Chapter 18#
【Chapter 018】#
Only one day separated the first two rounds of the show. After Jing Shun finished his current work commitments, he threw himself entirely into preoperative preparations.
Time slipped by, and it was already mid-March.
In the spacious, private hospital room, Song Chunhui looked at Jing Shun, who had already changed into a hospital gown, and officially informed him, “Mr. Jing, all your physical indicators meet the surgical standards. We can proceed with the first surgery tomorrow!”
A flicker of excitement crossed Jing Shun’s brow. “Thank you, Professor Song.”
“Right, according to regulations, we need you to sign this surgical consent form.”
Song Chunhui turned to his assistant behind him, signaling for him to hand over the paper and pen that had been prepared in advance. “Mr. Jing, who will be accompanying you outside the operating room tomorrow? Will your parents come?”
“…”
Parents?
Hearing these long-unfamiliar and somewhat distant words, the light in Jing Shun’s eyes dimmed.
Back in his previous life, right after the accident, it was the time he most needed the company of family and friends. But his already-divorced parents, Jing Guanhai and Xu Jia, would always pass the buck and make excuses whenever the hospital called about pre-surgery procedures, refusing to come.
Even after the surgery was over, they only came once or twice perfunctorily, their words implying they wouldn’t take on his subsequent expenses or troubles.
What difference did it make whether parents like that came or not? He had long stopped expecting anything from them.
Jing Shun forcefully suppressed the bitter disappointment, took the consent form from the assistant, and said, “Professor Song, I’m the patient myself. It’s fine if I sign it, right?”
Song Chunhui was perceptive and had already noticed the dazed look on Jing Shun’s face.
Not wanting to poke at the other’s wounds, he simply nodded. “That works. But I’ll need to inform Chairman Chi about this. Mr. Jing, make sure to rest early tonight.”
The medical team was hired by Chi Gui with his money, so naturally, he had the right to know.
“Okay.”
Jing Shun quickly signed his name without a moment’s hesitation.
…
The night was deep.
Jing Shun lay alone on the hospital bed, completely unable to sleep.
Staring at the warm yellow light filtering in through the window, listening to the occasional calls of returning birds in the distance, an indescribable sense of low spirits and loneliness washed over him.
Ever since the topic of “parents” came up that evening, a long-buried ache in Jing Shun’s heart had resurfaced, like a heavy stone pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Time crawled by slowly.
After repeatedly failing to fall asleep, Jing Shun resignedly sat up in bed. He pulled over the wheelchair beside him, moved himself out of bed, and prepared to go outside for some fresh air.
The moment he opened the door, he unexpectedly “bumped into” Chi Gui standing in the hallway.
“…”
“…”
Their eyes met, and both were momentarily stunned.
“What are you doing here?”
“Why aren’t you asleep yet?”
The questions came in perfect unison, then stopped.
Chi Gui’s gaze swept down over Jing Shun, taking in his thin hospital gown, his slippers, and his exposed ankles—slender, frail, skin so pale it was nearly bloodless.
“Just finished dealing with work and thought I’d come check on you. I saw the light in your room was off and assumed you were already resting.”
Chi Gui restrained his gaze purposefully. “On the contrary—you have surgery tomorrow. It’s this late, and you’re not resting. Dressed so lightly, where were you planning to go?”
“…”
Jing Shun belatedly felt the chill. The thin blanket over his knees was hardly enough to keep him warm.
“Cold?”
Sensing his subtle reaction, Chi Gui frowned in concern. “If there’s nothing urgent, you should go back inside. I won’t disturb your rest.”
“Wait! Chi… Chi Gui!”
Jing Shun looked at the man who had come to visit him late at night, and an unprecedented impulse surged from deep within. “Do you have time? Would you mind chatting with me for a bit?”
Chi Gui didn’t answer immediately; instead, he glanced down at his watch. “Now?”
