Chapter 65: Waiting for a Miracle

“How many days has it been? Is Young Master Fu still keeping vigil by her bedside?”
“Yes. Ever since Miss Song came out of surgery, he hasn’t left her side. He won’t eat, won’t drink, and hasn’t slept at all. If this continues, he might collapse before Miss Song ever wakes up.”
“Do you think Miss Song will ever regain consciousness?”
“Let’s hope she does. Otherwise, Young Master Fu…”

The hushed voices outside the hospital room abruptly fell silent. Whatever the two were thinking, it ended with a sigh.

These two were He Lin, Fu Wenzhou’s secretary, and Chen Shu, his assistant.

Chen Shu had been assigned to a subsidiary for half a year. It was only after Song Qingyou’s sudden accident and Fu Wenzhou’s complete abandonment of company affairs that he rushed back. Over the past days, Chen Shu had learned about what happened between Fu Wenzhou and Song Qingyou from He Lin. But even though he had prepared himself, seeing his boss waste away—refusing food, water, or rest—still left him deeply shaken.

“I’ll go in and try to talk to him again,” Chen Shu said, still anxious. “You head back to the company. Hold any urgent documents that need approval. I’ll handle them when I return.”

Now that Fu Wenzhou was ignoring company matters, Chen Shu had become everyone’s anchor. He Lin nodded, “Alright, I understand.”

After He Lin left, Chen Shu instinctively softened his footsteps as he pushed open the door and entered the room.

The entire room was bright and spotless, with machines on the bedside table beeping intermittently.

On the snow-white bed lay someone who seemed merely to be sleeping peacefully. Yet she wore an oxygen tube, her complexion as pale as porcelain, making the darkness of her brows and eyes stand out starkly.

Her lips, however, were utterly devoid of color. At a glance, she resembled a broken doll.

Fu Wenzhou sat at her bedside, clutching her hand, staring at her with a vacant, bloodshot gaze, his whole being lost and at a loss.

As Chen Shu approached, Fu Wenzhou’s head snapped up, his eyes brimming with menace.

“It’s me, Young Master Fu,” Chen Shu quickly said.

Fu Wenzhou withdrew his gaze. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse to the point of pain: “Keep your voice down. Don’t wake her.”

In that instant, Chen Shu even stilled his own breathing.

All the words of comfort he’d prepared stuck in his throat, impossible to voice.

A Fu Wenzhou like this needed no one’s advice.

He had already lost all reason and composure. Chen Shu even thought that if he dared suggest Miss Song might not wake anytime soon, or urged Fu Wenzhou to rest, he just might be torn apart on the spot.

In the end, he could only say, “Please stay here with Miss Song. I’ll take care of the company.”

Fu Wenzhou didn’t reply, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Song Qingyou lying in bed.

Whether he heard or not, or perhaps simply didn’t care, or perhaps, from beginning to end, Song Qingyou was the only one who existed in his heart and eyes—nothing anyone else said mattered.

At last, Chen Shu couldn’t hold back and tried to persuade him: “President Fu, please eat something and get some rest. If Miss Song knew you were destroying yourself like this, she would be heartbroken.”

Perhaps it was the mention of “Miss Song” that provoked something in Fu Wenzhou. His eyes moved dully, and he rasped, “If she really cared about me, she’d open her eyes and order me to eat and rest.”

His voice sounded on the verge of tears. Chen Shu couldn’t bear to look any longer and slipped out quietly.

With a soft click, as the door gently closed, the room once again sank into a deathly silence.

Fu Wenzhou felt a panic he couldn’t explain, rising to his feet in restless anxiety. He checked the machine monitoring Song Qingyou’s vital signs, then gingerly placed his ear against her chest.

He listened for a long time, finally reassured by the faint heartbeat beneath her ribs. Only then did he relax and sit back down.

And so he sat, staring dazedly at Song Qingyou.

He hardly dared to blink, terrified that in the brief moment his eyes closed, he would miss the instant she awoke.

Fu Wenzhou gripped her hand tightly—firm, yet careful, afraid of hurting her, yet even more afraid she would slip away.

“Youyou, won’t you open your eyes and look at your little dog?” he begged, his plea little more than a whimper, as though a great hound had been reduced to desperate sorrow at its master’s side.

Bruises still lingered on Song Qingyou’s neck, stark and harrowing against her pale skin.

The events of that day replayed endlessly in his mind; every time he closed his eyes, he saw her lying—clothes in disarray, silent and motionless—across the sofa.

Blood clung to the corner of her lips; she looked as if she’d shatter at a touch.

So he didn’t dare close his eyes.

He kept thinking, perhaps the next moment she would wake, even if only to scold him, to show her disdain—as long as she could wake, as long as she could look at him, alive.

“Youyou, if you don’t wake up soon, I’ll go and kill Fu Tingshen. I’ll chop him to pieces and feed him to the dogs, let the whole world know I was the one who killed him…”

“And then I’ll become a murderer, I’ll go to prison. Do you really want to see me like that?”

“Youyou…”

“Have you abandoned me?”

But no matter what he said, the figure on the bed remained unmoved.

She lay there, serene as if her soul had been drawn away, as if she would never return.

Fu Wenzhou carefully held her hand, unable to resist leaning forward once more to press his ear to her chest…

Agitated, violent, despairing, and afraid—only the faint heartbeat could offer him the slightest comfort.

He had repeated this action countless times over the past days. Every time he stood, his heart pounded with terror; every time he sat, he was caught between despair and relief.

Waves of doctors had come and gone; he had summoned every person who might have a chance to save her, but always received the same answer.

“All we can do now is wait for a miracle.”

He didn’t know what day it was when he heard someone say those words.

He immediately leaped up, seized the speaker by the collar, and began to rain down his fists!

“Who are you to curse her? Don’t you dare curse her!”

He attacked the man like a madman, and everyone nearby rushed over in panic to intervene.

Yet even with a dozen people, no one could pull him away.

Seeing he was about to beat the man to death, a doctor had no choice but to sedate him.

Fearing he would lose his mind if he awoke and didn’t see Song Qingyou, they arranged his bed right next to hers.

So that whenever he woke, he would see her.

Everyone thought Young Master Fu had gone mad.

As Song Qingyou’s coma dragged on, it was as if, for Fu Wenzhou, no one else in the world existed but her. Not even Chen Shu could get close.

Gu Bai and the others came and went in silence.

As Fu Wenzhou’s friends, they understood all too well what Song Qingyou meant to him. With her collapse, it was as if his soul had been taken too.

To bring Song Qingyou back, and to keep Fu Wenzhou from descending into utter madness, they exhausted every resource, bringing in the finest doctors from around the globe to treat her.

But it was all to no avail.

Just as the doctor who had nearly been beaten to death said, perhaps all that was left was to wait for a miracle.