Chapter Seventy-Nine: Upheaval
The gaze between Cheng Yao and the infant did not last long.
A young nurse entered, pushing the door open with a bottle in hand. She skillfully picked up the baby, her tone light and cheerful as she coaxed the child, “Little one, time to eat! Come on, open wide—good, that’s it, you’re such a good baby…”
The baby sucked calmly at the bottle, eyes darting mischievously.
“What are you looking at? Our baby has such beautiful eyes. Must take after his mother… uh…” The nurse caught herself mid-sentence, sighing the next moment. “If your mother wasn’t pretty, Boss Zhou wouldn’t have chosen her. Wang Yangxian still has the nerve to shoot those happy family commercials. Boss Zhou is really shameless—makes you wonder if his wife and son are in the dark, or if they just pretend not to know… All smiles in those ads, but who can say what goes on behind closed doors… The rich, honestly…”
She rambled on, unaware that someone watched her from just beyond the window. The baby in her arms stopped his restless glances, fixing his gaze steadily on the nurse, as if earnestly listening.
The nurse laughed. “Can you really understand me? Clever little thing. Hey, you must grow up well, alright? Don’t become that kind of scoundrel—be a good man.”
The baby continued to stare, in the ordinary way children follow the source of a voice.
Cheng Yao, however, grew tense, his attention fixed on the child’s body.
His pupils shifted, dilating and contracting like a camera adjusting focus, their color deepening and lightening in turn. Under his gaze, the nurse’s and the baby’s internal structures were laid bare—vessels, bones, everything clear as day. But it was not just their size that differed; within the infant’s body moved curious “things.”
Though he’d already suspected the baby was a patient of the monster clinic, seeing it with his own eyes still caused Cheng Yao’s heart to sink.
He recalled the anomaly inside Fang Simin. Unlike Fang Simin’s unruly affliction, the “things” inside the infant were quiet and docile, drifting through the child as if part of him—circulating like blood, harmoniously. They did not attack the baby’s body; instead, with every cycle, they seemed to strengthen him.
Cheng Yao glanced down at himself, a little surprised to find that he did not possess these strange “things”—or rather, his body itself seemed to be made of them. The “things” permeated every cell, even soaking into his clothes, changing them.
A shiver ran through him.
Complicated feelings swirled inside, but he soon gathered his thoughts and looked again through the window at the baby.
By now, the nurse had removed the empty bottle and was gently patting the baby’s back. “You ate so well! Good appetite means you’ll grow quickly. That’s it, good boy. We’ll nap again soon. Eat well, sleep well, grow strong…”
Her words echoed the ones Fang Simin often repeated, evidence of her influence—she, too, had taken to talking to the infant.
After a burp, the nurse laid the baby in his crib and left with the empty bottle.
Cheng Yao exhaled, his gaze turning to the window.
It was unlocked; a gentle push would open it.
But the departing footsteps outside the door soon returned, joined by more. Cheng Yao’s hand paused on the window as he heard the nurse’s voice.
“…He’s been doing well these days… Teacher Fang just went home this morning. Last night was rough—a child had trouble and we were resuscitating all night.”
“Did you save him?” asked a middle-aged man.
“We did. He’s in the incubator now, stable,” answered another man, voice weary.
“We’ll check on him later. Be especially careful with these children,” the first replied.
As the strangers approached, the door opened.
A crowd, most in white coats, poured into the room. The nurse led the way, somewhat stiff, pointing to the infant. “…He just finished his milk and is about to sleep.”
“Children grow best when they eat and sleep well,” said the balding man in a white coat at her side—the same who’d answered earlier. “We do regular checks. His health has improved significantly; weight is now within normal range. He feeds himself and can move about.”
The man with slicked-back hair and glasses, clearly the leader, stepped up to the crib, nodding approvingly, “You’ve all worked hard. The child has been well cared for.” His voice matched the earlier questioner.
The infant opened his eyes, meeting the man’s gaze without blinking.
The man smiled, holding out a finger and moving it before the baby’s face.
The baby continued to stare at his face, ignoring the finger.
The man’s smile faded; he frowned. “You said his vision has recovered?”
“It has. He can see,” the balding man replied quickly, glancing at the nurse.
She started, only responding when someone nudged her. “Yes, he’s fine—always looks at whoever’s speaking.”
“So, is his sight back, or does he rely on hearing for recognition?”
“He’s fine…” The nurse sounded aggrieved.
Without waiting for more, the man in glasses said, “Show me the examination results.”
The nurse, now alert, hurried to the next office.
The others clustered around the crib, voicing their opinions.
From their discussion, Cheng Yao deduced their departments. The hospital director had brought his deputies and the heads of various departments for a consultation. But the adult departments differed greatly from pediatrics. Most spoke in generalities, praising the neonatology chief—the balding man. Only after the pediatricians spoke did their chief step forward to educate everyone, demonstrating a physical exam on the baby.
Through the crowd, Cheng Yao could see the baby—brows furrowed, dark eyes fixed intently on the pediatric chief.
A chill shot through Cheng Yao.
Just then, the nurse, out of breath, wheeled in a computer cart.
The balding chief seized the chance to present examination data, reporting on his team’s diligent work.
From the others’ addresses, Cheng Yao realized this man hadn’t made it to vice-director—he was lowest among these department heads, his moment stolen by the pediatric chief.
Cheng Yao remembered seeing the balding chief with Fang Simin overnight, saving a critically ill infant. Both had been exhausted. Fang Simin had gone home, only to meet with an accident and be saved by Cheng Yao. The balding chief hadn’t even rested after the rescue, staying to monitor the infant. Now, with the director’s inspection, his exhaustion was evident. Cheng Yao felt a pang of sympathy, but the director’s words drew his attention.
