She lacks love

The car was abandoned carelessly at the gate, canvas shoes splashing through puddles, struggling to pull free with wet slaps, leaving a trail of soaked footprints on white porcelain tiles.

Li Jianbai, waiting anxiously outside, paced until she caught sight of a familiar figure. Her face lit up, and she hurried forward.

But her expression froze, shocked, “What happened to you?!”

No wonder her reaction—passersby shot stunned glances too.

They’d seen drenched people, but never this wretched.

White hair clung to her cheeks, clothes soaked through, as if raining indoors. Her pant legs were caked with leaves and mud, like she’d crawled out of a dumpster.

“You, you…” Li Jianbai fumbled for words.

Annoyed by her noise, Xu Fengluan glanced up silently, her green eyes flat, devoid of the anger or sadness Li Jianbai expected—just a lifeless void.

This made Li Jianbai more uneasy. She’d seen too many emotions outside operating rooms, and Xu Fengluan’s state was the trickiest kind, prompting her to warn nurses to watch closely for unexpected incidents.

“A-A-Feng,” Li Jianbai stammered, panicked. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Irritated by her dawdling, Xu Fengluan finally spoke, “Let’s go.”

Wasn’t she summoned here?

She came.

Li Jianbai opened her mouth, wanting to comfort but mindful of the situation inside. She gritted her teeth, stepping forward, saying, “The surgery didn’t go as hoped. Grandma’s too old…”

Xu Fengluan stayed silent, trailing behind, leaving wet footprints.

“It’s worse than we thought. She’s been in a coma since, only waking briefly, calling your name.”

“Grandpa and Aunt Xu have been at the hospital for days. Grandma’s former students and patients visited too.”

“Everyone can see she’s holding on by a thread.”

“She really wants to see you.”

Talking while hurrying, Li Jianbai’s breath grew uneven, only calming slightly in the elevator.

The silver walls reflected their faces like mirrors.

Xu Fengluan remained unchanged, unmoved by Li Jianbai’s words, like a walking corpse following prior orders.

Seeing her like this, Li Jianbai, her childhood friend, felt a pang. Rubbing her stinging nose, she said, “A-Feng, don’t be like this.”

Her voice weakened, having shed tears in secret these past days, choking up, “I just don’t want her to leave with regrets. You’re angry now, but years later, you’ll regret it.”

She turned, voice heavy, “Grandma really cares about you.”

Xu Fengluan stayed silent, only lifting her eyes after that line, gazing at Li Jianbai with a calm, dead-sea stare.

Later, Li Jianbai would recall this moment, realizing—when her contact was deleted, her calls unanswered—that this glance marked the end of their friendship.

She’d bid farewell to her childhood friend in this way.

But at the time, Li Jianbai didn’t grasp it, only feeling instinctive fear. She reached for Xu Fengluan’s arm, but Xu dodged a step back.

The elevator doors opened.

Xu Fengluan looked away, saying, “Let’s go.”

Li Jianbai wanted to speak but, fearing for the patient, stomped and led Xu forward.

To an unaware onlooker, the scene was eerie: a white-coated doctor rushing ahead, followed by a sopping, white-haired figure, water dripping, leaving a shimmering trail.

The hospital’s white lights and tiles matched Xu Fengluan’s ashen face, like a horror movie frame, radiating ghostly chill.

Those outside the ward froze, staring.

The white-haired old man and Xu Nanzhu, closest to the door, stood simultaneously.

“You…” Xu Nanzhu began, then shifted, “Go in.”

It wasn’t hard to guess the sequence. A figure like Xu Nanzhu attending the anniversary without a whisper? With her mother bedridden, she had no heart for celebrations. She’d sought Xu Fengluan indirectly through Li Jianbai, unable to reach her directly.

After their deal at the auditorium, she’d rushed back to the hospital.

Nearby were Grandma’s students and patients, recognizing Xu Fengluan and casting unmasked judgmental, curious, or indignant looks.

Xu Fengluan ignored them all, even Li Jianbai’s parents, once close. When Xu Nanzhu opened the door, she stepped inside.

The ward was stifling, despite flowers and fruit baskets. The oxygen machine and heart monitor hummed, but everyone knew they offered only psychological comfort, unable to halt a fading life.

Xu Fengluan paused—the only sign of emotion since entering the hospital.

She disliked hospitals, their halls heavy with pain and hopeless prayers, where even the wind wailed.

Taking a deep breath, she recalled that New Year’s Eve.

At thirteen, a rare warm moment was shattered by a catastrophic accident, still easily searchable today. A hundred-ton truck, exploiting lax holiday oversight, collapsed a bridge during rush hour. Cars and trucks plummeted, nine died on impact, thirty-six were gravely injured.

Resting doctors were recalled, hallways packed with the wounded, blocking the entrance.

Agonized groans, desperate cries, and hurried footsteps seeped through the door, contrasting the festive noise from a small, broken TV.

Locked in a lounge to shield them from the horror, the unknown sounds terrified the children more, their minds conjuring gruesome images. Someone outside shouted, “A broken leg here, hurry!”

The huddled kids flinched. Cold food on the table, barely touched, was now inedible.

“A-Feng?”

Li Jianbai’s call snapped her back, memories receding, leaving only lingering shadows.

Xu Fengluan took a deep breath, regaining a shred of clarity, no longer numb.

The bedridden woman was gently roused. Li Jianbai placed a stool by the bed.

Others crowded in, ignoring courtesy in their resentment toward Xu Fengluan.

She sat, unbothered, her conscience clear. Someone else should be dodging.

The woman on the bed, frail and aged, still exuded stern authority, her white-coat days easily imagined—trustworthy, dependable.

Her reactions were slow, cloudy eyes shifting before settling on Xu Fengluan, managing a vague syllable.

The old man beside her took her hand, soothing, “Yes, A-Feng’s here.”

“Don’t get excited, take it slow,” his voice soft, tinged with fear of breaking her fragile shell.

Someone offered water, waved away.

She couldn’t even drink normally.

Xu Fengluan sat, expressionless, water pooling at her feet, reflecting stark light.

When the crowd dispersed, they finally met eyes.

The air stilled, no matter how others hoped, the two remained silent.

Xu Fengluan’s hands clasped, mind wandering despite the moment.

The rain outside, flowers passed, the auditorium’s end, Chu Cheng’s likely anger—her hospital aversion deepened.

“You…” The woman’s voice rasped, struggling to see Xu Fengluan, “There’s a clean towel over there.”

“No, I’m leaving soon,” Xu Fengluan’s eyes lowered, her wet clothes clinging, spine curving, bones stark.