Chapter 697: Ye Zhonghai Awakens!

Jiang Feng stands by the window, watching the dark shape below, surrounded by night and the crowd.

White curtains swirl in the night wind, beating the window frame again and again, producing a pat‑pat sound.

Outside the Corridor is already in disarray, urgent footsteps surge up from the stairwell, like a pot of boiling water just stirred, gurgling and bubbling.

Jiang Feng turns his back, no longer casting a glance out the window.

He walks to the bedside, lowers his head, and looks at the person still lying calmly on the bed.

Ye Zhonghai's complexion is whiter than paper, his lips are cracked, his eye sockets hollow, and his cheekbones protrude sharply.

He seems as if something has been sucked out from within, a thin sheet lying beneath the quilt, leaving only a skeletal frame holding up the skin.

Jiang Feng lifts his right hand.

His palm hovers less than three inches above Ye Zhonghai's chest, his five fingers gently splayed.

A gentle white glow rises from his palm, not glaring, like moonlight that has fallen into deep water and been diluted countless times, a warm, mellow radiance spreading to enclose Ye Zhonghai's lean body.

The radiance follows the texture of Ye Zhonghai's skin, seeping in like water into parched soil, slowly and silently filling each fissure.

Ye Zhonghai's brows first furrow, then slowly ease; his cracked lips move slightly; the grayish hue beneath his sunken eye sockets recedes little by little, replaced by a faint, warm, living blood color.

The green waveform on the Monitoring Device grows in amplitude, its frequency steadies, the line that previously fluctuated only once every few breaths gradually resumes a normal rhythm.

The liquid in the IV line still drips, drip—drip—drip, as if marching to the newly steady heartbeat.

The radiance dissipates.

Jiang Feng retracts his hand, letting it hang at his side.

The patient on the bed opens his eyes.

Ye Zhonghai's lashes flicker twice, his eyelids feel as if glued, and he must exert effort to lift them a narrow slit.

He blinks, acclimating for a moment to the warm yellow lamp above, his eyes gradually shift, from the ceiling to the nightstand, then from the nightstand toward the direction where Jiang Feng stands.

His stare rests on Jiang Feng's face, lingering for roughly two or three breaths.

"Jiang... Jiang Feng?"

His voice is as dry as sandpaper, his throat as if packed with sand, each syllable forced out with great effort.

His lips move, as if recalling something, his brows furrow into a tangled knot.

He only remembers the events of that day.

A horde of fierce, demonic men burst into the house, the leader brandishing a stack of papers before him, densely covered with numbers and signatures, his brain humming.

His aging bones cannot endure; darkness overtakes him, and he knows nothing.

"Jiang Feng..."

He breathes out, his voice still hoarse, yet clearer than before.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

Jiang Feng stands at the bedside, his hands in his pockets, looking down at the elderly man who has just emerged from a coma.

"Uncle Ye, you've been in the infirmary for at least three months."

Ye Zhonghai startles, then lets out a bitter laugh.

That smile contains self‑mockery, helplessness, and a resignation born of life having sapped his vigor.

He turns his head, gazing at the back of his own thin, vein‑prominent hand, his fingers curling.

"Sorry, Jiang Feng."

His voice lowers, laden with endless sorrow.

"I embarrassed you. It was you who saved me, right?"

Jiang Feng neither nods nor shakes his head, merely standing there watching Ye Zhonghai, his face expressionless.

Ye Zhonghai sighs, his eyes shift back to the ceiling, staring at the lamp for a few breaths. His voice deepens, sounding like he is talking to himself.

"Uncle Ye is incompetent, the company is gone, and I fell ill with a serious disease..."

His voice suddenly stops, as if remembering something, his facial muscles jerking sharply.

He withdraws his gaze from the ceiling, suddenly becomes restless, braces his hand on the bed rail to sit up, his gaunt body flutters twice within the quilt, then collapses back weakly.

"By the way! Where is that Rebellious Woman Ye Xiaoyue?"

His voice lifts, tinged with an uncontainable anger.

"How could she owe the casino such a huge sum? How am I to repay it for her? Tell me, how much does she still owe? I… I…"

He cannot go on, for he realizes he has nothing to give.

The company is gone, his savings empty, he has lain on this bed for three months; apart from his life, nothing else remains.

Jiang Feng watches him, silent for a moment.

"No need, Uncle Ye."

Jiang Feng speaks slowly, his tone neither sad nor joyful.

"That money, she has already repaid."

Ye Zhonghai is stunned.

He blinks, as if processing the sentence's meaning, his brows still tightly furrowed.

"Repaid?"

He repeats it, his tone laced with disbelief.

"Where did she get that much money to repay? Where… is she?"

Jiang Feng's gaze falls, landing on the quilt's folds at the foot of the bed, pausing for two breaths before lifting again.

He pauses, his voice flat as a motionless pond.

"From now on, she will never trouble you again."

Ye Zhonghai vaguely senses that something is wrong.

He can't pinpoint what's off, but Jiang Feng's expression, Jiang Feng's Tone, Jiang Feng's overly calm eyes, all piled together like a thin layer of Window paper over the uneasy feeling in his heart, the more he looked the more his heart raced.

He opened his Mouth to ask something else, but before he could make a sound, the ward's door was violently pushed open.

The door panel hit the wall and let out a Boom, and a stream of white‑coat sleeves surged in from outside the door.

Leading the group was a middle‑aged Doctor, his facial expression both urgent and chaotic, his forehead covered in sweat.

Behind them followed two nurses, one still clutched a stethoscope in their hand, the other's Mask was askew on their chin.

"Mr. Ye!"

The middle‑aged Doctor rushed into the room, saw Ye Zhonghai awake on the bed, clearly froze for a moment, but he couldn't spare time to think, gasped heavily and uttered the latter part of the sentence.

"Miss Ye just Jumped off the building… died on the spot!"

That sentence was like a Stone striking a calm water surface, the splashing droplets drenched the entire ward.

The waveform on the Monitoring Device was still jumping steadily, the Liquid in the infusion line was still dripping at an even pace, yet everything at this moment turned into obscure noise on the background board.

Ye Zhonghai's eyes widened suddenly.

His Mouth was open, the color in his face drained completely in that instant, even the faint warmth that had just recovered was swallowed whole by something.

His body shivered violently, his hand shot out from the Quilt, grasped at the air, catching nothing.

"Xiaoyue!"