“…Since everything is stable, we can transfer him,” the director nodded, his greased hair immobile. “This afternoon, Kang’an International will take over. Prepare for the handover.”
The nurse, startled, blurted out, “Transfer him?”
The balding chief cleared his throat. “We’re a public hospital. There are some restrictions. Arrangements have been made—the baby will go to Kang’an International, where the adoption process will proceed.”
The nurse was still dazed.
The baby, head tilted, caught the chief’s reflection in his dark pupils, then looked to the director.
“That’s it. Prepare for the transfer. Good work,” the director patted the balding chief’s shoulder. “You should rest and freshen up. Look sharp for the cameras.”
“Of course,” the balding chief replied, his haggard face flushed with pride.
The group bustled out as quickly as they’d entered.
The nurse stood alone, stunned.
After a while, she looked at the infant, her tone sad, “You’re leaving, little one… Sigh… It’s just so sudden. I’ll tell Teacher Fang. She’ll want to see you off.” She perked up, pulling out her phone.
Cheng Yao too was lost in thought—not because of the transfer, but at the mention of “adoption process.” The baby had found an adoptive family? In that case…
“…What? Teacher Fang is in the ER? How is she?” the nurse’s exclamation broke his thoughts.
He glanced at her and noticed the baby’s wide eyes from the corner of his own.
“Oh… It’s nothing serious. She just fainted and is under observation,” the nurse sighed in relief. “It must have been exhaustion from last night. Well, let her rest. The child is fine now.” As she relaxed, Cheng Yao noticed the baby’s brows knit once more.
It seemed to him that disappointment flickered across that innocent face. Cheng Yao tensed.
The baby abruptly turned, looking at the window—looking at Cheng Yao.
But, as before, their eyes met only briefly before the balding chief returned, bringing others with him. Orders were given, and the team bustled to prepare the infant for transfer.
Watching the busy staff, the balding chief suddenly slapped his forehead, calling to the nurse, “Call Fang. Tell her to come this afternoon for the transfer.”
The nurse hurriedly explained Fang Simin’s hospitalization.
The chief was alarmed. “Which hospital?”
“The Second Hospital near her home. Her husband says she’s alright—just fainted and is under observation,” the nurse replied.
The chief sighed, “I’ll visit her tonight. These days have been so hard. For now, handle the transfer. Liu, I’m going to the lounge for a nap—call me at lunch.” He instructed a doctor, offered encouragement to the team, and shuffled off down the corridor.
Cheng Yao, pressed against the outer wall, followed the infant’s transfer, but his phone vibrated in his pocket, forcing him to pause. He glanced at the rooftop above, pressed his fingers, and flipped lightly onto the roof.
Pulling out his phone, he saw the caller was not Bai Xiao, but a name he hadn’t expected: Cheng Yang.
For a moment, Cheng Yao was dazed. With the phone buzzing insistently, he answered. “Hello…”
“Brother, how have you been lately?” came the familiar voice, warm with decades of kinship.
Cheng Yao hesitated a second before replying, “I’m well.”
“Hm? Oh…” Cheng Yang sounded puzzled, but continued, “Did you get everything settled with your father-in-law?”
“Yes.” Cheng Yao cleared his throat, lowering and roughening his voice to sound older, no longer the youthful tone of someone in his twenties. “Everything’s done. The house is closed up for now. We’ll see what happens.”
“No rush with the house. You’re not short on money. Keeping it is a kind of comfort, too. Sigh…” Cheng Yang’s voice was similar—aged and world-weary. “Are you free lately? Let’s have a meal together.”
“No need,” Cheng Yao replied, a touch wistful.
When his father-in-law had passed, they’d had a similar conversation. He’d refused Cheng Yang’s invitation then as well, handling the funeral, burial, and house all on his own. The last time they’d met was at the funeral, sharing a bowl of tofu soup and a glass of wine.
“What are you up to these days?” Cheng Yang asked, cautiously, with a hint of suspicion.
“Traveling. I’m in Longcheng now,” Cheng Yao said truthfully.
“Traveling? That’s great. Alone, or with a group?”
“Just me.”
“Going solo is the best—no hassle. Those tour groups are a nightmare. My wife and I tried a few—always shopping here and there, and those influencer spots, all crowds and queues. We don’t see the appeal. You’re retired now, free at last. I have another year, then we can travel together, maybe drive—take turns at the wheel.” Cheng Yang grew more animated, planning his retirement enthusiastically.
Cheng Yao couldn’t help but smile, nostalgic for these conversations.
He and Cheng Yang were cousins, seven months apart; they’d grown up together, attended the same elementary and middle school. In high school, a difference of just a few marks sent them to different schools. Later, university had separated them further, but they both stayed local, their families nearby, so they still met weekly. Their bond remained strong until work, marriage, and life intervened. After Bai Xiao’s accident, Cheng Yao withdrew into gloom, while Cheng Yang built his own family. Time together grew rare, but Cheng Yang always made an effort to include him, even instructing his son to care for his uncle in old age. The boy was dutiful, attending the funeral and honoring his grandfather.
Listening to Cheng Yang’s plans, hearing himself included, memories flooded back and Cheng Yao’s eyes burned.
He opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but words failed him.
He looked down at his own hands and feet.
He was young again; he had found Bai Xiao once more.
The past few months felt like a dream, separating him from his old life. Yet this call from Cheng Yang pulled him back to “reality.”
But how could he ever explain any of this to Cheng Yang…