Chapter 11: Hospital

Jiang Zhizhou instructed her assistant to notify Chen Lin and handle the cleanup at the film set. She also told the crew to lock down all information—no announcements, and under no circumstances were they to let any details leak to the outside world.

She allowed only Xia Yuhe to accompany her to the hospital. They sped away in the car, with the team’s bodyguards and two set staffers following close behind in another vehicle.

Jiang Qingmeng forced her eyes open, her lips parting soundlessly.

Jiang Zhizhou drew her close with utmost care, cradling her against her chest and gently patting her shoulder. “Be good. Don’t try to talk. Just close your eyes and rest. We’re heading to the hospital right now.”

Her voice held the soothing lilt of someone coaxing a child, and sure enough, Jiang Qingmeng settled quietly into her embrace, soft and pliant as a lamb.

Xia Yuhe twisted around from the front passenger seat and passed back a thermometer. “Let’s see how high it is.”

Jiang Zhizhou took it, measured her temperature, and glanced at the display. “38.6—not quite a full-blown fever. But her hand… no telling if it’s broken.”

Xia Yuhe sounded alarmed. “Uncle Liu, how much longer?”

The driver, Uncle Liu, replied, “Nearly there! Ten minutes tops! This girl’s run herself ragged—up at five after crashing at one every night. Breaks my heart to see it.” His own daughter was about Jiang Qingmeng’s age, so she always reminded him of home.

For a rising star, a solid night’s sleep was a rare indulgence.

Jiang Qingmeng had shot to fame just a year ago, her footing still shaky with scant standout credits to her name. She had to hustle nonstop through events just to stay in the spotlight.

Jiang Zhizhou gazed down at her. “In this business, full sleep’s a perk for just two types: flops like me with no gigs, or the unshakable icons at the top.”

Uncle Liu snuck a look at her in the rearview and said from the heart, “Miss Shen’s too gorgeous not to blow up someday! Uncle Liu’s got an eye for talent.”

Jiang Zhizhou smiled. “I’ll take that blessing.”

Xia Yuhe tsked. “This industry’s brutal.”

Jiang Zhizhou shrugged. “Eh, pays the bills. Not so bad.”

Uncle Liu and Xia Yuhe exchanged glances…

In her past life, Jiang Zhizhou had grown up dirt-poor. At ten, her parents shipped her off to a rural theater troupe to train as a knife-and-horse dan—acrobatic warrior roles. At sixteen, during a city gig, a scout nabbed her for a TV ad. Director Li Ze spotted her there, cast her as the lead in Jingzhe, and bankrolled her way into Central Academy of Drama for real training.

She knew lean times all too well and figured entertainment had been her lucky break—otherwise, more misery awaited.

That’s why she never griped about the grind. Action scenes back then meant constant bruises, par for the course. Later, her agent Su Guo would scroll Weibo, see rookies flaunting faint scratches with “dedication” headlines and fans howling in pity, and burst out laughing. “Check out these battle scars—good thing they hit the ER quick, or they’d have scabbed over by now.”

They pulled up to the hospital, and Jiang Zhizhou cracked the door, peering back. “No paparazzi on our tail, I hope?”

Xia Yuhe hopped out, masked and capped. “Fresh wheels today—paps are in the dark for now. Come morning? Who knows.”

Jiang Zhizhou nodded. “Keep security discreet—one or two shadows at most. Link up with Chen Lin, loop in the production head and director. Fill them in on Qingmeng.”

The doctors set Jiang Qingmeng up in a private room. Her right hand was wrapped in bandages, an IV dripping into her left arm. Outside, young nurses murmured:

“Mask hides her face—is that really Jiang Qingmeng?”

“Has to be! Those eyes are killer. And her chart says it plain as day!”

“So slim, so stunning!”

“Prettier live than on screen!”

“Autograph after shift?”

“Who’s the knockout beside her? No assistant vibe—another star?”

