CHAPTER 57: WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO HER?

In the midst of her wandering thoughts, Qi Jianyi’s chest suddenly tightened, an unexpected pressure settling there without warning. Before she could even process the sensation, a soft cough escaped her lips—quiet, almost unremarkable at first.

But then another followed, sharper this time, as if something deep inside had been disturbed. She instinctively raised her hand to her mouth, trying to suppress it, but the cough persisted, each one building on the last, becoming harder to stifle.

What started as small bursts turned into a series of involuntary spasms, just enough to make her throat sting. Her breathing grew shallow, interrupted by the relentless tickle in her lungs.

Each cough left a sharp, burning sensation, not violent but constant, like an echo that refused to fade. The discomfort settled in her chest, a weight growing with each strained breath.

She patted her chest instinctively, hoping to calm the sudden attack, her hand trembling slightly with the effort. Slowly, the coughing eased, the ache in her throat beginning to fade, though a lingering tightness remained.

Once her breathing steadied, she lowered her hand, turning back to face the silent gravestone of Nanny Zheng. Bowing slightly, Qi Jianyi spoke again, her voice soft but resolute, as though speaking from a place deeper than before.

"Nanny Zheng, I’ve come to pay my respects," she whispered, her eyes lingering on the photograph once more. "I don’t know if I will come again, or if the next visit will be my last. But when I return, I hope it will be Xiao Yi—your Xiao Yi—who comes to see you, not me."

With those final words, she straightened herself and, after one last glance, bid her farewell, her heart heavy yet somehow lighter for having spoken what she had kept inside for so long.

However, just as she was about to take a step away, Qi Jianyi’s vision suddenly blurred, the world around her spinning. The coughs she thought had faded returned with a vengeance—harsher, deeper, and more painful than before. A sharp, burning ache tore through her chest, forcing a small gasp from her lips.

"Ah—" A groan of pain escaped her, and with it, a sharp, piercing headache struck like lightning across her skull. She winced, her hand instinctively reaching for her head as her surroundings dimmed, her sight fading in and out of focus. The world around her felt distant, like she was watching it from underwater, trying to steady herself but finding no ground.

Her hands flew to her mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle the violent coughs that wracked her body, her legs buckling beneath her.

Before Qi Jianyi could stop herself, she collapsed to the ground, the cold, hard earth pressing against her as she tried to hold herself upright. But her balance faltered, leaving her feeling weak and disoriented.

Confusion flooded Qi Jianyi’s mind. She wasn’t sick—there had been no warning, no sign of any illness. So why was this happening to her? Her thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the sudden attack. But as the pain pulsed through her body, she could find no answers.

Her vision darkened, the edges closing in as if the world itself was retreating, pulling away from her grasp. She could barely feel the cold ground beneath her now.

The sounds around her, the rustling of leaves, the distant hum of life faded into a distant echo, as though she were sinking deeper into a void where nothing could reach her.

Only the relentless question echoing in her mind—what was happening to her?

And then, just like that, her consciousness slipped away, leaving her in silence..

...

"Doctor, tell me! What’s wrong with my daughter? How could she suddenly faint if there’s nothing wrong with her?!" Mrs. Qi’s panicked voice filled the room, her sharp words cutting through the air like a blade.

Qi Jianyi winced inwardly, her head throbbing with a deep, persistent ache that seemed to worsen with each sound. The voices around her were familiar, but they felt distant, as if she were hearing them through a thick fog.

Despite her confusion, she recognized the voice—Mrs. Qi. Her mother. Of course, she would be the one making such a fuss.

She tried to open her eyes, to move, but her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and her breathing was shallow, strained. A tightening sensation gripped her chest with each breath she attempted to take. Panic fluttered briefly in her chest, but Qi Jianyi forced herself to remain calm. She couldn’t afford to panic now.

Slowly, deliberately, she tried to steady her breathing, waiting for the tightness to loosen, for her body to respond.

"Madam, we’re doing everything we can to determine the cause of Miss Qi’s condition," a male voice replied soothingly, the doctor’s tone professional but edged with weariness.

"At the moment, all of her tests show nothing abnormal. Physically, she is in good health. The only thing we can do now is wait for her to wake up."

Mrs. Qi scoffed, her frustration evident. "You’ve been saying the same thing since last night! Look at her—it’s been a whole day, and she still hasn’t woken up!" Her voice cracked with desperation. "Doctor, if you told me my daughter collapsed from overwork, that would be more believable than claiming she’s perfectly healthy when she’s lying there like this!"

A rougher, more composed voice cut in. "He Ling, calm down." Mr. Qi’s tone was calm, but his underlying concern was unmistakable. His hands, though trembling slightly, betrayed the calm facade he tried to maintain.

"Let the doctor do his job." Yet, even he was beginning to fray under the weight of uncertainty.

For hours, he and Mrs. Qi had stood vigil outside their daughter’s ward, refusing to leave even for a moment. At first, the doctors had assured them that Qi Jianyi would wake up soon, that her condition wasn’t life-threatening.

But as the hours stretched into a full day, and their daughter still lay motionless, their worry had spiraled into something far more consuming. Even the most rational, the most patient of people could not bear to watch their child in such a state without answers

Just then, a stern, authoritative voice cut through the anxious chatter. "Jingxuan, Ling’er, pull yourselves together!"

Grandpa He strode into the room, his presence commanding. He glanced sharply at his daughter and son-in-law, his disapproval evident. "Your daughter is still resting, yet the two of you can’t keep your voices down long enough to let her recover properly!"

His words, though harsh, were underlined with deep concern. He had always been a man of discipline, even when dealing with matters as emotional as this. But the sight of his granddaughter lying pale and still in that hospital bed twisted something inside him, and he directed his frustration at the noise disrupting her peace.

Grandpa He turned his gaze to He Zeqing, who stood quietly at the corner of the room with another young man beside him. "Zeqing, Xiao Feng, I see you’re both here," he acknowledged with a nod, his tone softening slightly.

"Grandpa He," Song Chengfeng replied politely, offering a respectful nod. "I was with Zeqing when we received the news, so we came together."

He Zeqing remained silent, his expression tight with concern. He hadn’t left the hospital since receiving the call that Qi Jianyi had been found fainted at the cemetery—alone. His fists clenched at his sides as he recalled the moment.

Standing beside He Zeqing, Song Chengfeng felt a similar heaviness in his chest. Just the day before, he had confessed his feelings to Qi Jianyi. Now, she lay unconscious, with no explanation for what had happened. He couldn’t help but feel a gnawing sense of helplessness.

His gaze softened as it lingered on her, remembering how she had looked at him with that usual calm, even indifferent expression, completely unaware of how much she affected him. Now, seeing her so vulnerable, it stirred something protective deep within him.

How could Song Chengfeng not follow He Zeqing when he heard the news? How could he stay away when the woman he had just opened his heart to was lying here like this?

But there were no answers in this room. Only silence, interrupted by the soft beeping of the medical machines, and the quiet prayers of those who loved her.

Unbeknownst to them, Qi Jianyi—the cause of the chaos—was struggling to open her eyes. Each attempt drained her, the effort too much for her weakened state. She lay there, listening to her family’s voices filled with worry and concern. It was clear they loved her—their Qi Jianyi.

’Can’t you see this? Feel their love?’ she thought to herself.

Maybe the original Qi Jianyi had closed her eyes to this love long ago. Maybe she was so focused on what she didn’t have that she missed what was right in front of her. Was it easier to chase after distant dreams than to accept the love that was already hers?