Chapter 75: Someone Paid His Hospital Bill
Song Yinxing stared at him for several seconds before finally seeming to process what he had heard and slowly spoke.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I can’t really explain it either.” Gu Yang tried to recall what he had been thinking at the time. “Nie Ying kept trying to talk to me. It was so noisy—really unbearably noisy.”
Then, at the moment he fell into the water, the entire world became quiet.
“A ten-meter diving platform—did you ever think about what the consequences would be if something went wrong?”
Of course Gu Yang hadn’t thought about any of that. But for some reason, he suddenly didn’t dare meet Song Yinxing’s gaze. Perhaps he instinctively sensed that something was wrong.
It was like a basin that had finally been filled with water after much effort, only for it all to suddenly tip over and pour down onto him.
“But didn’t you make a promise with me about the future?”
The muscles on Song Yinxing’s face moved almost imperceptibly. That tiny change cracked a fissure in his otherwise cold expression.
Hearing that sentence, Gu Yang instinctively leaned back.
His wandering gaze—always unable to settle—now also failed to remain on the other person, yet he still said aloud,
“Oh? Did I say something like that? I don’t remember.”
Song Yinxing’s heart suddenly sank.
He was playing dumb, and not even skillfully—like a child throwing a tantrum.
If he had known it would come to this, he should have recorded it on his phone at the time. Then he could press Gu Yang’s head down and make him listen to it now.
But Song Yinxing knew that wasn’t the way to solve the problem.
“You don’t have to say things like that,” he said softly.
He wasn’t trying to force Gu Yang to give him any promise. He only hoped that Gu Yang would live well.
That was why he had tried to bind him with talk of promises and the future.
Gu Yang took a slow, deep breath.
Everything still felt unbearably noisy. Every sound around him seemed amplified—the rustle of fabric, the drip of the IV, even the silent flutter of some insect’s wings somewhere—all tormenting his overly delicate, sensitive nerves.
Fragments related to Song Yinxing kept flashing uncontrollably through his mind, along with that unfinished sentence.
Inside him, restlessness surged violently. That gloomy agitation pushed him to the edge of despair, yet his body imprisoned him in place, unable to move.
He could feel that something was disintegrating the balance within him, slowly pushing him toward destruction.
Song Yinxing continued staring at Gu Yang.
Even though he had already noticed that Gu Yang was uncomfortable under his gaze, that look had become almost obsessive. There was no one else in the room now, and Gu Yang clearly lacked the will to defend himself.
So no one could stop him from doing anything.
…Anything.
He didn’t know why such thoughts had appeared—violent yet strangely ambiguous thoughts that startled him so much he took a step back.
Gu Yang possessed a peculiar quality.
The more he was harmed, the more it seemed to reveal itself.
It lured people into exhausting their rationality, letting desire replace restraint.
The moment Song Yinxing realized what he was thinking, he pulled himself back almost instantly.
It was as if he had suddenly regained his composure.
The emotional shift was so abrupt it bordered on the neurotic.
Perhaps sensing Gu Yang’s rejection, he didn’t say another word.
Taking advantage of the silence, Gu Yang quickly slid under the blanket, pulled it over his head, and forcefully refused any further conversation.
Song Yinxing looked at the lumped-up blanket and sighed silently in his heart.
—
“I think I’ve fallen in love with someone.”
In a similar hospital, in a similar ward, Song Yinxing sat beside the bed—only the person he was speaking to had changed.
His tone was calm and ordinary, the same tone he used every time he reported exam results after the unified tests.
Across from him, Fang Lan listened gently. She didn’t speak immediately, because she knew there was more to come.
“He…”
Song Yinxing didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say. He closed his eyes, then finally said, “He’s a boy.”
Fang Lan parted her lips, surprise flickering across her face before quickly fading.
Her child had always been so excellent and sensible, yet she had dragged him down. At such a young age, he had already had to shoulder the burden of the entire family.
This matter was far beyond the limits of her own worldview, yet she couldn’t bear to criticize him.
Moreover, a mother understood her child best. She could sense that this wasn’t what he truly wanted to say.
“He… really helped me a lot,” Song Yinxing said.
He didn’t want his mother to worry, so he couldn’t go into detail. But he knew he needed someone to confide in.
“Then what do you like about him, Xingxing?” Fang Lan asked softly. “Is it because that boy helped you a lot, so you’re grateful to him?”
“No.”
Song Yinxing denied it immediately.
He could tell his mother was asking whether he had confused gratitude with love.
“He always appears when I need him most and reaches out to help me.”
“Even though his personality is terrible, he says frivolous things sometimes, and he likes teasing me.”
