Cheng Zhanya was running a high fever of thirty-nine degrees.
If they had brought her in any later, not only would the child have been in danger, but the mother might have suffered permanent damage as well.
After a thorough examination, Cheng Zhanya regained some awareness.
But she was still weak.
She had indeed caught sight of Lin Hanbing standing behind the cluster of white-coated doctors, her gaze fixed intently on Cheng Zhanya without the slightest shift, as if she could bore right through her.
Lin Hanbing knew.
Cheng Zhanya had anticipated that her pregnancy would come to light eventually—after all, it wasn’t exactly a secret at the company. Lin Hanbing finding out was only a matter of time.
She just hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.
So quickly that it caught her completely off guard.
Now the hospital room held only Cheng Zhanya and Lin Hanbing.
The doctors had finished their checks and departed. Cheng Zhanya kept her head lowered, acutely aware of the gaze boring down from above.
Staring relentlessly at her.
She had nowhere to escape.
The hospital was already quiet, but now it was so still that you could hear a pin drop.
Finally, Cheng Zhanya raised her head, meeting Lin Hanbing’s eyes.
An unspoken understanding passed between them.
A mutual silence, neither willing to break it first.
Lin Hanbing had a thousand things she wanted to say, yet she had no idea where to begin or what words to choose.
“Thank you for bringing me to the hospital,” Cheng Zhanya said, turning her face away. Her voice was still hoarse from illness, carrying a tone that was distant and unfamiliar.
“If you’re busy, you can go ahead. I can manage on my own.”
“Apart from that, don’t you have anything else you want to say?”
Cheng Zhanya’s words were stubborn. “No.”
Her hand rested on her abdomen, her eyes flickering away evasively.
Lin Hanbing gazed steadily at her wife, unblinking, but Cheng Zhanya refused to meet her eyes.
The atmosphere grew oppressively tense.
So heavy that even their shallow breaths seemed out of place.
Lin Hanbing let out a helpless sigh, pulled up a chair, and sat by the bedside. She clasped her hands together on the edge of the bed.
“The doctor said you’re pregnant,” Lin Hanbing said slowly, with absolute certainty. “It’s my child.”
The mention of the child struck a raw nerve. Cheng Zhanya’s expression turned annoyed.
She stared at Lin Hanbing, her hand pressing against her belly trembling slightly, her fingertips turning white.
Her emotions spiraled out of control.
“It’s my child,” she shot back.
Cheng Zhanya had imagined countless scenarios of Lin Hanbing discovering the pregnancy, had devised innumerable small coping strategies. But now, faced with the reality, she felt utterly devoid of confidence, her mind a total blank.
All she could do was bristle like a hedgehog, spines raised in defense.
“It’s our child.”
Lin Hanbing corrected her obstinately, word by word.
Each syllable felt like it was slicing her apart.
Cheng Zhanya’s breathing grew labored, the air thinning around her.
Her face paled. She shifted her gaze elsewhere, unwilling to confront Lin Hanbing at this moment.
Lin Hanbing was sharper than her; going head-to-head would be unwise.
If they argued, Cheng Zhanya doubted she could muster even a single rebuttal—she would just be at Lin Hanbing’s mercy.
With a cold expression and furrowed brows, she said, “We’re divorced.”
“The child is mine alone.”
She clearly hadn’t wanted the child before—why insist now that it was theirs?
“Yaya, I’m really happy.”
Lin Hanbing continued.
“I’ve been a lousy wife. I hope I can be a good mother in the future.”
“These past three months must have been so hard for you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lin Hanbing’s smile was bitter. “Were you being cold to me just to hide the pregnancy? When I joined Anwo, did you ever think I’d find out eventually?”
“Yaya, be fair.”
“Can you let me be part of the child’s life too?”
Cheng Zhanya shook her head. “You don’t like kids.”
“Why do you think that? When have I ever shown I don’t like children?”
“You resisted it so much,” Cheng Zhanya said. She couldn’t forget the way Lin Hanbing had looked when they talked about kids—pure reluctance.
“Was it the child I was resisting?”
Lin Hanbing asked.
“What I resisted was Mom and Dad, and Grandma, pressuring you.”
Was that true?
Cheng Zhanya let out a scoffing laugh.
On the drive back from the Old Residence that day, she had asked Lin Hanbing’s thoughts. She believed she had hinted at wanting a child, but Lin Hanbing had dashed cold water on her face.
You want one, so we’ll have one.
She needed them both to want it for it to happen.
But Lin Hanbing’s attitude had clearly been one of accommodation, not genuine desire.
Cheng Zhanya fell silent, staring out the window.
It had rained yesterday, but today the sky was a flawless blue, not a cloud in sight—just like her mind, blank and empty.
“Yaya, let’s remarry.”
Lin Hanbing said it plainly.
Cheng Zhanya looked at her in shock, incredulous.
What had she just said?
Remarry?
“Let me take care of you.”
“I don’t want anything like today happening again.”
Alone at home, sick and unable even to care for herself—if Fan Yaobai hadn’t had that extra bit of intuition, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.
