CHAPTER 150: WAKING UP?

In another world, at the hospital.

"Doctor, it’s been a whole week since my daughter’s surgery! You told me she would wake up in three days, yet here we are—three days have come and gone, and she’s still unconscious! What’s wrong with her?!"

A deep, rough voice thundered through the VIP ward, sending tremors of tension down the spines of everyone present. The sound traveled beyond the room, echoing ominously in the long, sterile hallway.

Fortunately, the confrontation was taking place in the hospital’s most exclusive floor, where only the most privileged patients resided. Otherwise, the entire hospital would have been eavesdropping on the latest drama surrounding the Qi family.

Doctor Li kept his head low, his expression carefully neutral, though the sweat forming at his temples betrayed his unease. Behind him, his team of doctors followed suit, standing in tense silence.

"President Qi, we are doing everything we can to monitor Miss Qi’s condition," Doctor Li said, his voice steady but cautious.

"The surgery was a complete success, and by all medical standards, she should have regained consciousness already. However..." His words trailed off, unwilling to admit what they all feared—this was beyond their expertise.

Truth be told, the operation had gone smoothly. There had been no complications, no unexpected mishaps during the procedure.

By all accounts, Miss Qi should have woken up within the expected timeframe. And yet, even after a full week had passed, there was no movement, no fluttering of eyelids, no indication that she was on the verge of waking. A suffocating air of unease loomed over the entire hospital.

The staff moved cautiously, as if walking on a razor’s edge. Every nurse and doctor knew that if something were to happen to Miss Qi, the consequences would be unimaginable.

She wasn’t just any patient.

Miss Qi, Qi Jianyi is the one and only daughter of President Qi.

A name that carried weight, power, and fear. Everyone in the city knew that she was her father’s most treasured child, the apple of his eye.

Her accident a week ago had sent shockwaves through the media, and the hospital had been under intense scrutiny ever since.

News channels had run constant updates. Rumors spread like wildfire. Some speculated about a medical cover-up, while others whispered about corporate rivalries.

Regardless of the theories, one thing was clear: the world was watching.

The doctors, once confident in their skills, now found themselves drowning in pressure.

The presence of reporters outside the hospital, the constant questioning from the Qi family, and the suffocating atmosphere within the walls of the VIP ward—it was all starting to wear them down.

Behind Doctor Li, the resident doctors exchanged anxious glances, silently praying for a miracle.

Miss Qi, please wake up!

They had dealt with many high-profile patients before, but this case was different. It wasn’t just about medicine anymore.

This was politics, power, and something far more dangerous—President Qi’s wrath.

"Qi Jingxuan, calm down!" Grandpa Qi’s authoritative voice rang out, cutting through the tense atmosphere. His sharp gaze locked onto his son, his expression thunderous.

"What’s the use of shouting at them? Do you think scolding the doctors will magically wake XiaoYi up?" He let out a heavy grunt, his frustration evident.

Among the people in the room, only Grandpa Qi and Grandpa He had the ability to rein in Mr. Qi’s temper. As his father and father-in-law, their words carried weight—enough to force him to back down, even in his most volatile moments.

Mr. Qi clenched his fists, his chest rising and falling with the effort to suppress his anger. He cast one last glare at the doctors before turning his attention to his daughter, lying motionless on the pristine white hospital bed. His heart twisted painfully at the sight.

"Dad, how can I not be anxious?" His voice was hoarse with frustration.

"They kept insisting that the surgery was a success, that Xiaoyi would wake up in three days. But look at her now! It’s been a whole week, and she’s still unconscious, still showing no signs of waking up! Tell me, how am I supposed to stay calm?" He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, his irritation barely contained.

Beside the hospital bed, Mrs. Qi sat in silence, her gaze fixed on their daughter. Unlike her husband, she hadn’t uttered a single word since they entered the room.

Even when Mr. Qi’s furious outburst echoed through the ward, she didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance his way. It was as if she didn’t hear a thing. Mr. Qi’s anger wavered as he looked at his wife’s lifeless expression. His heart ached at the sight of her vacant eyes, filled with nothing but sorrow and regret.

He sighed. A deep, weary sigh.

Ever since the day they received the news of their daughter’s accident, Mrs. Qi had been trapped in a state of shock. The guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders—crushing, relentless.

She blamed herself.

If only she had stopped Qi Jianyi from leaving the city. If only she had insisted she stay home instead of letting her go out alone.

If only...

But regrets changed nothing. And yet, they consumed her.

Seeing his wife’s pale face, Mr. Qi felt a heavy weight settle in his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her to go home, not when she looked so fragile, so broken.