Xia Yuhe posted bodyguards at the door and kindly asked the staff to zip it—no word on Jiang Qingmeng’s condition or location.

Fever at 38.6°C, right arm ligament strained. Propped half-up in bed, head swimming, Jiang Qingmeng fretted over her schedule.

She checked with Xia Yuhe. “Morning call tomorrow, right?”

Xia Yuhe nodded. “Yep, exteriors with the male lead. I’ll beg off with the director.”

“No. Business as usual.”

“Push your stuff to afternoon?”

“Shanghai trip tomorrow PM—brand event.”

“Day after’s an early call.”

“Fly back tomorrow night. Done.”

“Okay… then I’ll let Sister Chen Lin know.” Although she hadn’t spent much time with Jiang Qingmeng, Xia Yuhe had already gotten used to not trying to persuade her. Jiang Qingmeng appeared gentle and easygoing, but once she made up her mind, no one could change it.

Jiang Zhizhou poured a glass of warm water for Jiang Qingmeng. Jiang Qingmeng took it and discussed with her, “Thank you for tonight. I’ll have Uncle Liu send you back to the hotel to rest first, okay?” Jiang Zhizhou shook her head and said, “I have no schedule tomorrow morning, and I’ve already told Uncle Liu to rest at a nearby hotel.”

Jiang Qingmeng hesitated. “Then you…”

Jiang Zhizhou stuffed the fever-reducing medicine into her hand and said flatly, “Don’t worry about me. You should take the medicine and reduce your fever first.”

Jiang Qingmeng looked at the fever-reducing capsules in her palm, pursed her lips, and softly said thank you.

After taking the medicine, Jiang Qingmeng quickly fell asleep again.

Jiang Zhizhou was no stranger to taking care of patients; she could even say she was very proficient at it.

Two years ago, when her father was bedridden with illness, she set aside all her work and stayed by his bedside, caring for him day and night—until the police showed up at the door and detained her on charges of “drug use.” At that time, her father lay on the hospital bed and watched with his own eyes as the police took her away. Overcome with rage and heartbreak, he couldn’t utter a word. Tears streamed down his face as he yanked out his IV needle and struggled to sit up to stop them, but he couldn’t manage to rise. He coughed up a bedsheet’s worth of blood, passed out, and couldn’t be saved.

She had watched over him day and night by the bedside, yet she couldn’t even see her father’s final moments.

How ridiculous and tragic.

Jiang Zhizhou pulled the script from her bag, dragged over a chair, and sat on Jiang Qingmeng’s left side. She silently memorized her lines, occasionally glancing up at Jiang Qingmeng.

Xia Yuhe reported the situation to Chen Lin, walked into the ward, snapped a few photos of Jiang Qingmeng receiving her IV drip, and sent them to Chen Lin.

Seeing Jiang Zhizhou reach out to check the temperature on Jiang Qingmeng’s forehead, Xia Yuhe stood at the foot of the bed. She hesitated for a moment, then picked up her phone and took a photo of the two of them together.

Two stunning beauties in the same frame—beautiful like a painting.

With no editing or beauty filters, Xia Yuhe posted the original photo directly to her Weibo. She then opened WeChat and sent a copy to Jiang Zhizhou.

Once everything was settled, Jiang Zhizhou told Xia Yuhe to lie down on the other bed and rest. Xia Yuhe refused at first, insisting that Jiang Zhizhou sleep while she took care of Jiang Qingmeng. But Jiang Zhizhou said, “I have no schedule tomorrow. You still have to accompany her to schedules and catch flights—how can you compare to me?” So Xia Yuhe stopped refusing and obediently lay down on the bed to rest and recharge.

Three hours later, Jiang Qingmeng finished her IV drip, and her fever had subsided.

The nurse removed the IV needle, left the room, and thoughtfully turned off the lights for them.