The image of her wife’s agonized face on the bed that day still sent shivers through Lin Hanbing.
Take care of her?
The words sounded like something out of a fairy tale.
They weren’t funny in theory, but coming from Lin Hanbing, Cheng Zhanya found them ridiculous.
Five years of marriage.
Lin Hanbing had grown busier and busier, especially this past year.
Fewer and fewer nights at home, endless business trips—even ditching her on her birthday for work.
When Cheng Zhanya returned from her vacation, the house was covered in dust.
Take care of her?
Ha.
She rarely got sick anyway; a cold or cough at worst, gone by the next day with some medicine.
Cheng Zhanya gave a mocking smile. “You should take care of yourself first.”
She had stomach problems and still skipped meals.
Someone who couldn’t even manage that—how could she manage caring for Cheng Zhanya?
Cheng Zhanya was enjoying her current life; she didn’t want it disrupted, even if she still loved Lin Hanbing.
The word “remarry” felt too weighty; she wasn’t sure she could bear it.
“I don’t have experience in that area, but I’ll learn how to take good care of you.”
Lin Hanbing knew she had no credibility on caregiving. She touched her nose awkwardly and smiled.
“No need.”
Cheng Zhanya refused flatly.
“Yaya.” Lin Hanbing looked at her helplessly, a plea flickering in her eyes.
Cheng Zhanya ignored it.
She closed her eyes. “I’m tired.”
“Sleep a bit more.”
With her wife still ill, Lin Hanbing didn’t press.
Once Cheng Zhanya was better, they could find a proper time and place to talk it out properly.
Only after confirming that Cheng Zhanya had drifted off did Lin Hanbing slowly rise.
She closed the door softly behind her.
Lin Hanbing stood by the corridor window, gazing down thoughtfully.
The autumn leaves were no longer that soothing vibrant green; some had turned withered and yellow. Sunlight filtered through, casting dappled patterns on the patchy foliage and the ground below.
Much like the patients milling about downstairs in their hospital gowns.
Elderly folks leaning on crutches.
Hopeless young people.
Children worn down and joyless by their illnesses.
Every scene was life itself.
And every scene underscored human powerlessness.
Lin Hanbing’s mind was consumed by Cheng Zhanya’s pregnancy.
Cheng Zhanya was so gentle, but once she got stubborn, no one could sway her.
Lin Hanbing knew her too well.
She responded to softness, not force.
Cheng Zhanya slept deeply for a long time.
When she woke, dusk had fallen. She hadn’t eaten all day and was ravenous now, her stomach rumbling loudly.
The room was empty.
Utterly quiet.
The IV bag had long since emptied; a medical adhesive bandage still covered the needle mark on the back of her hand.
Lin Hanbing must have left.
Cheng Zhanya had chased her away.
Her stomach churned uneasily—perhaps the baby was hungry and fussing.
The little bean at just over three months couldn’t move yet.
Cheng Zhanya stroked her belly soothingly and glanced around for her phone.
She was starving, and the baby needed nourishment too.
Thank goodness for the modern world and its conveniences.
Her single-occupancy room had a sofa and a small dining table. On the bedside cabinet sat a pitcher of water and a few vibrant red roses, still beaded with fresh dew and carrying a faint floral scent.
The small table stood empty.
A black coat lay draped over the sofa.
But no phone in sight.
Cheng Zhanya figured it must be back at home; Lin Hanbing hadn’t grabbed it when rushing her to the hospital.
Starving and desperate, she slid out of bed.
She’d go downstairs and buy something herself.
But she had no money.
Cheng Zhanya let out a frustrated laugh.
She sat on the bed sulking, not even sure how she’d get home.
The door creaked open.
Lin Hanbing appeared in the doorway. Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of grievance, Cheng Zhanya felt a lump like a thorn in her throat, choking back a sob.
“Where did you go?”
Lin Hanbing sensed something was wrong immediately. She held up the bag in her hand. “You’ve been asleep all day. I figured you’d wake up hungry, so I went out to buy some food.”
“Why are you crying?”
She set her things down and hurried to her wife’s side, pulling her into an embrace.
“Yaya, it’s okay. It’s my fault.”
“I shouldn’t have left while you were sleeping.”
“I was gone a bit too long. I’m sorry—please don’t cry.”
Lin Hanbing cooed like she was soothing a child, apologizing over and over without tiring.
Whether from the illness or the pregnancy, Cheng Zhanya suddenly felt fragile, grievances surging uncontrollably.
The more Lin Hanbing spoke, the more she wanted to cry.
She didn’t pull away from the embrace. Her face pressed against Lin Hanbing’s waist, quickly soaking a patch with tears.
The familiar, long-missed scent filled her nostrils, bringing an overwhelming sense of security.
She cried until she was hiccupping before slowly calming.
Lin Hanbing had never seen Cheng Zhanya cry like this. Her nose was red, her eyelashes clumped with tears, streaks of them varying in depth across her face. Her pale, illness-flushed lips parted slightly in a pitiful expression.
