Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Qi Muyao slapped himself four or five resounding times, trembling as he reached out to pull the person from where they were stuck under the backseat.

Qi Yanyu’s face was ashen pale, half of it smeared with a ghastly, clotted red. His eyelids and lashes were caked with thick, vivid red, with splattered droplets like burst pomegranate seeds across the left side of his face.

The left side was relatively clean. The right half of his face was drenched in blood, his mouth slackly open, with trails of it flowing behind his ear, into his hair, and onto the seat cushion.

Where was all this blood coming from? Was it Qi Yanyu’s?

Trembling, Qi Muyao frantically wiped Qi Yanyu’s face with his clothes, only to find blood everywhere—on himself too. His left sleeve bore scattered stains, while the right side of his body was drenched, though not as heavily concentrated.

The right side of his chest must have pressed against Qi Yanyu’s face and torso.

After wiping Qi Yanyu’s face with his sleeve, pale pink smears still remained, but the deeper streaks became visible—blood that had flowed from his lips down to his neck behind his ear.

Why was he vomiting blood?

Wasn’t his illness only supposed to cause paralysis and deafness? How could he be vomiting blood?

Cradling Qi Yanyu’s head, Qi Muyao finally managed to lift him with the help of several bodyguards.

His lashes were already shut, utterly silent. It was as if the person who had just been hurling vicious insults at him had never existed.

Trembling, Qi Muyao forced himself to check for breath.

He found none—the man’s chest was completely motionless, no rise or fall of breathing.

Some returning medical students, unaware of what had happened, pushed through to offer help and noticed Qi Yanyu. One stepped forward, asking, “What happened?”

Qi Muyao, voice raw with panic, replied, “My brother… he’s vomiting blood.”

With everyone’s help, they began frantic rounds of CPR, carrying Qi Yanyu out and laying him on the concrete.

Some ran to fetch an AED, others called for an ambulance, specifying to bring a defibrillator, while a few phoned their retired but rehired cardiology professor for guidance.

Qi Muyao had never seen CPR performed so violently—kneeling over him, arms locked straight, driving down with terrifying force. His brother’s sternum depressed a full hand’s width with each compression, as if they were puncturing his lungs with every push.

Watching them, Qi Muyao feared they would shatter his ribs, puncturing his lungs and killing him outright. He suddenly snapped into a screaming rage, yelling, “Are you trying to crush his heart?! His heart is fine, for fuck’s sake! Why are you pressing on his chest?!” But the driver and bodyguards held him back.

Qi Muyao raged. Even if Qi Yanyu wasn’t dead yet, they’d surely kill him with this!

The students brought the AED and began ripping open Qi Yanyu’s shirt to expose his chest, using tissues and their own dry jackets to wipe away the blood.

Electrode pads were placed on his skin, reading his flatline rhythm. The defibrillator activated, electrocuting his limp body into spasms.

But despite repeated shocks, there was not even a flicker of response—no sign of revival.

“No consciousness, no breathing, no pulse. Cardiac arrest. We’ve used the defibrillator, but still nothing…” a student reported over the phone, describing the patient’s condition.

Qi Muyao roared, “How could he have cardiac arrest?! He’s a med student—he doesn’t have heart disease!”

A student turned to him, snapping back. Recognizing him as family, she still frowned in disbelief. “Are you insane? Doctors can collapse mid-sip from overwork. You think med students are magically exempt from cardiac arrest?”

Qi Muyao wasn’t entirely wrong—in his memory, Qi Yanyu had never once complained about heart problems.

Cardiac arrest? Was this some kind of cruel trick?

People were strolling and jogging on the playground, while students studied in the library, unaware of what had happened near the campus gates several kilometers away.

Xia Yiyi glanced at her phone, then looked at Gu Jinglan, who had returned to help her with the student council’s Rainbow Run event logistics. Watching him diligently revise the proposal, she secretly admired his handsome face for a moment before finally bursting into laughter. “Don’t overthink it—you can take a break and scroll through your phone. We still have time before midnight tonight,” she teased, her playful tone masking her real meaning.

As the secretary-general of the student council’s secretariat, Xia Yiyi was a key officer assisting the Presidential team in planning and organizing student activities.

Gu Jinglan frowned. “Wasn’t the Rainbow Run proposal already finalized? Why was it kicked back?”

“No idea how the sports and academic departments coordinated, but they missed some details. The student affairs supervisor spotted the mistakes during a last-minute review and sent it back.” She had originally planned to work on it with him at a 24-hour café off-campus, worried they wouldn’t have enough time. But after Gu Jinglan understood the situation, he assured her they could finish before curfew and joined her in the library’s discussion room to revise the proposal.

Xia Yiyi felt reassured just having the President there. *Classic President Gu.* She had just seen a post on her feed and brought it up as casual conversation. “Someone just posted that a person went into cardiac arrest outside the school gates. Luckily, it happened right at the entrance of Kanbei Medical University.”

“Just now?” His thoughts immediately turned to Qi Yanyu.

He did have a heart condition, but it couldn’t be him. He was with Qi Yuanhan and the others.

If something had happened, Qi Yuanhan would’ve called him crying by now.

At that moment, his phone buzzed—talk of the devil.

A text from Qi Yuanhan: *We’re back in the dorm. Forgot to buy water—bring me a bottle, pretty please, Mr. Popular.*

So Qi Yanyu must have returned too. That meant the person outside the gates couldn’t be him.

Xia Yiyi added, “The post was from five minutes ago. The ambulance probably took them away already.”

The ambulance arrived quickly—Kanbei Medical University’s affiliated hospital was nearby.

