The doctors and nurses were busy in the ICU for a while before they left one after another.
Fu Nancheng sat motionless by the bedside, watching over her, his large hand gently enveloping her small one.
Her hand was still delicate and smooth, like fine silk, as if a slightly heavier force would hurt her.
Yet, a scar from a cut remained on her fair wrist, left from the last time she cut it to meet Jing Hao.
Xiao Mo... I seem to always make you get hurt...
Do you... regret meeting me?
His gaze traced her pale little face lightly, and he lowered his eyes somewhat self-mockingly.
She probably hasn't had time to hate him, let alone regret...
Qin Zhaoran was a bit worried, walked behind him, and put a large hand on his shoulder: "Nancheng."
Fu Nancheng didn't respond, just remained silent.
"When you have time, talk to her. Maybe, she'll wake up."
"Okay."
Qin Zhaoran sighed softly, turned and left, leaving the ward to the two of them.
...