He glanced at her once more, his gaze filled with concern and helplessness, but he knew there was nothing he could do to ease her suffering.

His eyes then shifted, and they landed on Song Chengfeng, who was sitting motionlessly in the corner of the room. Song Chengfeng, too, looked like he had been struck by some kind of invisible weight, one that pressed down on his soul, leaving him hollow and distant.

His gaze was fixed on the floor, though it was unclear whether he was truly seeing anything at all. It was as if the world around him had ceased to exist, and he was left in a void, lost in his own thoughts.

He hadn’t reacted when people had tried to talk to him, nor had he even spared a glance at Qi Jianyi, who lay unconscious in the bed. His face was etched with an emptiness that made it hard to believe this was the same man who had once been so full of life.

To Mr. Qi, Song Chengfeng’s stillness was like a cold, oppressive weight. It wasn’t just the silence that unnerved him—it was the lack of hope in Song Chengfeng’s eyes.

It was as though he had already given up, as if he had already accepted that Qi Jianyi might never wake up.

Mr. Qi couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t bear to see that lifeless look in Song Chengfeng’s eyes, that absence of anything—hope, anger, grief, or even sorrow. It was worse than anything.

While everyone else in the room was praying, desperately wishing for Qi Jianyi to wake up, Song Chengfeng sat there as though he had already lost her, resigned to the idea that she was gone.

This kind of lifelessness wasn’t the same as Mrs. Qi’s. Mrs. Qi’s face was filled with guilt, her heart wracked with the belief that she could have done something, anything, to prevent what had happened.

But Song Chengfeng... his gaze didn’t hold guilt, nor fear, nor even the faintest trace of hope. He was acting as if he had truly lost Qi Jianyi. And for that reason, Mr. Qi despised looking at him.

Mr. Qi turned his gaze away, trying to focus on his wife instead, but the image of Song Chengfeng’s empty stare haunted him.

The entire room was shrouded in a heavy, solemn atmosphere, each breath in the air thick with unspoken worry and grief. Mr. Qi and his wife sat side by side, holding their daughter’s hand in silence.

The faint beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound breaking the stillness. The weight of the moment pressed down on them, and their eyes, red-rimmed from exhaustion and worry, never left their daughter’s face.

Behind Mr. Qi, the twins stood silently, their expressions a mix of confusion and disbelief. They couldn’t fully comprehend the gravity of the situation. They stood there, rooted to the spot, as if they were waiting for some sign, some indication that this was all just a bad dream they would soon wake up from.

But no such sign came, and the cold reality of the moment only grew heavier.

On the other side of the room, beside Song Chengfeng, sat He Zeqing. His usually immaculate appearance was nowhere to be found. His hair was disheveled, and his clothes were wrinkled as though he had thrown them on in a hurry.

His face, usually composed and confident, now looked distraught—unrecognizable in his current state. But He Zeqing didn’t care about his disheveled appearance. He had been preoccupied with handling his company’s issues, and only after everything had been settled did he finally manage to carve out some time to visit his cousin.

But no matter how untidy He Zeqing looked, his appearance was nothing compared to Song Chengfeng’s. His unshaven face, the disarray of his hair, the dull, red-rimmed eyes—it was as if he had been swallowed by grief. His clothes were wrinkled, as if they had been tossed aside in a fit of despair.

Anyone who looked at him would have known, without a doubt, that he had lost something precious. Perhaps not just someone, but a part of himself as well.

Song Chengfeng sat there in a quiet, almost paralyzed state. He didn’t seem to notice the others in the room or the passage of time. His gaze was fixed, vacant, as though he had already retreated into a place where nothing else mattered.

While everyone in the room believed that today was just another day of waiting—another agonizing stretch of time filled with nothing but silence and uncertainty—there was a subtle change.

Qi Jianyi, or rather, Miss Qi, who had been lying motionless on the bed, began to show the faintest signs of life. It was almost imperceptible at first, like a whisper in the stillness of the room.

Her left hand, the one that wasn’t being held by anyone, trembled slightly. The movement was small, barely noticeable, but it was enough to break the oppressive stillness.

A soft, almost inaudible breath escaped her lips as her brows furrowed, the lines of her face tightening in what seemed like a subtle reaction to something unseen.

For a moment, the room remained frozen, as if no one dared to believe what they were seeing. But then, as the seconds stretched on, the tremor in her hand became a little more pronounced, and the furrow in her brow deepened.

It was a sign, a flicker of hope that had been absent for so long.

Was this it? Was she finally waking up?