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The corridor was packed with students, playing and laughing loudly.

At the entrance of Class Seventeen, there were only a few people around. Liang Qian scratched his head and said, “Yang-ge’s family… has some… special circumstances. It’s about his dad…”

He struggled to finish his sentence.

Liang Qian sighed. “This is a complicated matter. I don’t know how to explain it to you. Can I take you to see him instead?”

The situation was too messy for him to articulate clearly. He himself had only gradually pieced together fragments of the story—and even then, he didn’t know everything.

Le Ya pressed her lips together. “To the hospital?”

Liang Qian paused, then nodded. “Yes, to the hospital.”

“He’s definitely injured,” Zhao Mingri leaned over and whispered. “But there’s no danger to his life. We didn’t dare tell you.”

When they found out about the incident, both of them had skipped class to go see Chen Yang. He had specifically instructed them not to tell her.

But how could they possibly hide it?

When Liang Qian was questioned before the monthly exam, he already had an inkling of what was going on. At the time, he had hastily made up a small lie to dodge the question.

But one lie required countless others to cover it up. Back then, neither of them—two academic underachievers—realized that the next day would be the monthly exam.

By coincidence, Le Ya and Chen Yang were in the first examination room. Whether someone showed up or not was immediately obvious. Not seeing him for one day might have been acceptable, but several days? Anyone would find it suspicious.

So Liang Qian had anticipated being questioned—it just happened sooner than expected.

He still remembered the scene when he received the news and rushed over. It was the first time he’d encountered such a blood-soaked sight—it left him feeling dizzy and disoriented.

Even when Chen Yang dealt with those older students, it hadn’t been this bad.

Le Ya’s heart raced uncontrollably as her mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios. She asked, “Is he unable to reply to my messages now?”

Her voice trembled slightly.

Zhao Mingri, fearing she might cry, whispered softly, “His phone is broken.”

Le Ya took a deep breath, nodded, and said, “Alright, I understand. Let me drop off my things, and I’ll come find you later.”

With that, she turned and walked back toward Class One.

Liang Qian and Zhao Mingri watched her retreating figure, both feeling an indescribable weight settle over them. It took a while before they could catch their breath.

When Le Ya returned to the classroom, she remained silent.

Xie Qingyu happened to be there. “Going home?”

After waiting for a response that never came, she looked up and saw Le Ya’s tense expression, freezing in place. “What’s wrong?”

She gently nudged Le Ya’s shoulder. “Did you do poorly on the exam?”

It wasn’t long ago that Le Ya had asked Chen Yang something similar—it felt as though the memory was from just yesterday.

Seeing Le Ya’s tear-filled eyes, though she hadn’t cried, Xie Qingyu couldn’t help but feel heartbroken. She patted her shoulder. “If you didn’t do well, it’s okay. It’s just a monthly exam. You can try harder on the next one—the mock exam.”

Le Ya’s voice caught in her throat. “It’s not about the exam.”

Though Xie Qingyu didn’t know what was going on, she still reassured her. “Whatever it is, it’ll pass. Don’t worry.”

Le Ya pulled away from her embrace. “I’m not walking home with you today. You go ahead.”

Xie Qingyu nodded. “Alright.”

She studied Le Ya carefully. Though she hadn’t cried, her demeanor suggested she was holding back tears with great effort.

Outside Class One, Liang Qian and Zhao Mingri waited silently, not daring to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing.

After Xie Qingyu left, she exchanged glances with Liang Qian and sent him a WeChat message: “What exactly happened?”

Liang Qian shook his head, pointed to his mouth, and replied: “Don’t ask. Stay out of this.”

Xie Qingyu: “I just saw how Le Ya looked—I’m worried. Don’t mess this up. If anything happens to her, I won’t forgive you.”

Liang Qian: “How dare we? It’s about Yang-ge.”

Her guess wasn’t far off.

She suddenly recalled that Chen Yang hadn’t been in contact with Le Ya these past few days. Since yesterday, Le Ya’s mood had seemed off.

But what exactly had happened?

Xie Qingyu didn’t press further. After waving goodbye to Liang Qian and giving him a few more reminders, she left.

Le Ya emerged from the classroom. “Let’s go. I’m ready.”