“But when things get serious, he pushes me away directly—won’t even give me a chance to get close.”
He spoke slowly, the emotions layered into each sentence making his pronunciation tremble, until his throat could barely bear it.
“I was just thinking… maybe I’m overestimating myself.”
By the time he reached that point, he could barely breathe. His heart ached with a sour, piercing pain. Even reaching that conclusion was almost more than he could endure.
“He has his friends. He has his family. He doesn’t actually need me. He just wants to help others. He doesn’t need anything from me in return.”
With difficulty, Fang Lan lifted her arm and placed her hand over his—his hand that had been trembling while digging into his own palm.
That small action exhausted the little strength she had left.
But Song Yinxing finally stopped hurting himself.
The expression on his face was painful, yet the pain wasn’t self-pity. It carried a strong sense of aggression.
“Is it the classmate you brought here that day?” Fang Lan asked while holding his hand.
Song Yinxing suddenly looked up.
Understanding appeared on Fang Lan’s weary face.
“That was the only classmate you’ve brought here in all these years.”
But he hadn’t brought him.
Gu Yang had insisted on coming along.
And he himself had felt conflicted—resisting, yet secretly hopeful.
“No wonder,” Fang Lan said softly. “The way you looked at that classmate was very different.”
She had little strength left, so she half-closed her eyes while continuing to speak.
Back when her health was better, she used to visit temples during holidays. The temples were crowded, incense swirling everywhere, worshippers’ eyes filled with devotion as they told the compassionate Buddha statues their wishes.
That day, she had seen a similar expression in her son’s eyes.
Was that really it?
Song Yinxing thought in a daze, as if his heart had finally been struck by the truth.
What exactly had that hidden expectation been that day?
He had always hoped that one day he would meet someone who would become special in his heart.
But every step between them had been taken by Gu Yang first.
So the one holding the initiative had always been him.
Which meant that although Song Yinxing had already fallen in love, he had no idea what the other person was thinking.
“I remember clearly,” Fang Lan continued. “Your classmate had a very refined temperament. Standing in this room, he seemed completely out of place.”
She had once worked as a nanny for wealthy families, so she could tell immediately that this classmate must have been either rich or powerful. There was a faint sense of weariness around him—the kind that came after material desires had long been satisfied.
“But I could also tell that he was a very lonely child,” she said, her voice ending with a powerless sigh.
“When he watched you and me talking, there was envy in his eyes. Later, when the doctor called you out, I tried to speak with him. He awkwardly turned his head away, then took an apple from the fruit basket and peeled it for me.”
“I’d never seen someone peel an apple like that before. I couldn’t help laughing a little. He must have felt embarrassed—his ears turned red.”
It was the first time Song Yinxing had heard his mother describe that day.
He listened carefully. Anything related to Gu Yang, he wanted to know.
“The things he has are only what you see on the surface. What he’s going through inside has nothing to do with what he owns.”
“Since you like him, then be brave. Be even braver.”
“Don’t leave yourself with regrets.”
—
When the doctor called him out, Song Yinxing’s mind was still filled with that conversation.
He hadn’t told his mother because he wanted to update her on his life.
…He had simply wanted emotional support.
Seeking emotional comfort from his bedridden mother—he found himself pitiful and laughable.
But he truly didn’t know what to do anymore.
He steadied his emotions, preparing to receive the bill from the doctor.
His studies were demanding, and he had already quit all his part-time jobs. Fortunately, the semester was ending soon, and the school scholarship would be issued shortly. That should help him get through.
But the heavy bill wasn’t handed to him.
Instead, the doctor said lightly that someone had already paid for the next several rounds of treatment.
Song Yinxing froze and immediately asked who it was.
The doctor found it strange that he had no idea, but roughly described the person: a gentle-looking man in his fifties or sixties.
Song Yinxing flipped through the documents and saw the signature on the payment page.
Huang Mingjie.
And the driver beside Gu Yang… had the surname Huang.
—
“Isn’t it cold with the window open like that?”
A cool voice sounded from the doorway.
Xia Chun walked in holding a bouquet of flowers and placed it aside.
“It’s a bit stuffy. Just letting some air in,” Gu Yang said lazily.
The cold wind blowing in made the whole room freezing. Xia Chun instinctively wrapped his coat tighter, staring at Gu Yang—still in a hospital gown and unmoved—wondering if his senses were malfunctioning.
He grabbed the blanket nearby and tossed it over.
“After falling into the water, are you planning to catch a cold by standing in the draft?”
Gu Yang curled his lips, clearly unwilling to discuss the topic.
