Li Peirong was in the late stage of stomach cancer, surviving only through imported medications and meticulous care.
This critical moment wasn’t sudden—no one could be entirely unprepared for it—but even with preparation, no one can ever be truly ready for loss.
When Su Pu arrived at the hospital in Li Jichuan’s car, Li Jichuan had already taken Anderson’s vehicle ahead, stationed outside the emergency room.
The atmosphere was extremely tense.
Even John, usually ever-smiling, sat silently on a bench in the waiting area, staring blankly ahead, his expression solemn and grave.
Not far from him sat Li Jichuan in his wheelchair.
He bowed his head, staring at his intertwined fingers, clenching and releasing them rhythmically.
Those who had accompanied Li Jichuan in rehab recognized this as a technique taught to relax tense muscles.
Li Jichuan had lost sensation below his calves; many movements required compensation with his arms, leaving his hands perpetually tense.
Overuse often caused numbness or pain in his fingers, which over time, coupled with stress, would intensify during moments of anxiety…
Su Pu approached, crouching beside the wheelchair, observing Li Jichuan’s expression.
Li Jichuan glanced at him, lips weakly curling—acknowledging him.
In Su Pu’s mind, Li Jichuan always exuded confidence and pride, but for the first time, he saw a heavy helplessness on his face.
Li Peirong was inside the ER, fighting against death, and all Li Jichuan could do was pray silently.
No one could sway life and death; this truth was absolute.
Suppressing a sting in his nose, Su Pu grasped Li Jichuan’s hands, massaging his fingers to ease the pain.
Li Jichuan shook his head, saying, “It’s okay,” but didn’t pull away, tacitly allowing Su Pu’s care.
It was unclear whether he was too desperate or if Su Pu’s massage genuinely helped.
Almost ten minutes later, the elevator doors opened, and a group of people rushed toward the ER, breaking the silence with chaos.
“Auntie.”
Li Jichuan looked at the woman in black leading the group, calling softly.
“Oh, Xiaochuan!”
Li Shuwen wiped her tears, stooping slightly; her face looked older, though her makeup remained impeccable.
“So sudden… I heard the news and rushed over. What did the doctor say?”
Li Jichuan couldn’t help a faint smile.
His usually flamboyant, colorful aunt had appeared in all black outside the ER, still curious about the doctor’s report? She probably wished the doctor would announce failure right away.
“The doctors are doing everything they can,” Li Jichuan said flatly.
Li Shuwen nodded. “Ah, Dad must pull through!”
Li Jichuan snorted.
“Hey, Xiaochuan, is this your wife?” Li Shuwen glanced at Su Pu.
Li Jichuan closed his eyes, exhaustion evident.
“She’s my partner—Su Pu.”
Su Pu stood, shaking Li Shuwen’s hand.
“Oh, I’ve been meaning to invite you two over for dinner, but I’ve been busy…”
Her polite smile couldn’t disguise the underlying tension; she clearly had no interest in chit-chat.
“Oh, and look—Zheng from Ozzo is here, still concerned about your grandfather’s health. Xiaochuan, go say hello…”
Li Shuwen’s arrival turned the corridor into a marketplace. More people poured in, some carrying proposals.
Li Jichuan’s face darkened, and finally, five hours into Li Peirong’s emergency surgery, he snapped.
It was just past nine at night.
“Do you have business here?”
The wheelchair rolled forward, blocking the ER doors.
“If not, please go home. I have no mind for work, and you have no mind for visiting.”
“Xiaochuan!”
Li Shuwen’s brows furrowed, her gaze sharp as knives.
“These are your elders, friends of your grandfather—what kind of attitude is this?”
“Please, Auntie, you may leave. If I’m not mistaken, you must have other things to attend to.”
Li Shuwen’s lips trembled, speechless, flushed with rage.
“What else could I be busy with? My father’s on the operating table, life uncertain—how could I be busy with anything else?”
Li Jichuan remained firm:
“Then please help see our guests out. So many waiting here only adds burden to the hospital…”
“You…”
Humiliated by his calm deflection, Li Shuwen’s face burned crimson, lips quivering.
Li Jichuan leisurely continued: “I’m incapacitated; I won’t see guests out.”
Li Shuwen gasped. “You!”
“Please handle it, Auntie,” he gestured toward the crowd behind her.