“It won’t take up too much of your time. I, uh, I’m a bit sleepless and just want someone to talk to.” Jing Shun tried to extend the invitation, but because he was uncertain, he dropped his gaze.
“If it’s inconvenient for you, then forget it. I—”
Before he could finish his self-deprecating remark, Chi Gui’s thick, warm coat was draped over his shoulders in the next second.
“The phone says it’s only 4°C outside tonight. You’ll catch a cold dressed like this.”
Chi Gui leaned down to meet his eyes, as if even his sharp, commanding presence had softened. “Jing Shun, I have time now. What do you want to talk about?”
…
The window in the hospital room was open, and the wind carried a refreshing chill.
Jing Shun took a deep breath. The cold rushed from the tip of his nose straight into his lungs, clearing his muddled thoughts considerably.
Through the reflection in the glass, he saw Chi Gui’s blurred figure and finally initiated the conversation. “Today, Professor Song asked me if I wanted to inform my parents about tomorrow’s surgery.”
“I said no, and I signed the consent form myself.”
“…”
Chi Gui stood behind him, listening in silence.
Professor Song and his medical team were hired with his money, so naturally, this situation had reached his ears almost immediately.
Chi Gui could hear the disappointment hidden beneath Jing Shun’s calm demeanor. “If you want your parents to be with you, I can have someone invite them first thing tomorrow morning.”
“No need. They won’t come.”
Jing Shun knew that answer better than anyone. “My parents already have new families of their own. I’m not their only child.”
“My father has another son. He should be twelve this year. My mother remarried and had a daughter—she’s seven.”
“…”
Chi Gui caught onto the strangeness in those words, his gaze on Jing Shun’s back deepening.
A twelve-year-old brother? A seven-year-old sister?
If he remembered correctly, Jing Shun’s parents didn’t divorce until he was eighteen. At most, that was about five or six years ago. How could Jing Shun possibly have siblings that age?
Jing Shun revealed the secret he had buried in his heart. “During the summer vacation of my eighteenth year, a friend sent me a video and asked me, ‘When did you get a little brother?’”
The friend had run into Jing Guanhai at a shopping mall with a little boy. The two were calling each other “son” and “dad.”
There was also a short-haired woman beside them—not Jing Shun’s biological mother, Xu Jia.
Jing Shun immediately sensed something was wrong. With the impulsiveness of youth, he confronted his father with the video.
“My dad tried to cover it up at first. But then my mom added fuel to the fire with her insinuations, and the two of them started arguing right in front of me.”
Recalling that fight, Jing Shun still found it bitterly ironic. “Can you imagine it? The looks they gave each other were filled with nothing but disgust, as if they wanted to tear off each other’s masks completely. Not a shred of marital affection remained.”
It was from that moment that Jing Shun learned the truth—
Jing Guanhai and Xu Jia had been on bad terms and effectively living separately for years. Their marriage had long been a hollow shell, but neither of them brought up divorce!
“Most couples who don’t divorce do it for the sake of their children, afraid of hurting them. But those two didn’t stay married because of me.”
A trace of self-mockery crept into Jing Shun’s brow. “After all, I’m not important to them. They didn’t want to give up the money I earned.”
There were plenty of child actors in the film and television industry, but very few were as profitable as Jing Shun.
Neither of them was willing to let go of their biological son—their cash cow. Self-interest drove them to maintain this marriage of appearances.
“I remember one of their particularly fierce fights. It got so bad that they grabbed me and demanded, ‘If Mom and Dad get divorced, who will you go with?’”
At the time, Jing Shun had just finished filming an exhausting all-night scene. Confronted with his parents’ hysterical quarrel, he was drained and red-eyed. He threw out a single sentence—
“I don’t want to go with either of you! If you divorce, I’ll never act in another drama again!”
Perhaps that was the sentence that hit their weak spot.
From that day on, the open arguments between Jing Guanhai and Xu Jia virtually disappeared. In front of Jing Shun, they “played the role” of caring parents again, doting on him with concern. But privately, they had long reached an agreement: live their own lives.
