Chapter 102: Does Your Stomach Still Hurt?

The tea fragrance still wafted gently, but the air had grown so heavy it was suffocating. The lights outside the window continued to flow, yet Shen Jia Yan’s world felt like it had been drained into a vacuum.

She finally understood that those sudden bouts of coldness back then weren’t distance—they were struggle…

Lü Xin paused for a moment before saying, “After she clearly rejected you that year, she said something to me: ‘The one thing she feels she did most wrong to you was giving you hope, only to snuff it out with her own hands.'”

She sniffled as she spoke.

Those words were like a knife that had arrived five years late, finally piercing through all of Shen Jia Yan’s forced composure.

She had always thought the most painful moment was the rejection itself. But now she realized the true pain lay in knowing the other person hurt too—that every step she took away was like carving out her own heart.

The private room fell into a terrifying silence.

Shen Jia Yan suddenly stood up, her movement so swift that it knocked over the chair behind her.

With a loud “clang,” the chair crashed onto the carpet, the muffled thud piercing in the quiet room.

Lü Xin jumped in surprise and looked up at her.

Shen Jia Yan grabbed her coat, her fingers trembling slightly yet resolute. “Lü Xin, can you tell me which hospital Wan Ning is in and her room number?”

Lü Xin nodded instinctively.

“Thanks. Just send the address to my phone.” Before Lü Xin could react, she had already turned and left. The hem of her trench coat flared behind her like a resolute silhouette. The door slammed shut, cutting off the remaining warm light in the room.

Lü Xin stared at the door that had just closed, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

I hope I didn’t make a mistake by telling Jia Yan about this on my own…

The black G-Class tore into the night, its engine roaring as it shattered the darkness’s silence.

Shen Jia Yan gripped the steering wheel tightly. The dashboard’s bluish glow illuminated her sharp profile, her eyes as keen as a hawk’s, fixed on the receding darkness ahead.

Traffic lights, streams of cars, the city’s clamor—all blurred into the background.

Wind poured in through the half-open window, tousling her hair, but it couldn’t disperse the storm surging in her heart.

Rain began to fall, starting as scattered drops that soon wove into a dense net, pounding the windshield like countless tiny hands battering her sanity. In the rearview mirror, the city’s lights stretched into flowing trails by the rain, mirroring her unrelenting heartbeat.

She bit her lower lip hard, bloodshot eyes staring at the rain-blurred road ahead as she floored the accelerator.

One hand on the wheel, the other clutching her phone, her fingers swiped across the screen to open the message Lü Xin had just sent, leaving an almost ghostly afterimage.

But clearer than the text were Lü Xin’s words in the café, dissecting years of misunderstanding word by word.

“She really likes you and doesn’t want to lose you.” “I’ve never seen Wan Ning work so hard alone for something.” “She really tried her best—she did everything she could and even things she couldn’t…”

Each word was like a dull blade, sawing repeatedly at her heart.

She recalled that night when she’d coldly told Wen Wan Ning, “Who are you to think I’m still waiting for you?” She remembered the decisiveness of her departure, the “click” of the door shutting, and the hollow exhaustion in the cold car, thinking she’d finally severed her obsession.

But in truth, what she’d severed might have been the last flicker of courage in the girl who had once stood alone against the world for her sake.

She slapped herself hard across the face. The crisp sound exploded in the confined car, her cheek instantly burning.

But that pain was a fraction of the tear ripping through her chest.

It wasn’t venting—it was punishment. Punishment for the self who’d wallowed in self-pity for five years. Punishment for the self who’d justified hating her with “being abandoned.” Punishment for the self who’d turned away when Wen Wan Ning needed her most.

The rain grew heavier, the wipers swinging futilely across the windshield, as if wiping away her blurred vision.

The car screeched into the hospital parking spot, tires shrieking against the pavement. Shen Jia Yan shoved open the door, wind lifting the edge of her coat as rain immediately soaked her shoulder.

She paid it no mind, charging into the lobby with wet hair plastered to her cheeks, breathing ragged.

In the elevator, the metal doors closed slowly before her, reflecting her disheveled image: drenched hair, flushed cheeks, and eyes bloodshot yet blazing.

She leaned against the cold wall, nails digging into her palms, as if only pain could keep her clear-headed. Lü Xin’s address was etched in her mind, along with those belated truths churning and burning in her chest.

“Ding—”

The elevator stopped on the third floor, doors sliding open.

The hallway lights were stark white, the scent of disinfectant hitting her like a wave. It was so quiet she could hear her own heartbeat thundering. Her heels clicked against the floor, echoing in the emptiness like a countdown: one step, another.

Room 306.

She finally stood before the door.

Her hand rose halfway but hesitated, afraid to fall.

She heard her heartbeat roaring louder than the distant nurses’ station murmurs, the AC’s hum, the world’s clamor.

Knock, and the door would open. Open, and she’d be inside.

