Chapter 320: Time Is Running Out

Liu Xie wasn’t the type to be overly sentimental, of course.

What she was worried about was Liu Anran.

But Liu Anran looked past her worried gaze and turned to the white coat.

Liu Xie tensed up.

Usually, at a time like this, they’d say how much time was left.

The female doctor seemed to remember something:

“Oh right, if you’re the patient’s family, remember to go to the billing hall to settle the medical expenses. Thanks for your cooperation.”

Chapter 320: Not Much Time Left

So in the end, they still never said how much time was left, making the weight in Liu Xie’s chest grow even heavier.

She followed behind Liu Anran, stepping into the ward, then looked toward the old man who had been lying in bed.

He had already sat up by now.

The old director’s cloudy gaze drifted toward the window, where dead branches and withered leaves lingered.

Winter was always like this—it was hard to find even a trace of green on the trees.

No flowers, no leaves. Only the biting cold wind and the flickering of a dying candle.

He heard the footsteps, though his ears weren’t what they used to be.

It wasn’t until Liu Xie and Liu Anran reached his bedside that he finally turned his gaze toward them.

“Ah, sorry to trouble you again, An Ran.”

His face carried a smile—one with apology, one with relief.

Liu Anran simply sat down on the chair placed near the head of the bed, pulling up the blanket that had slipped as the old man sat up.

“Don’t catch a cold.”

His eyes still held no extra emotion.

Then, after a brief pause, he spoke to the old director on the bed: “You always say your memory is going bad, but didn’t you remember to wear the wristband this time?”

It was a bit like how a kindergarten teacher would praise a child for wiping themselves after a meal or washing their mouth after using the bathroom.

He was talking about the health monitoring wristband.

If it detected anything unusual, it would alert. If the alert went unanswered for a while, it would contact Liu Anran.

And if Liu Anran picked up the call and heard nothing but silence, he’d know it was time to call the hospital.

This kind of routine seemed to have played out between them many times before, already refined into a quiet, unspoken understanding.

“Ah, the wristband.” The old director seemed to just remember it. “I just forgot to take it off. I got used to wearing it all the time.”

Liu Anran was silent for a moment. “That’s fine. Just keep wearing it. It’s waterproof and won’t leak electricity anyway.”

Standing to the side, Liu Xie realized she couldn’t really get a word in.

She looked at the old man sitting on the bed and decided to at least do something helpful.

Anyone who’s stayed in a hospital knows that the bed’s upper and lower sections are technically separated.

The top half can be cranked up, letting the patient sit on the lower half while the upper half serves as a backrest.

So Liu Xie went to crank it.

She looked at the two levers on either side and hesitated, unsure which one to pull.

After a moment of thought, she followed the convention of “male left, female right” and chose the right one.

She crouched down and turned the lever a little.

Hospital beds are always strange like that. They look spotless and brand-new, as if just rolled off the factory line.

But the moment you try to use them, they creak and groan like every single part has rusted over.

Hearing that loud, grating sound echo through the somewhat empty room—jarring and harsh—Liu Xie lifted her head and gave an awkward smile from the foot of the bed toward the two people in conversation.

The two of them, deep in their chat, were abruptly interrupted and both turned to look at Liu Xie fiddling with the adjustment mechanism at the foot of the bed.

Liu Anran took a deep breath and turned back to steer the conversation.

“It’s fine. Let her play if she wants. We’ll keep talking.”

The old director paused for a moment, and that look of relief settled on Liu Anran once again.

“An Ran, we don’t need to transfer to another hospital this time, right? If it’s too far, this old body of mine can’t handle the trip.” The old director said.

“No, no transfer needed this time.” Liu Anran shook his head gently.

Sure enough, it was just as Liu Xie had guessed.

Liu Anran had tried just about every option available—transferred to bigger hospitals, even brought in more authoritative specialists.

But when there’s no saving someone, there’s no saving someone.

“That’s good.” The old director cracked a faint smile, looking even more kind-hearted.

Meanwhile, Liu Xie was still fiddling with the crank. The creaking came and went in fits and starts.

“Didn’t we agree you’d just rest at home, fish now and then? How did you end up in the hospital? And found in your own vegetable field—you went out to work again?”

Liu Anran’s tone was flat, but it always carried a subtle air of interrogation.

“Ah, I just can’t sit still. I’ve been busy my whole life—no way I can just stop now.” The old man chuckled and waved his hand. “It’s just that my body isn’t what it used to be. Old, so old.”

Liu Anran’s expression didn’t change, though his brow furrowed slightly.

“Didn’t I buy you a lot of fishing rods?” Liu Anran said. “And aren’t you really fond of fishing?”

“It’s winter now, and spring’s coming. If I don’t clear the fields, it’ll be hard to plant come spring.” The old man lowered his head a little, like a child caught red-handed by a parent.

“Why plant at all?” Liu Anran shot back. “It’s just you. Even if you grow something, you can’t possibly eat it all, right?”

If it were a small patch of land for casual planting and passing the time, Liu Anran would’ve had no objection.

But this was a huge plot of land—terraced, even.

“If I grow more, I can sell a little more.” The old man muttered, almost to himself.

Liu Anran wasn’t the type to be rude. In fact, one could call him a model citizen—respectful to the old and kind to the young.

But when something crossed the line, he didn’t hold back.

“Do you really need money that badly right now? If your living expenses aren’t enough, I can give you more. Is it worth it to keep sending yourself to the hospital just to burn money on medical bills?”

His voice was sharp and stern—like one of those teachers who’d make students cry just by looking at them.

“Back then, if I’d had land this big, if I could’ve grown a little more vegetables to sell in town, you wouldn’t have had to leave because we had to save the food for everyone else.” The old man kept his head down, still muttering like he was talking to himself.

Liu Anran opened his mouth, but for once, words failed him.

Just as some people carry lifelong trauma from a major wound, the old director had never forgiven himself for not being able to provide enough to raise all the children back then.

Maybe after Liu Anran left that letter of explanation behind, the old man had blamed himself for who knows how long.

And if Liu Anran hadn’t met Liu Xie, that self-blame would’ve only festered even deeper.

During the silence between the two, Liu Xie seemed to have finally succeeded.

She’d managed to twist the stuck handle and gave it several solid turns.

When she looked up again, she saw the old man propped up at a ninety-degree angle, forced into a perfect upright sitting position like a well-behaved student, with Liu Anran beside him, looking at her with helpless exasperation.

“I…” Liu Xie felt her face burn. “I’m going to the bathroom.”