Jing Guanhai had already started a new relationship. As for Xu Jia, in the gaps between taking Jing Shun to film sets, she later met a male boss who was divorced with a child.
Both of their new partners knew about this hollow marriage. The only person kept entirely in the dark was their biological son, Jing Shun.
“Chi Gui, all the income I earned before I turned eighteen not only supported my parents but also became an extra source of income for these two families. Isn’t that laughable?”
Even now, Jing Shun still couldn’t understand. What had he done wrong? Why did no one love him? Why did no one care about him?
“It was their fault. The ones to laugh at are them.”
Chi Gui looked at Jing Shun’s lonely silhouette and finally understood why he had chosen to live alone since he turned eighteen. “Didn’t you ever think about taking legal action to get as much of that money back as possible?”
“I consulted a lawyer, but in the end, I let it go.”
First, because all the income was earned while Jing Shun was a minor. As his legal guardians, Jing Guanhai and Xu Jia did have a certain degree of management and disposal rights.
Not to mention, many of the contracts with production crews were signed on his behalf by them.
Second, because Jing Guanhai, Xu Jia, and his grandparents—who were still alive at the time—all came to him with soft pleas and earnest words, begging for leniency. They even offered him the old, rundown apartment as compensation.
Third, because of Jing Shun’s status as an actor. He didn’t have an agency at the time, which made handling things somewhat inconvenient.
Even though Jing Shun had grown up on film sets and had more life experience than most people his age, he was still just a child barely eighteen years old.
“After I saw the situation clearly, I was a bit stubborn about it. I cut off close contact with them.”
But as the years passed, that initial pride had long faded. In the end, he had to accept the truth: he was “parentless.”
The night wind made Jing Shun’s eyes sting.
“…”
Chi Gui understood Jing Shun’s helplessness and difficulties back then. He didn’t press further.
He stepped forward and closed the window, shielding the other from the cold wind. “You did the right thing.”
Parents like that were better off abandoned.
Jing Shun turned his head to look at Chi Gui. “The reason I can’t sleep tonight is partly because I’m thinking about the hurt they caused me back then, and partly because… I’m a little scared.”
In his previous life, Jing Shun had undergone several surgeries, both big and small.
At first, the door of the operating room had “pretend” company from Chi Sheng and genuine companionship from friends. Later, Chi Sheng couldn’t keep up the act, and his friend went abroad due to a family member’s illness.
And every surgery carried the risk of failure, even a certain mortality rate.
Jing Shun knew he had no one he could truly rely on as family. He had gotten used to suppressing his real fears again and again, and he had accepted the process of hoping and then having those hopes dashed.
“If Professor Song is the most authoritative expert in this field, and if this surgery still doesn’t help me recover… what do I do then?”
A fine tremor of worry and tension seeped out from the depths of Jing Shun’s pupils.
Chi Gui quickly stopped his train of negative thoughts. “Don’t think too much. It’ll be fine.”
Jing Shun was uncertain. “Really? Will it really be fine?”
Chi Gui caught the uncertainty in his voice. “Yes. If it doesn’t work the first time, we’ll try a second, a third time. I’ll have people look for other treatment options.”
Jing Shun’s breath hitched. “Chi Gui, why do you…”
Chi Gui guessed what he was hesitating to say and gave the most suitable reason. “When you came to me for help, wasn’t it so you could stand up again?”
“Since we both agreed to the terms, I won’t go back on my promise to you.”
Chi Gui looked directly at the person before him, his tone steady and firm.
“Jing Shun, it’s not too late for everything now.”
“…”
Not too late?
At that moment, Jing Shun’s heart, along with his soul, skipped a beat.
He fell defenselessly into Chi Gui’s eyes. The darkness there was thicker than the night itself, and in that gaze, it seemed to absorb all of his unease, confusion, and apprehension.
Then he heard the other say:
“Jing Shun, if you need someone, I can be here with you.”