Life and death—what words are these? The connection between people is truly fragile; a door or an illuminated emergency light is enough to sever it.
Meng Chen’s condition suddenly worsened, and emergency surgery had to be performed.
“Beta” sat on the floor, feeling pain all over his body, but not knowing where exactly the pain was. He wasn’t a true “beta”; a little over a month ago, he had removed his glands.
The memories of the surgery were hazy for the “beta”; he had only checked Meng Chen’s latest diagnosis. That day, he gazed at it for a long time, until dusk fell, leaving only a dim, yellowish lamp in the study.
The document stated that his pheromones were also the source of the Omega’s suffering. With tears dried up, the “beta” sat on a chair, just staring, until dawn.
He suddenly recalled the young man lying on a bench in the park outside the hospital, barely clinging to life, and he felt a terrible ache. When he learned that the young man had returned to the small town, he didn’t think much of it, assuming the young man had been deeply hurt and no longer wished to remain in the city.
So he thought, then he would go there.
He bought a house in the seaside town, but there was a lot of work to transfer everything there, which wasn’t easy. He prepared many ways to express himself—apologies, regrets, persuasions—he considered everything. If Meng Chen wanted a home, he would give it, as long as Meng Chen still wanted it, he could give anything.
But he didn’t expect to follow Meng Chen to the hospital.
Only at this moment, after reviewing the medical records, did he belatedly notice the signs: the young man’s sleeping pills, occasional headaches, and the winding, twisted glands. Meng Chen had said, “risking his life to get close to him,” and it was true.
It was truly risking his life, regardless of cost, regardless of gains and losses, like a moth to a flame.
The next day, he went to the hospital.
People around him said he had gone mad; being a top alpha was not just a kind of power, but also a symbol of status.
Yet he unhesitatingly signed the papers and entered the operating room after repeated confirmation. Status or position, he suddenly wanted none of it.
He only wanted to see Meng Chen.
This S-class alpha status was but shackles to him.
So be it, even if it meant carving out his flesh and bones; he was a gambler at the end of his rope, and even if the path ahead was beset with thorns and uncertainty, he could still walk it.
He didn’t know if this counted as atonement.
This love came too late, and his regret too late as well.
By the time he realized, his Omega was nearly gone.
A true farewell.
A farewell where breath turns to air and dust returns to earth.
He had actually made a lot of efforts, finding top experts in this field and equipping the local hospital with more advanced equipment. However, it seemed to no avail. With each examination, Meng Chen’s indicators were heading in a worse direction.
Like a withering flower, or a dried-up stream.
In September, Meng Chen went blind.
Zeng Lin finally stood before Meng Chen—under the guise of a “beta.”
Meng Chen was very thin, and at times, his limbs were weak, making even walking quite strenuous. Meng Chen’s eyes had issues, with complications pressing on his nerves, leaving him unable to see, his gaze always unfocused.
When the old man cried, Meng Chen said, “Everyone will leave eventually, it’s alright.”
Only after the old man left did Zeng Lin hear Meng Chen’s sobs.
“Lin-ge, I actually… really want to live,” Meng Chen smiled, tears rolling down.
“Tell me, why is life so bitter? Not even a hint of sweetness for me.”
Zeng Lin opened his mouth, tears falling silently. Meng Chen would occasionally reveal his rare vulnerability in front of him. The reason was simple—Meng Chen didn’t want to spread negative emotions to the old man. But humans need to vent, and with this “stranger,” Meng Chen could be more at ease.
After a while, he approached Meng Chen, opened his palm, and gently wrote:
“It will be okay.”
Four words with little strength.
But he couldn’t think of any other words of comfort.
On September 13th, Meng Chen surprisingly went out, and when he returned, a pot of flowers appeared in the ward. It wasn’t for aesthetics; Meng Chen said they were both patients, so adding some life energy would prevent it from feeling too gloomy.
“If the flowers bloom, maybe we’ll get better too?” Meng Chen had laughed then.
Flowers were the cheapest bargain.
It was a small jasmine plant, with few buds but many lush leaves, brimming with vitality.
On September 22nd, the first bud bloomed on that pot.
Perhaps Meng Chen was right, Zeng Lin thought.
—And he secretly bought the most suitable nutrients for the jasmine’s growth.
On September 25th, the buds had grown even bigger.
The flowers are about to bloom, Zeng Lin thought.
It will be okay, right?
September 26th, as the summer heat dissipated, a light drizzle fell in the evening. After the rain stopped, Meng Chen and the old man went downstairs, seemingly for a stroll.
How long does it take for jasmine buds to fully bloom? Zeng Lin didn’t know, so he spent a while searching on his phone.
It’s almost time, probably next week.
It will definitely be okay.
On the evening of September 26th, a glass shattered on the floor.
Shattered debris everywhere.
Would it really get better?
————————————-
The surgery lasted nine hours.
The doctor came out exhausted, and Zeng Lin staggered over immediately.
“How is he?”
“The surgery went relatively smoothly, the patient’s will to live is strong—” The doctor paused. “But the patient’s body is too weak, whether it succeeds or not depends on the situation going forward.”
Through the glass of the intensive care unit, Zeng Lin saw Meng Chen again.
The Omega had his eyes closed, tubes inserted all over his body, connected to various machines.
The old man had come a few times, wanting to stay with his child, but lacked the strength. He had been too anxious recently and had been running around too much, his body could no longer handle it. That night, after such an incident, he collapsed. Zeng Lin arranged for the old man to rest while he kept watch in the ward.
At 10 a.m., the ward was quiet, and Meng Chen’s heartbeat was displayed on the monitor.
Rising and falling.
At 10:36 a.m., Meng Chen’s heart stopped for the first time.
The emergency room lights lit up again, wheels rolling across the floor, as if crushing Zeng Lin’s bleeding heart.
At 11:40 a.m., Zeng Lin held Meng Chen’s hand.
Through a layer of gloves, Zeng Lin gently grasped it. Those hands were so cold, as if they would never warm up again:
“Chen Chen…”
“Don’t go, wait a few more days… The jasmine is about to bloom.”
“I even changed to the best potting soil, we’ve cared for it all this time, we have to see it bloom, right?”
If the flowers bloom, maybe the person will come back too?
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