“I saw it,” Xia Chun said calmly. “Nie Ying didn’t push you. You fell in yourself.”
“But don’t worry. I didn’t tell anyone.”
He leaned against the window.
“Though I still don’t understand why you’d do that.”
“If you were trying to frame Nie Ying, the price is way too high. Not cost-effective.”
Gu Yang said nothing.
Seeing that, Xia Chun didn’t press further. He looked out the window for a long time before speaking again.
“Right next to this hospital…”
His tone grew colder.
“My mother bought an apartment in a newly developed complex there. Seven or eight years ago. The location was good, marketed as a high-end neighborhood, so prices were insanely high. It basically cost all our savings.”
“She really wanted a house of her own, so she was very happy. She even watched all kinds of renovation videos.”
“But the developer went bankrupt. The whole project became an unfinished building.”
“My relationship with her wasn’t great. But when I saw the look on her face when she came back from there… I still hugged her.”
“I was afraid she might not be able to take it and jump from a building.”
“For a long time she kept saying the house was gone, the money was gone. But I didn’t really feel it.”
“Years later, she slowly recovered. Now she doesn’t wander near that place anymore.”
“Does nobody deal with the unfinished building?” Gu Yang finally asked.
“Who would?” Xia Chun sneered. “The developer ran away after bankruptcy. Some people came to investigate later, but nothing ever happened.”
“For families like ours, sometimes one house can trap us for an entire lifetime.”
He relaxed his tone.
“Anyway, it was years ago. I just happened to think of it.”
“What felt like the sky collapsing back then—we still survived it.”
“So why try to kill yourself over something like that?”
The implication was obvious.
Gu Yang continued fiddling with the tassels on the blanket before finally saying softly,
“Sounds reasonable. Let’s both keep that in mind.”
—
Not long after, a voice message played from Gu Yang’s phone.
“Ah Yang, I’m already in the lobby. I’ll be upstairs soon.”
It was He Ming’an’s voice.
Xia Chun’s face changed instantly.
“I have to go,” he said quickly. “Don’t tell him I was here.”
But instead of leaving through the door, he glanced outside.
The ward was on the third floor.
After looking down briefly, Xia Chun climbed out the window and dropped.
Gu Yang hurried to look. Xia Chun climbed down along the pipes and landed heavily but seemed fine.
He glanced up at Gu Yang before quickly leaving.
“Ah Yang.”
The door opened. He Ming’an entered.
Seeing Gu Yang leaning out the window in his thin hospital gown, barefoot, he frowned.
“How can you stand there wearing so little?”
He dragged Gu Yang back to the bed, covered him with the blanket, and closed the window.
After making sure Gu Yang was fine, his breathing finally calmed.
“Didn’t you go abroad for something?” Gu Yang asked. “Finished already?”
He rarely asked about such things, making it sound like he was just trying to fill the silence.
He Ming’an smiled.
“It’s all done, so I bought an earlier flight back.”
“I heard you fell into the water before boarding the plane. Even though they said you were fine, I was still worried.”
“The vice principal told me Nie Ying pushed you.”
“But the cameras didn’t catch it clearly.”
“However, another camera showed a student sneaking into the control room and adjusting the camera angle.”
Gu Yang wrapped himself tighter in the blanket, looking completely unrepentant.
“So what? If I want some private time, I don’t want cameras watching me the whole time.”
So he knew all along.
He Ming’an silently realized that.
—
Two days later at school, students were gossiping.
“Have you heard? Gu Yang from Class Eleven fell from the diving platform.”
“I heard Nie Ying pushed him.”
“The swimming pool is closed because of that.”
“And Xia Chun from our class was there too—she jumped in to save him.”
“What? I thought she was afraid of water?”
“Probably pretending. When she saw the young master of the Gu family, she rushed over. Look, she got benefits from it…”
Their voices gradually lowered when they saw Xia Chun enter.
He sat down calmly, expression cold as always.
Not long after, the swimming pool door creaked open.
Gu Yang—already discharged—walked in while talking on the phone, smiling faintly.
“Didn’t He Ming’an lock the pool? How did you get in?”
“…I picked the lock.”
Gu Yang laughed.
“You said you had a surprise for me?”
“Look up,” the voice said.
Gu Yang raised his head.
On the diving platform stood a figure.
Too far away to see clearly.
“Ah,” Gu Yang said lightly. “I see you.”
“Good,” the voice replied.
Then the figure leaned forward—
and fell.
Gu Yang’s pupils shrank violently.
His phone dropped to the floor.
A thunderous crash of water echoed through the pool.
