AS IT HAPPENED, Fei Du had left the city that same day.
“You’re the Mr. Fei who made an appointment yesterday, right?” As she looked through the records, the receptionist secretly examined the handsome guest. “Let me take a look.”
This care home was next to mountains and the sea, and it had an artistic garden. It was a medical facility, but the reception hall was free of the smell of medicine and the stench of patients. The windows were clean and bright, beautiful receptionists spoke in soft tones, and the calming sounds of waves and piano music were audible nearby.
At first blush, it was more like a beachside resort.
“Intensive care ward, Room 407. This way, please. Someone will show you there.”
“Thank you.” Fei Du nodded at her, then casually picked a dewy lily out of his bouquet and placed it in the vase at the reception desk. “I think this flower suits you.”
Pretty much everyone in the intensive care ward had lost their mobility, and most were in long-term comas. Thus, a distinctive quiet blanketed the area. Medical staff bustled this way and that, and the thick foliage outside the window cast heavy shadows. Fei Du grabbed his visitor’s pass and headed to Room 407. A doctor already waiting there greeted him. “Fei-zong,” he said with familiarity, “I guessed that you’d be coming today.”
“I happen to have some free time these days.” Fei Du put the flowers next to a man’s bed. “How is he?”
“Generally stable, but it’s already been three years. It’s not likely he’ll ever wake up. You should prepare yourself.”
The doctor was being polite. By “not likely” he meant “nearly impossible.” Fei Du made a noise of acknowledgment, then tilted his head to observe the man in the bed. “I know,” he said cordially. “I appreciate all your hard work.”
The doctor met his eyes and was momentarily shocked. For a second, it didn’t look as though the young man’s cold, searching gaze was aimed at his father, or even a living human being at all—he had the look of someone peering at an unsatisfactory decoration. His gaze seemed to contain traces of judgment and apathy. In his imagination, the doctor was envisioning a whole series titled something like The Rise and Fall of the Wealthy or The Usurper, and didn’t dare say anything more. He bade Fei Du farewell and beat a hasty retreat.
Fei Du politely watched him leave, then put his hands behind his back and circled the bed a few times. The middle-aged man lay there unconscious, surrounded by an overwhelming amount of medical equipment. He had clearly been well taken care of; there wasn’t a single white hair on his head. His features closely resembled Fei Du’s, handsome to the point of flawlessness, but he gave off a completely different aura. Even lying there motionless, he gave off a dark, sharp feeling, like a cold chunk of marble.
Fei Du stopped in the corner of the room. There was a little calendar there. Perhaps a nurse had been careless; it still showed the date from a few days ago. Fei Du flipped it to the right date—the last day of July.
It was his birthday, in fact. But one of the two people responsible for his birth lay here in this room, and the other lay beneath the earth.
Fei Du turned around, staring at the man with an unreadable gaze. Suddenly, he reached for his oxygen tube.
The medical equipment in the quiet room let out regular beeps and noises. The young man who’d only just given a girl a flower now had no trace of warmth on his face.