How could things have turned out this way?
When he left, his entire heart was heavy and gloomy...
After coming out of the emergency room, Ou Mucen, who had been admitted to the ward, had not woken up for a whole day and night. According to Ji Chengzhi, his heart needed 36 hours of rest after resuscitation.
Only then would he not fall back into danger.
Therefore, to prevent him from being stimulated again, he had been injected with enough medication to keep him asleep for 36 hours, after which he would awaken.
hours later was the following evening, around ten o’clock.
Because Bai Tingfang and the elder Mr. Ou had been vigilant throughout the day and night, the aged grandfather was beginning to show signs of fatigue. Tingfang sent him back first and then returned to watch over her son.
So at this hour, the whole corridor and ward were quiet, an isolated VIP room intentionally shielded from outside disturbances, as tranquil as a remote place far from the noisy city.
And it was within such an environment that Ou Mucen awoke...
Upon waking, he opened his eyes to see a blurry white expanse above him. At first, he was a bit confused, unclear about where he was.
It wasn’t until he moved and felt a faint pain emanating from the left side of his chest that his eyes began to flicker, and the fragments from before he lost consciousness slowly infiltrated his mind, his memory gradually beginning to resurface.
"Ye Ning..." As his memory returned, he painfully called out this name from his parched lips and then tried to struggle out of bed to search for her.
But just as he moved, in the dimly lit ward illuminated by only a weak light, a voice suddenly sounded, detached: "Awake?"
Hearing this voice, his struggling body immediately halted, and then he turned his sweaty and pale face toward the source of the sound.
It was a man’s voice, cold and rigid, like the howling cold wind outside the window—it was uncomfortable and slightly piercing to hear.
Gasping for air, he saw the man with glasses standing by the windowsill in the dim light, and suddenly, his eyes that had just peeled open narrowed slightly, his expression turning sharply cold: "Is it you? What are you doing here?"
The man turned around, looking at him coldly: "Of course, I snuck in. How does it feel? Third Young Master, what does it feel like to face death?"
"I’m asking... how does it feel to have taken a turn in hell?" He finally took steps, approaching him deliberately. In the dim light, the black trench coat and his lean figure made him appear not human, but rather like a ghost that had emerged from somewhere.
Ou Mucen propped himself up there, his heart, still in recovery, throbbing with pain. A layer of fine sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his bloodless lips turned even more frightfully pale.
Despite this, he did not lie back down but chose to brace himself there, watching the man approach step by step.
"What do you want to do?"
He gave him a cold glance and casually pulled up a chair next to him, sitting down by his bedside: "I actually came to see if you were dead yet. Ou Mucen, you have no idea how much I hate you."