Putting on the sterile gown, Gu Xiaoqing walked in, silently approaching the bedside. This was the first time seeing Fang Shaohan up close.
Even though the Fang Shaohan she saw was like a mummy, just being near him made Gu Xiaoqing's heart ache unbearably.
The Fang Shaohan who, with one hand pressing down on his own head, skillfully drove the car, taking her to safety; the Fang Shaohan who, like a hero, protected her amid the barrage of bullets.
Now he lay there lifeless, his eyes tightly shut, with sunken eye sockets and deep shadows beneath them. His chin was covered in stubble, and he showed no sign of life.
The part of his arm that was exposed was emaciated, with an intravenous needle crudely inserted into his vein, appearing pitiful and tragic, making it hard to watch.
The hospital gown covered his entire body, but it was clear it was oversized and ill-fitting, not because it didn't fit, but because Fang Shaohan had become so thin he was just skin and bones.