His attitude was clear: unwelcome, hostile. Rumors about him were not wrong—young, proud, relying on his grandfather’s influence, and utterly arrogant.
Hmph. Once the old man is gone, the Li family will be someone else’s kingdom.
Although their faces darkened, the guests didn’t linger—they assumed the future would unfold, and there was no need to argue with this young man.
Half an hour later, Li Shuwen had vanished, and silence returned. Li Jichuan stared down the empty corridor, letting out a bitter laugh.
Su Pu had been pushed aside by those fawning for Li Jichuan, huddling with John and Anderson.
Exhausted from the ordeal, they hadn’t eaten either, let alone Li Jichuan.
Su Pu and John went to the convenience store across the hospital, bought simple meals, and returned to share.
The “RESCUE IN PROGRESS” red light reflected off Li Jichuan’s side profile as Su Pu crouched before him, offering a sandwich.
Li Jichuan’s eyes were vacant; he stared at the sandwich, motionless, before slowly shaking his hand.
“No appetite. I won’t eat yet.”
Frowning, Su Pu nudged the sandwich closer.
He couldn’t let him skip a meal!
Li Jichuan finally gave in, looking up, eyes cold yet laced with thin amusement.
“Su Pu… even you are forcing me to do what I don’t want?”
Su Pu froze.
Huh? In Li Jichuan’s eyes, his care wasn’t concern—it was coercion, like his aunt?
“Tch, why are you mad at Su Pu?!”
Anderson strode over, nudging Li Jichuan’s shoulder.
“Su Pu is just trying to feed you. How long do you think you’d wait otherwise? What’s your problem here?”
Li Jichuan blinked, meeting Su Pu’s bewildered, hurt gaze, quickly apologizing.
“I wasn’t targeting you…”
Su Pu shook his head. He understood.
When Zhao Qing had been critically ill, he had been just as sensitive, just as sharp. Fear made emotions seek an outlet.
Li Jichuan simply acted out of anxious concern.
After a sleepless night, the next morning Li Peirong’s surgery still hadn’t concluded.
Machines and medical staff rotated in and out; everyone knew that the longer a rescue lasted, the slimmer the chances of success.
By 10:30 a.m., Li Shuwen returned in black, leading a new group, some with laptops, drafting documents.
The four who had waited overnight were too exhausted to respond, silently praying for a miracle.
Thankfully, having learned from yesterday, Li Shuwen no longer dragged people to greet Li Jichuan but whispered among her entourage.
Still, some accidentally bumped his knees or wheelchair. The corridor was narrow, so Li Jichuan merely sidestepped.
Suddenly, a young man in a café uniform, glaring in indignation, shoved past.
“What’s wrong?” someone asked knowingly.
Su Pu, furious, gripped Li Jichuan’s wheelchair, pushing him to the quieter side of the corridor.
Peace returned.
Li Jichuan sighed softly. “I thought you were still mad and wouldn’t speak to me…”
Su Pu pouted, momentarily stunned.
Then he realized: Li Jichuan had deliberately acted helpless, just to see if he would stand up for him.
So that’s why he suddenly had no temper!
Su Pu, still fuming, didn’t even take out his phone; he slapped out a flurry of hand gestures.
Li Jichuan, observing his earnest expression and frantic hands, finally relaxed.
“You sure have a filthy mouth, Su Pu,” he teased.
Su Pu froze, shaking his hands frantically in protest. He was only expressing concern—he hadn’t cursed! How could he curse Li Jichuan?
Resigned, he pulled a pack of dorayaki from his pocket, tore it open, and shoved it toward Li Jichuan’s mouth.
“Eat!”
The little mute’s eyes widened, mock-serious.
Eat it!
Li Jichuan stared into those eyes for a moment, then gave in, biting a piece.
Red bean filling—Doraemon’s favorite.
Li Jichuan mused—if only Su Pu really were Doraemon, he could help him fulfill his last wish.
The next moment, the ER lights went out—rescue completed.
Quickly, Su Pu pushed Li Jichuan toward the door.
Moments later, the doctor emerged, removing his mask, exhausted, announcing:
“The surgery was successful. The patient has been saved.”
A wave of relief swept through the crowd. Li Jichuan couldn’t help but laugh softly.
A miracle had happened.
He truly had his Doraemon.