Twenty-Three

One month later:

Qian Meigui organized a vase of bluebells as the sun shone brightly illuminating the entire hospital room. She watched as the patients down below walked around the yard for their daily exercise, some young, some old.

It was a beautiful hot day to go somewhere, to do something wild or enjoyable. But Qian Meigui wouldn't ever want to be anywhere without the person she waiting for to wake.

One of the sun rays hit the room, so she turned around, facing Song Sheng, where it hit his perfectly crafted face, his eyes still closed shut. And she never missed anything more than to stare into his gold-flecked eyes again.

It had been nearly thirty days since the incident, and his dark hair had already grown near his neck. His muscles softened; he had lost weight, but nothing changed the fact that he was still Song Sheng, the man who protected her with his life.