Upon arriving at Xiaoyu’s ward, all was well. At that moment, Sister Xiaoyu sat beside Old He, feeding him slice after slice of peeled apple. Though he was sightless, Xiaoshu could discern the sweet intimacy between the two from the perpetually upturned corners of Old He’s mouth. This sight instantly conjured memories of years past, sitting on the balcony with Yingzi, sharing grape and sour plum preserves. A smile, hauntingly similar, seemed to have once graced Yingzi’s lips too. Recalling how Li Xiaohao could coax a radiant smile from her brought an ineffable bitterness welling up in his chest. Perhaps love was precisely this: when present, life tasted as sweet as honey; once it vanished, that exquisite sweetness was irrevocably gone, leaving behind nothing but bitter memories.

While Xiaoshu was lost in thought, she suddenly heard Xiaoyu let out a few faint moans. She rushed over, sat by the bedside, gently patted his shoulder, and called out his name. This followed an ancient custom: whenever someone narrowly escaped death and awoke from a coma, their name had to be spoken aloud to summon back both their good and evil souls simultaneously. Otherwise, only the malevolent spirit would remain, causing a drastic personality shift upon full recovery. Xiaoshu had learned this story from Mrs. Nangong when they were children. Even though atheism had been prevalent for decades, when faced with such matters, people preferred to believe the old ways held truth rather than dismiss them entirely.

After several calls, Xiaoyu finally stirred. He slowly extended a hand from beneath the covers and instinctively reached for his eyes, only to have Xiaoshu gently intercept him. “Don’t touch the wound,” she cautioned. “The doctor just performed the transplant surgery for you.”

“Hmm? Why do I still feel like I have my eyes?” Xiaoyu asked weakly.

“Your eyes were transplanted to Xing’er, and Old He’s eyes were transplanted to you,” Xiaoshu explained slowly. Xiaoyu seemed not to comprehend, asking instead with confusion, “Weren’t my eyes supposed to go to Flower Aunt? What’s going on? How is Flower Aunt?”

“Flower Aunt…” Xiaoshu started to say that Flower Aunt was fine, but then she suddenly recalled that since Flower Aunt and 9457 had left the operating room, she hadn't managed to visit either of them, having only instructed Ali to stay and care for Flower Aunt. So, she amended, “Please wait a moment; I need to step out briefly and will tell you the full details when I return. Right now, Old He is lying to your right; he woke up long ago and is eating the apple your sister cut for him…” Before she could finish, his sister had already moved to the other side of Xiaoyu’s bed, taking his hand. “Sister is here, everything is fine. They said you would live…”

Seeing them begin to talk, Xiaoshu swiftly ran to Flower Aunt and 9457’s room, intending to check on Flower Aunt’s condition so she could report back to Xiaoyu. Instead, the moment she entered, she froze, stunned by the scene saturated with the smell of blood.

9457 lay on the bed, dark, viscous blood dripping rhythmically from his chest, soaking a wide patch of the floor. Ali was huddled in a corner, sobbing pitifully, while Flower Aunt lay motionless on her cot, showing no outward signs of injury.

“What happened?” Xiaoshu gently lifted Ali from the corner, patting her back to calm her distress, and asked in a soft voice.

“Waaah…” Ali cried, shaking her head vehemently. “The door suddenly flew open, and a black whirlwind blew in from outside. It swirled around that uncle’s bed, and a figure like a shadow stabbed fiercely into his chest with a triangular piece of wood. The uncle let out a terrible scream, and the shadow dissolved back into the black whirlwind, flying out the window. When I looked at the uncle again, blood was pouring from his chest—more and more of it, everywhere. I didn’t know what to do, waah…”