrine had handed him a slip of paper, telling him to write down the name of the person he wished to bless.

The monk had also said, “If the benefactor’s devotion is sincere, the one this protects will surely find safety.”

Cheng Chang took the talisman in a daze and drew out the folded slip of paper inside.

On the paper, written plainly, were the two characters: “Yun Xi.”