44 Hours
1068 Words
Thursday. 6:15 AM. ICU, 9th floor.
Ruan Zhi’s eyes were closed. Monitor: 68 BPM. Steady.
Gu Yanhuai hadn’t moved. Chair pulled flush to the bed rail. Her hand still in his. Cold, but alive.
He counted. In. Out.
At 6:20 AM, her fingers twitched.
“Hey,” he said. Voice wrecked from not using it. “I’m here.”
Her eyelids fluttered. Didn’t open. “‘M thirsty.”
He grabbed the sponge swab the nurse left. Dabbed her lips. Water, not ice. Dr. Zhang’s rules.
“Better?”
She hummed. “You stink.”
He almost smiled. “44 hours. You’d stink too.”
“Shower,” she mumbled. “Or I’m firing you. As family.”
“Yes, boss.”
7:03 AM. Dr. Zhang came in with the team. Stethoscope. Charts. Light in her eyes.
“Vitals look great,” she said. “Pain?”
Ruan Zhi cracked one eye open. “Only when he talks.”
Dr. Zhang laughed. “Good sign. We’ll get you sitting up today. Maybe walking tomorrow. Chest tube comes out if the drainage stays low.”
Gu Yanhuai stood. “When—”
“When she’s ready,” Dr. Zhang cut in. “Not when you’re impatient, Mr. Gu. She had a lobe removed yesterday. Let her body catch up.”
He sat back down. Nodded.
8:14 AM. Lin Wei was at the door. Coffee. New shirt for Gu Yanhuai. He didn’t come in.
“Report,” Gu Yanhuai said, not looking away from Ruan Zhi.
“Shanghai fell through,” Lin Wei said. Quiet. “We’re down 40B. Board’s screaming. Press is calling it the Yun Ding collapse.”
“Good.”
“Gu Zong—”
“Leave it on the chair. Go home, Lin Wei.”
Lin Wei left the coffee and shirt. The door clicked shut.
Ruan Zhi’s hand tightened on his. Barely. “i***t. Forty… billion.”
“Got you,” he said. “That’s worth more.”
She rolled her eyes. Fell back asleep.
10:32 AM. Physical therapy. A woman named Su with a clipboard and no sympathy.
“Up,” Su said. “We’re sitting.”
Ruan Zhi paled. “Can’t.”
“You can.” Su looked at Gu Yanhuai. “You. Help. Don’t lift. Support.”
He slid an arm behind her back. Felt how light she was. How the hospital gown did nothing to hide the drain, the IV, the bruises from the central line.
She swung her legs over. Gasped. Monitor spiked to 102.
“Breathe,” Su said. “In. Out. You’re okay.”
Ruan Zhi leaned into him. Forehead on his shoulder. “Hate this.”
“I know.” He kept his arm steady. “You’re doing it. One minute.”
She sat for three. Then her lips went white.
“Down,” Su said. “Good. That’s enough for now.”
Gu Yanhuai eased her back. Pulled the blanket up. She was shaking.
“Shh,” he said. “You did it. That’s 3% you just beat.”
“Still… hate you.” But she tucked her face into his neck.
12:09 PM. Mrs. Chen again. Thermal bag. This time she brought two.
“Congee,” she said to Ruan Zhi. “Yours has ginger. His has sense, because he didn’t eat yesterday.”
Ruan Zhi managed half a spoon. Made a face. “Tastes like… hospital.”
“Tastes like alive,” Mrs. Chen said. “Eat.”
Gu Yanhuai ate because Mrs. Chen was watching. Tasteless. He didn’t care.
1:45 PM. Dr. Zhang pulled him into the hall.
“Scan results from the pathology lab,” she said. “Confirmed. Stage IA. No lymph nodes. Margins clear. No chemo. No radiation. We monitor. CT every six months for two years, then yearly.”
Gu Yanhuai put his hand on the wall. Again. “So she’s—”
“She’s going to live, Mr. Gu. As close to 100% as we get in medicine. She beat it.”
He closed his eyes. 90% had become 100.
“Thank you.”
3:20 PM. Ruan Zhi was awake. Clearer.
“Lin Wei said… forty billion,” she said. “Yun Ding.”
“It’ll survive,” he said. “Or it won’t. Don’t care.”
“You should.” She studied him. “You built it. Ten years. For what?”
He thought about 2014. Rain. Stairwell. _“I’ll wait for you.”_
“For this,” he said. “So I could sit here. So I could afford Dr. Zhang. So I could tell Lin Wei to burn it down and not blink.”
She was quiet. Then: “Still an i***t. But my idiot.”
“Damn right.”
6:00 PM. The sun cut through the window. Gold on the floor. On her hair. On the _Little Prince_ still on his knee.
“Read,” she said. “Not that page. You’ll ruin it.”
He opened to page 1. _“Once when I was six years old…”_
He read until her breathing evened out. Until 68 BPM was a lullaby.
At 9:17 PM, the nurse changed her IV.
“He hasn’t slept,” the nurse said to Ruan Zhi, soft. “Not since you went in.”
Ruan Zhi’s eyes opened. Found him. “Gu Yanhuai.”
“Yeah?”
“Bed’s big enough.” She shifted, wincing. “If you don’t… snore.”
He stared. “I can’t—”
“Doctor said… I’m stable. You said… family stays. So stay. Or fired.”
He stood. Kicked off his shoes. Eased onto the bed on her left side. Away from the chest tube. Away from the IV. Just enough room to not touch anything that mattered.
She turned her head. Nose to his collar. “You really stink.”
“Tomorrow,” he said.
Her hand found his shirt. Fisted it. “Don’t go.”
“Not going anywhere.”
At 2:14 AM, he woke up because she did.
“Pain?” he asked.
“No.” She was looking at him. Really looking. “Just… checking. You’re still here.”
“Always.”
She believed him.
At 6:14 AM, Lin Wei walked in. Saw them. Said nothing. Left new coffee. Left.
Gu Yanhuai didn’t drink it.
Ruan Zhi was breathing. In. Out.
He counted each one.
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