The Young Miss Refuse To Love-Chapter 86: Too tired to act

"Mom..." Qi Jianyi whispered, her voice barely audible, a fragile breath more than a sound. Her eyelids trembled as if waging a battle to open, her body sluggish and weak.

Mrs. Qi, who had been sitting vigilantly by her daughter’s bedside, caught the faint murmur instantly. The sound sent a jolt through her. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping softly against the hospital floor as she leaned over to grasp Qi Jianyi’s hand. Her grip was firm yet tender, her fingers pressing gently against her daughter’s palm in a desperate bid for a response.

"Jianyi? Can you hear me, dear? It’s Mom. Please, wake up," she pleaded softly, her voice breaking as silent tears traced paths down her cheeks.

She raised her head, glancing toward her husband with watery eyes, searching for confirmation, for hope that she wasn’t imagining the faint sound.

Mr. Qi, standing stiffly on the other side of the hospital bed, gave a small nod. His expression, normally composed and authoritative, was now weighed down by worry. The shadows beneath his eyes betrayed sleepless nights, the kind only an anguished father could endure. His shoulders slumped slightly, the burden of helplessness evident in every line of his usually dignified posture.

But despite his exhaustion, the moment he heard his daughter’s voice, faint and hoarse, a glimmer of relief sparked in his weary eyes.

"Jianyi," he murmured under his breath, his tone soft and reverent, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment.

For Qi Jianyi, the struggle to awaken felt like trying to claw her way out of a thick, suffocating fog. After what seemed like an eternity, she managed to lift her heavy eyelids, only to immediately shut them again as the harsh glare of the hospital lights seared into her retinas. She winced, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she let her eyes rest before summoning the courage to try again.

Mrs. Qi’s voice, as soothing as ever, called to her again, this time softer and more reassuring. "Jianyi?" she said, wiping the sweat that had formed on her daughter’s pale forehead with a tissue.

Her movements were deliberate and careful, like she was handling something fragile and precious, which in her mind, Qi Jianyi undoubtedly was.

This time, Qi Jianyi managed to open her eyes fully, though they seemed distant and unfocused. She blinked a few times, her vision slowly adjusting to the sterile, bright environment of the hospital ward.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks, unbidden and unrelenting. It wasn’t clear whether they were from the stinging brightness of the room or the emotional weight of what she had just experienced. Perhaps it was both.

Her parents’ voices filled her ears—warm, familiar, and overflowing with concern—but Qi Jianyi felt detached. Her heart ached, the dream she had just woken from still fresh in her mind.

The bittersweet echo of her real mother’s voice in the dream lingered, mingling with the other one now speaking to her. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

No matter how much she wished to offer her parents reassurance, to smile and pretend everything was fine, Qi Jianyi found she couldn’t muster the strength. The weight of her experiences—the fear, the exhaustion, the constant sense of displacement—pressed heavily on her.

She was too drained, too shattered to put on a façade.

As she lay there, her parents hovered anxiously around her, their presence a balm she didn’t know how to accept.

For now, all Qi Jianyi could do was close her eyes again, allowing the tears to flow freely as she silently processed the fragile line between her reality and the dream she had so desperately wanted to believe was real.

"Jinlu, call the doctor immediately!" Mr. Qi’s voice rang out, firm and commanding, yet underlined with unmistakable panic.

His gaze remained fixed on Qi Jianyi, who had just closed her eyes again, her lack of response sending a wave of dread coursing through him.

Qi Jinlu, seated stiffly by the edge of the bed, jolted at his father’s words but didn’t move. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, his knuckles pale from the pressure. Before he could gather the will to respond, another voice broke through the tension.

"I’ll go," said Song Chengfeng, stepping forward from the shadowy corner of the room where he had been silently observing. Without waiting for approval, he turned on his heel and swiftly exited, his long strides purposeful.

Song Chengfeng had been keeping a close eye on Qi Jinlu throughout the week since Qi Jianyi’s collapse. The teenager, once lively and perpetually chatty, had been a shadow of his former self. His silence was unnatural, heavy with guilt that clung to him like a second skin.

Song Chengfeng had noticed the way Qi Jinlu avoided eye contact and barely spoke, as though he believed Qi Jianyi’s condition was his fault.

Meanwhile, in the room, Mr. Qi paced anxiously near the bed, his face etched with worry. Mrs. Qi sat by their daughter’s side, stroking Qi Jianyi’s hand as if trying to draw her back to them through sheer maternal will.

The faint sound of the air conditioner hummed in the background, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within the family.

Several minutes later, the sound of hurried footsteps approached. Song Chengfeng returned, dragging a disheveled doctor behind him. The medical professional, who had clearly been roused abruptly, was still adjusting his coat as he entered, his expression a mixture of irritation and concern.

"Doctor, my daughter woke up briefly just now," Mr. Qi began, his words tumbling out in a rush.

"But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t even acknowledge us, and now she’s fallen back asleep. What’s happening to her? Is something wrong?" His voice, though steady, betrayed the depths of his fear.

The doctor barely had a chance to collect himself as Mr. Qi’s questions came at him like a barrage. He glanced at Qi Jianyi, then at Mrs. Qi, who had not stopped holding her daughter’s hand. The desperation in the room was palpable, suffocating even.