But what would Wen Wan Ning think? Would she hate her? Hate her decisiveness and coldness from just two days ago?

Five years.

She’d built walls of resentment, shields of misunderstanding, convinced herself she’d moved on.

But now, the walls crumbled, the shields shattered. She stood bare, riddled with guilt and longing.

Suddenly, a faint cough came from inside— so familiar it instantly rimmed her eyes with red.

She drew a deep breath, and her fingertips finally descended.

“Knock, knock, knock.” Three soft raps echoed in the silent hallway like heartbeats, like a pendulum, like fate finally being summoned.

“Come in.” The voice was faint, hoarse from illness, yet it struck her like lightning, coursing through her limbs.

She pushed open the door, warm yellow light spilling out.

Wen Wan Ning half-reclined against the headboard, a thin blanket over her, a book in hand. She looked toward the door.

Upon seeing who it was, she froze, pupils contracting in disbelief. She instinctively straightened up a bit, fingers trembling as the book slipped silently onto the blanket.

“Jia Yan?” she called softly, her voice trembling with incredulity.

Shen Jia Yan stood in the doorway, her coat carrying the night’s chill, hair disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, as if she’d trekked through a storm. Rainwater trailed from her shoulders, pooling dark spots on the floor.

She stood rooted, throat constricted, unable to speak. The torrent of words from the car now clogged her chest, weighing her down.

“You… how did you come here?” Wen Wan Ning finally found her voice, so low it was barely audible. “It’s so late now.”

Shen Jia Yan finally moved, each step on the floor like treading on knife points. She reached the bedside and stopped, gazing down at the hand that had once flipped through case files for her, signed winning briefs, and gripped her wrist tightly.

Now it lay quietly on the blanket—pale, knuckles defined, an IV needle taped to the back, blue veins stark under translucent skin.

“I…” Her voice came out hoarse beyond recognition. “I heard you were hospitalized, so… I came.”

Wen Wan Ning stared at her in a daze, rain dripping from her hair tips, sliding down her jaw to splatter on the floor.

She tried to sit up, but agony in her abdomen made her gasp, cold sweat beading on her forehead instantly.

“Don’t move!” Shen Jia Yan reached out instinctively, halting midway, fingers quivering. In the end, she only gently pressed her back onto the pillow.

The air stilled for seconds.

Shen Jia Yan slowly sat, leveling her gaze with Wen Wan Ning’s. She reached out, fingertips brushing the back of her hand—icy cold, making her heart clench.

“Does your stomach still hurt?” she asked softly, her voice laced with suppressed pain, as if it had spread to her own body.

Wen Wan Ning was caught off guard by this sudden gentleness. Not long ago, those sharp words had nailed her to a cross of self-blame; that “click” of the door still carved into her ears like a blade…

Yet now, she sat by the bed, eyes free of reproach or distance—only heartfelt concern.

Wen Wan Ning’s fingers trembled, wanting to pull away but unable. She feared one move would shatter this dream.

“No… it doesn’t hurt anymore.” Her voice was weak, instinctively denying as always—hiding fragility, feigning strength like countless times facing her emotions before.

Shen Jia Yan said nothing, simply enveloping her hand in her own, warming it with her body heat.

Her palm bore thin calluses from years of drumming and piano keys, rubbing against Wen Wan Ning’s skin with a realness that bordered on pain.

Wen Wan Ning turned her head slightly, her gaze landing abruptly on Shen Jia Yan’s swollen left cheek, a clear handprint still visible.

She frowned, her voice feeble yet carrying Wen Wan Ning’s signature sharpness and care. “What happened to your face?”

The tone held no blame—only heartache, instinctive concern she couldn’t hide. Even in weakness, her first thought was worry for her.

Shen Jia Yan didn’t evade, only gripping tighter, the calluses confirming reality. Tears welled in her eyes, but her lips curved faintly, as if pain had twisted into a smile.

She didn’t answer, instead drawing a soft breath. “Lü Xin met me tonight.”

Wen Wan Ning stiffened, pupils quivering like an old wound torn open. She instinctively tried to withdraw her hand, but Shen Jia Yan held too firmly, as if dragging her from past to present.

The room fell silent. The rain outside seemed distant, leaving only their intermingled breaths.

Shen Jia Yan finally met her eyes, voice soft but each word knife-carved into bone.

“She told me that the first time you talked to your mom about liking girls, she said ‘Impossible’ and walked away.”

Wen Wan Ning’s breath hitched, shock flashing in her eyes.

“The second time, you talked to your dad, and he told you why Su Fang Yu was kicked out by your grandfather.”

Wen Wan Ning closed her eyes, throat bobbing violently.

“The third time, you brought all the hard-researched materials on homosexuality to your grandfather, but he didn’t even glance at them before tossing them aside.”

Her voice grew lower, heavier, as if pulling those unsaid pains from the darkness, word by word, on her behalf.