Tears streaming down her face, Zhen'en could scarcely believe her ears. She spun around in alarm. In the pale afternoon sunlight, the figure seemed almost translucent, a phantom leaning there—a face ashen, lips cracked, more like a spectral shadow than a person. Only the eyes held her gaze, flickering with pinpricks of fear and fragile vulnerability.

"Xia Mo—!" Zhen'en cried out, rushing forward to steady her. She helped Yin Xia Mo sit down on the bench and frantically pressed a hand to her forehead. The skin was slick with fine sweat, yet shockingly cool to the touch. The high fever seemed to have completely broken.

"When did you wake up? Why did you come out by yourself? I'll take you back!" "...What about Xiao Cheng? Why are you here? Why... why are you crying?" Yin Xia Mo's voice trembled as the questions tumbled out. Yet, as she stared blankly at the tears on Zhen'en's face, her mind slowly cleared. The chaotic memories began to sort themselves, including the hushed words she had dimly heard while unconscious.

Xiao Cheng and Ou Chen were inside having surgery, right? And Zhen'en’s face—streaked with terror and tears—did that mean—"...Did something go wrong with the surgery?" Her body turned instantly frigid, and the dizzying blackness threatened to swallow her whole again...

"..." Zhen'en forced a smile, shaking her head firmly. "No, the surgery went smoothly. I was just waiting alone outside and got a bit frightened, worrying needlessly, that’s why I cried. Xia Mo, let me take you back; you just had a fever, your body is very weak."

"Is that so..." Yin Xia Mo’s hands continued to tremble, though her voice gradually settled into a quiet calm.

She stared fixedly at the closed door of the operating room. The words "SURGERY IN PROGRESS" illuminated above it seemed like three dark crimson eyes. The image of Xiao Cheng’s fading form from her nightmare felt like a terrible omen, causing a tearing, churning sensation in her gut, as if she might vomit.

"Then... don't you cry..." Clasping Zhen'en's hand tightly, Yin Xia Mo shut her eyes, her fingers icy cold as stone.

"...They are operating... they need care... We cannot cry..." Time crawled by, second by agonizing second... Zhen'en began pacing restlessly outside the OR, occasionally wringing her hands and biting her lip.

Yin Xia Mo remained still, sitting erect, refusing to lean back against the bench. She sat bolt upright, as if all her vital energy had been poured into this single moment of waiting.

Inside the operating room, Ou Chen and Yin Cheng were separated by only a thin sheet, both unconscious under anesthesia. Doctors here were beginning to suture Ou Chen’s wounds, while those over there were intently monitoring the fluctuating vitals of Yin Cheng—"Blood pressure is rising!" "50—20!" "0—30!" "70—40!" "90—0!" "Blood pressure is stabilizing!" "Good, continue the procedure, monitor the pressure closely!" The clean clink of metal instruments resumed inside the theater. Yin Cheng lay motionless, tubes connected everywhere, his dark eyelashes resting gently like a fawn’s over his pale skin.

Time slipped away, minute by minute... The afternoon sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting the long bench outside the OR in the soft blush of twilight. Zhen'en could no longer bear the tension of waiting, standing near the door, stamping her foot, desperate to somehow squeeze through the crack in the door! Yin Xia Mo kept her gaze locked on the "SURGERY IN PROGRESS" sign, her hands growing colder and stiffer, seated like a statue carved from ice.

Summer of Foam III