Bai Lian pushed the door open.
At the edge between light and shadow, she saw the sunrise outside the window. The light, neither intense nor passionate, lazily spilled beside the bed.
On the bed, the person who had been in a coma had already removed the IV from his left hand.
Propped up by his right hand, he sat on the edge of the bed, his wrist thin and bony.
It seemed that he heard the sound of someone entering.
His pale eyes lifted slightly, gazing in the direction of the door.
Backlit, Bai Lian couldn't quite make out the person's features, but she saw him sit up with the support of the bed.
The nursing attendant, holding a pen and a record book, stood a few steps away from the bed.
Wanting to help the patient up, yet deterred by his cold demeanor, the attendant didn't dare to approach.
Bai Lian still stood at the entrance of the ward, while Jiang Fulai sat on the bed. Across the distance of several meters, he gazed unwaveringly at her as if thousands of years had passed.