"Please, doctor," Mrs. Qi finally spoke, her voice quivering as she looked up. "We’ve been waiting for so long. Just tell us—how is she?" Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, the weeks of worry etched into every line on her face.

The doctor adjusted his stethoscope as he approached the bed. "Let me examine her first," he said calmly.

As he began his assessment, Song Chengfeng moved to stand behind Qi Jinlu, placing a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. Qi Jinlu flinched slightly at the touch but didn’t shrug it off. Chengfeng leaned in, speaking softly so only the teen could hear.

"She’s strong," he said. "You know that. Whatever you’re blaming yourself for, it’s not your fault."

Qi Jinlu didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the floor, but his trembling hands betrayed the storm of emotions inside him.

The doctor, meanwhile, checked Qi Jianyi’s pulse and vitals, his expression unreadable as he worked. The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional rustle of papers as he jotted down notes.

All eyes were on him, waiting for the words that would either bring relief or deepen their despair.

The doctor adjusted his glasses and straightened up after completing his initial examination. He turned to Mr. Qi, whose tense posture and unwavering gaze made it clear he was hanging on the doctor’s every word.

"Mr. Qi, please try to remain calm," the doctor began, his tone measured and reassuring. "Your daughter’s vitals are stable. Her pulse and breathing are normal, and there’s no immediate cause for alarm. She appears to have fallen back asleep due to exhaustion, both physical and mental."

Mr. Qi let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, though his furrowed brows didn’t completely smooth. "But what about her lack of reaction? She woke up, but she didn’t respond to us. She didn’t even say anything. What does that mean?"

The doctor nodded, anticipating the question. "It’s not uncommon for patients recovering from prolonged unconsciousness to exhibit delayed responses or appear unresponsive. It could be a result of disorientation or lingering fatigue. Given that she’s been in this state for a week, her body and mind likely need more time to readjust."

Mrs. Qi, still holding Qi Jianyi’s hand, looked up at the doctor with tearful eyes. "So, you’re saying she’s... fine? There’s nothing serious happening?"

"For now, her physical condition doesn’t suggest any immediate complications," the doctor replied gently, his voice softening as he addressed the anxious mother. "However, her lack of interaction is something we need to monitor closely. When she wakes up again, pay attention to how she responds to her surroundings—whether she recognizes people, speaks, or seems confused. That will help us determine if there’s anything deeper to address."

Mrs. Qi nodded, relief mingling with lingering worry. "And if she doesn’t react? What then?"

"If that happens, we’ll conduct further evaluations—neurological assessments, imaging scans—to rule out any underlying issues. But please don’t jump to conclusions yet. Right now, the best thing for her is rest." The doctor’s calm demeanor offered a measure of solace, though the weight of uncertainty still hung in the air.

Mr. Qi exchanged a glance with his wife, his expression softening slightly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Alright, doctor. We’ll do as you say. But please, stay on call. I don’t want to take any risks with my daughter’s health."

"Of course, Mr. Qi," the doctor assured him. He gathered his equipment and glanced at Song Chengfeng, who had remained quiet but observant by the door. "If there’s any change, notify me immediately. I’ll check in on her again in a few hours."

As the doctor left, the room fell into a subdued silence. Mrs. Qi brushed a strand of hair away from Qi Jianyi’s face, her fingers trembling slightly. "She’s just tired," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "She’ll wake up properly next time."

"Thank you, Chengfeng," Mrs. Qi said softly, her gratitude evident in her tired but warm voice. The young man, who had been staying at the hospital every night since Qi Jianyi fainted, gave her a small nod.

Song Chengfeng usually composed demeanour softened, reflecting the genuine care he held for their daughter.

Even Mr. Qi, who was typically reserved in showing appreciation, stepped forward. With a slight grunt, he placed a firm hand on Song Chengfeng’s shoulder. It was a rare gesture from a man who prided himself on being stoic, and though he said nothing, the action carried more weight than words ever could.

"Help me take the twins home, will you?" Mr. Qi finally spoke, his tone gruff but laced with an unspoken trust.

His gaze lingered on the twins, Qi Jinlu and Qi Jinli, who stood at the edge of the bed. They hadn’t spoken much, their solemn faces betraying their lingering worry for their sister.

At their father’s request, the twins immediately shook their heads in unison.

"No, dad," Qi Jinlu protested, his voice firm yet tinged with a teenager’s desperation. "We’re not leaving. We want to stay here with sister."

Qi Jinli nodded in agreement. "Sister might wake up and need us."

Mr. Qi’s eyes narrowed, his stern expression cutting through the room.

"And what exactly do you think you can do by standing around uselessly?" His voice carried the weight of authority, and the twins flinched slightly at its sharpness. "Go home. Rest. You’re no help to her."

"But, Dad—" Qi Jinlu began to argue again, only for his father to cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"I will not accept any objections," Mr. Qi said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "Go. That’s final."

The twins exchanged glances, both reluctant but recognizing their father’s unyielding stance. Still, they hesitated, their feet rooted to the spot as though moving would betray their sister.

Song Chengfeng, watching the exchange in silence, finally stepped in. He took a step toward the door, his calm gaze shifting back to the twins. With a slight tilt of his head, he raised his brows and gave them a subtle but clear signal.

"Let’s go," he said, his voice steady and firm.

Qi Jinlu hesitated, clenching his fists at his sides before letting out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But we’re coming back first thing in the morning," he muttered, his tone more defiant than defeated.

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