The nurse noticed that the drunkard was unresponsive, staring at the doorway, and realized he might have a hearing problem, so she raised her voice:
"Mu Han?"
Sure enough, the drunkard heard and turned to look at her.
"The surgery is about to begin, get ready."
The drunkard’s lips moved slightly, but he didn’t speak; instead, he looked at the doorway again, tightening his grip on the phone.
The nurse also glanced at the doorway, then smiled and said, "Qing Yi said he’ll be back soon, you don’t have to worry."
Qing Yi had hurriedly left, saying there was sothing very important, but promised to return quickly.
The drunkard nodded, feeling sowhat comforted.
"I’ll go check how the surgery preparations are going, wait for , okay?"
The nurse loudly told the drunkard.
After seeing him nod, she left.
The spacious premium ward suddenly had only the drunkard left.
A light, floating, semi-transparent white shadow appeared.
The youth looked at the sickly, skin-and-bones drunkard on the bed, who seed completely transford, and felt a pang in his heart once again.
The pain was so distinct.
The youth couldn’t help but raise his hand to press against his own heart.
His clear eyes were filled with confusion.
He was just a wisp of spirit, how could he feel heartache?
The first ti he saw him, it was like this too.
The youth looked at the drunkard again, trying hard to retrieve any information about him from his blank mories.
But there was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
The youth approached the bedside, getting closer to him.
Looking at the haggard drunkard who couldn’t even fill the smallest hospital gown, his intangible hand almost unconsciously touched his face.
His intuition was correct, sothing had indeed happened to him.
The illness was this severe.
He distinctly rembered that he was a doctor, having treated both Jun Moyan and his sister. How had he ended up like this?
The drunkard, who had been staring intently at the door, suddenly felt a coolness on his face and sothing stir deep within his heart.
He didn’t know what he had sensed, but he slowly raised a hand, covering his cold face.
Overlaying the youth’s ethereal hand.
The youth was startled by the drunkard’s action, a hint of shock and strangeness in his dark red eyes.
Surprisingly, his heart once again felt a surge of emotion.
But this ti it wasn’t heartache, it was a sense of care.
He watched as his emaciated fingers, with hands covered in needle marks and bruises, overlapped with his illusory hand.
He seed to feel his warmth, very comforting, very familiar.
Who exactly are you?
Who am I?
The drunkard’s eyes also had a bewildered look.
Why, why does this feel so familiar?
Is it an illusion?
The youth just stared at him in a daze, and the drunkard also continued this sowhat odd gesture, not knowing what he was thinking.
About twenty minutes later, two nurses pushed a surgical cart inside.
The youth, seeing people coming in, withdrew his hand.
As the familiar yet cold feeling left his face, the drunkard, for so reason, instinctively tightened the hand on his face, as if trying to grasp sothing.
Gone.
That feeling disappeared again.
His heart felt as if sothing had been taken away, leaving a hollow.
"Mu Han, it’s ti for surgery," the nurse said.
"...Wait, wait a bit more."
The drunkard snapped back to reality, slightly furrowing his brows. His originally lodious, clear voice now sounded as if it was sandpaper-coated, rough enough to cause discomfort just by listening.
"Mu Han...?"
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