People rushed to load the person onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, the AED still cycling.

Its siren pierced the quiet campus night. Medical students gathered the scattered supplies—medication, clothes, water, tissues—left behind by bystanders.

A faint bloodstain remained on the ground. As curfew approached, students hurried back to their dorms. The security guard, noticing the pale pink stain, poured two buckets of water over it, washing it away.

When Gu Jinglan returned to Dorm 413, everyone was there—except Qi Yanyu. He tossed the water bottle to Qi Yuanhan, who was on the endgame stats screen of Dota.

“Where is he?” Gu Jinglan’s gaze flicked to the empty Bed No. 3 as he asked.

“We were still at Yintai when he said he was heading back first. If he’s not in the dorm, he probably went home.” Qi Yuanhan twisted open the cap. “What, is the stone-faced student council President actually worried about his ‘boyfriend’?”

“Get lost.” Gu Jinglan left to retrieve his immunology notes from the neighboring dorm.

Jumping in, Huang Shaoze turned to Qi Yuanhan and whispered, “Cut it out. Our Gu-ge already has a girlfriend.”

“Who?”

“Xia Yiyi. From the next class—also pre-med. The new school beauty.”

“Oh? Then The Crown Prince has even less of a chance.” Qi Yuanhan smirked. “Speaking of, he was way too blatant tonight.”

“How so?” Huang Shaoze, looking clueless, blinked.

“Never mind. Go play your game.” Even as he dismissed him, Qi Yuanhan mused aloud, “Unless I’m seeing things…” The normally icy ‘Prince’ had been unusually talkative these past couple of days.

By the time Qi Shaoli arrived at the hospital, the OR light was still lit.

In the hallway outside, his eldest brother stood motionless, staring at the OR doors—though they offered no view inside.

From a distance, Qi Shaoli could make out blood smeared on his brother’s sleeves and back.

Qi Shaoli slowed his steps; he'd been running up at first.

Catching his breath, he called out, "Big brother?"

His big brother didn't turn around, his back still turned, his shadow faint under the hallway lights—just a faint smudge.

"How's Third Brother?" Qi Shaoli had rushed back from out of town and only now noticed Qi Xizhi and the butler were also present.

Qi Muyao lifted his gaze slightly, and Qi Shaoli saw the bloodstains on his elder brother’s upper clothes, the joints of his hands, the heels of his hands, near his collarbone beneath the fabric—still not fully wiped clean.

"Don’t throw your Third Brother’s drawing board away anymore," Qi Muyao said abruptly.

Qi Shaoli felt a pang of guilt. He lowered his eyes. "I know."

When they were children, if Qi Yanyu so much as touched his drawing board and complimented his artwork, Qi Shaoli would throw out both the board and brushes without hesitation.

He'd even have the servants throw them far away.

Qi Yanyu would just stand there, bewildered by his younger brother’s outburst.

The servants would explain to him, "The young master doesn’t like others touching his things. It’s not your fault—it’s just his habit."

After that, Qi Yanyu rarely watched Qi Shaoli draw, nor did he touch his brushes or art supplies again.

But later, Qi Shaoli noticed something: once, when Qi Muyao praised his painting and even pointed out a particular detail, Qi Shaoli hadn't gotten angry. Instead, he'd looked pleased at the praise.

One day, Qi Shaoli accused Qi Yanyu of deliberately placing a winged insect on his oil painting—that got stuck in the paint and died struggling to escape.

They argued, and after a long, heated exchange, Qi Yanyu finally gave up pretending and admitted:

"So what if I did it?" Back then, Qi Yanyu's smile had held a hint of mean amusement—like he was owning up to it or finally showing his revenge.

Qi Shaoli fought with Qi Yanyu, though at the time, he was no match for him.

Pinned under Qi Yanyu, he could only cry helplessly.

Qi Yanyu eventually let him go, but then proceeded to touch every single one of Qi Shaoli’s favorite paints and canvases—not just touching them, but throwing them aside one by one, scattering supplies everywhere. Standing over Qi Shaoli, who was crying his eyes out, he said coolly: *So I touched them. What’s the big deal?*

Not only did he touch them—he swept them all onto the ground.

*What’s the worst that could happen if I step on them?*

Back then, Qi Yanyu had uttered those words with sheer spite.

Enraged, Qi Shaoli tearfully tattled to his elder brother, crying so hard he could barely speak. Qi Muyao had to comfort him for a long time.

Qi Muyao then said to Qi Yanyu, "He’s your little brother. So what if he's being a brat? He’ll never be able to beat you—just let him have his way."

Qi Yanyu didn’t understand. "Then why is it that *everyone* else can touch his toys and drawings, but I can’t?"

"I already told you—he's being a brat. Why fight with a little brat? Just indulge the spoiled brat," Qi Muyao replied.

Things calmed down for a long time after that.

Then, one day, when they were older and still taking art lessons, Qi Shaoli tore up one of Qi Yanyu’s well-done paintings and threw away his drawing board.

When Qi Yanyu returned and saw it, he balled his fists, fighting the urge to hit back, and muttered, "Why is *he* allowed to be unreasonable, but I’m not?"

Qi Shaoli loved acting spoiled with Qi Muyao, who was much older. Once, he even joked to him, "I threw away Third Brother’s art supplies and drawing board."

"You’re so awful. Didn’t your Third Brother beat you up for it?" Qi Muyao, then around fifteen or sixteen, had to catch Qi Shaoli as the kid climbed onto him.

"Nope. Guess he doesn't care about drawing anymore." He didn't even hit me—maybe he's given up on art.