Jiang Zhizhou, who had been keeping watch by the bedside, breathed a sigh of relief. The pungent smell of disinfectant filled the air, and fatigue washed over her. She gazed at Jiang Qingmeng’s face, wondering what she was doing this for. Why skip the hotel’s big bed to come here and suffer alongside this cash cow?

Suddenly, the image of Jiang Qingmeng’s smile under the night sky flashed through her mind—her bright eyes sparkling, radiant with every glance.

Beautiful like a fairy.

Jiang Zhizhou sighed softly.

She wasn’t the type to meddle in others’ business, but the moment Jiang Qingmeng collapsed into her arms, compassion had stirred in her heart.

After more than twenty years of life, it was the first time she truly understood what “pitying the fair sex” meant.

Whatever—just consider it repaying a debt.

She currently owed Jiang Qingmeng two debts: one financial, one personal.

Jiang Zhizhou smiled helplessly, tucked in the corner of the blanket for Jiang Qingmeng, then rested her head on the bedside and closed her eyes to sleep.

In the darkness, Jiang Qingmeng slowly opened her eyes. She made no sound, just gazed thoughtfully at Jiang Zhizhou’s sleeping face.

Jiang Zhizhou wasn’t used to sleeping with her head down. Even in her haze, she worried that Jiang Qingmeng might wake up thirsty in the middle of the night, so she remained in a half-asleep, half-awake state. She’d barely dozed off for five minutes when the patter of rain reached her ears. She hazily opened her eyes and looked toward Jiang Qingmeng.

Their gazes met.

Jiang Zhizhou asked softly, “Awake? Thirsty?”

Jiang Qingmeng replied, “Not thirsty.”

“Then keep sleeping. Dawn is almost here.”

Jiang Qingmeng didn’t respond right away. She turned her gaze toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

Outside the window was the balcony, and it was raining, with the sound growing louder.

After a long while—so long that Jiang Zhizhou thought she’d fallen asleep—Jiang Qingmeng’s low voice came from the darkness. “I’m a little afraid of the dark. I can’t sleep.”

Such a grown woman, still scared of the dark.

Jiang Zhizhou helplessly pulled out her phone, checked the time, and said, “It’s 3:30 now. In another half hour or so, it’ll be light out. Rainy days are perfect for sleeping.”

Jiang Qingmeng hummed in acknowledgment and said nothing more.

Jiang Zhizhou was about to set her phone down and doze off again when she noticed a picture Xia Yuhe had sent her three hours earlier. She opened WeChat to look at it.

It was a photo of her sitting by the bed, watching over Jiang Qingmeng.

In the photo, Jiang Qingmeng lay on the hospital bed with her eyes closed, her right hand wrapped in bandages and her left arm hooked up to an IV drip. Her face was deathly pale, her brows slightly furrowed, as if she were a sleeping beauty lost in eternal slumber. Jiang Zhizhou sat at her bedside, the back of her hand pressed gently to Jiang Qingmeng’s forehead. She gazed down at her with deep, soulful eyes, her long lashes casting faint shadows across her porcelain cheeks. Her high-bridged nose and perfectly sculpted jawline made her look like a character who had stepped straight out of a manga.

What was the point of snapping this picture? Xia Yuhe was getting more and more bored by the day. Jiang Zhizhou pocketed her phone and settled back down to sleep.

As she closed her eyes, the image from the photo lingered stubbornly in her mind. Without realizing it, she began to trace the delicate, lotus-like beauty of Jiang Qingmeng’s face in her thoughts—an ethereal loveliness, pure as a flower emerging from clear water.

In a hazy half-sleep, disjointed fragments of memory flickered past.

Buried deep in the recesses of her mind was a seed, straining against the chains of time, ready to break through the soil.

The next instant, Jiang Zhizhou’s eyes flew open. Memories came rushing in like floodwaters from a burst dam.

She remembered.

Eight years ago, Jiang Zhizhou had been nineteen and Jiang Qingmeng just twelve. Their first encounter in real life had taken place in a hospital.

Jiang Qingmeng was that little girl from back then.