Liang Qian quickly responded, “Alright, alright.”

It was 4:30 PM, and the sky outside had grown overcast.

Along the way, Liang Qian racked his brain for jokes to cheer Le Ya up. But every attempt ended awkwardly, leaving him trailing off mid-sentence.

Not a single joke elicited laughter.

Zhao Mingri, unable to bear the oppressive atmosphere any longer, elbowed him. “You’re useless. Can’t you just stay quiet?”

Liang Qian whispered, “Don’t you think this atmosphere is weird?”

He truly felt suffocated, so he tried to lighten the mood. But seeing Le Ya’s unsmiling face, he quietly gave up.

Aren’t girls supposed to have low laugh thresholds?

Zhao Mingri glanced at the girl walking ahead and ruffled his hair. “What else can we do? Sigh, I’m at a loss too.”

He was worried too.

Compared to the current situation, he was more worried about what would happen once they arrived at the hospital.

Hearing their conversation, Le Ya finally spoke up. “I’m fine. You don’t need to go out of your way to make me laugh.”

Liang Qian muttered in response, “Alright, alright.”

The rest of the journey was eerily silent inside the car.

The driver sensed the strange atmosphere. What was going on with these kids? They looked like something serious had happened—could it really be something bad?

He deliberately turned on the radio.

There had been incidents before where children jumped into rivers or off buildings, and drivers had successfully saved them. The car was equipped with motivational broadcasts specifically for moments like this.

The driver stealthily turned it on and set it to start after a song ended—they still had ten minutes until they reached the hospital.

Soon, an uplifting motivational tune filled the car: “Wake up in the morning, embrace the sun, let your body be filled with brilliant sunlight…”

Le Ya: “...”

Liang Qian: “...”

Zhao Mingri: “...”

The elderly man’s voice continued over the broadcast: “...Overflowing with positive energy. A downturned mouth leads to losing direction; an upturned mouth brings rising fortunes.”

The driver glanced at the three passengers’ expressions and found the broadcast surprisingly effective.

This was the recently popular “Overflowing Positive Energy.” It was so addictive that he had downloaded it to his playlist.

Though it wasn’t morning, the message was still uplifting.

The same lines repeated endlessly throughout the ride, finally reaching their twentieth iteration as they arrived at the First Hospital.

After getting out of the car, Liang Qian touched his forehead. “Does this driver have an obsession with this song? It felt like a scene came to life.”

It had played the entire way.

Zhao Mingri was practically ready to spit blood, especially when the driver gave them a satisfied look as they exited. Anyone who didn’t know better might’ve thought they were heading off to do something heroic.

The outpatient and inpatient departments of the First Hospital were separate. The outpatient department wasn’t far from the school, but they were headed to the inpatient ward.

Le Ya stood at the entrance. “Can we go in now?”

Liang Qian snapped back to reality. “Let’s go.”

The inpatient ward wasn’t crowded, and since it was evening, it felt deserted. The air carried the sharp scent of disinfectant.

Le Ya wasn’t unfamiliar with hospitals.

On the contrary, she had visited countless times due to her ear issues. Back then, the smell alone had made her nauseous.

During that period, she could barely hear anyone speak. Though she was young and couldn’t remember specific details, the trauma had left a deep shadow in her heart.

Le Ya pressed her lips together, silently following Liang Qian and Zhao Mingri.

They took the elevator to the third floor. The entire journey was deathly quiet, as if they were the only ones on the floor.

As they approached the third floor, Liang Qian couldn’t help but say, “Le Ya, don’t get too emotional when we go in. It’s all because Yang-ge’s dad is such a terrible person…”

Even at this point, he couldn’t resist giving her a heads-up.

Before he could finish, the elevator doors opened with a ding.

“Alright, I underst—” Le Ya stepped out, intending to respond, but froze as she saw what was happening at the end of the corridor.

Her entire body stiffened.

The door to the ward was wide open. Chen Yang and another man emerged, a wheelchair spinning nearby while the man seated in it had fallen to the ground.

The man in the wheelchair, dressed in heavy winter clothing, lay sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath. He tilted his head upward. “You think this...”

His words were cut short. Chen Yang’s hands were clenched so tightly that the veins on the back of his hand bulged.

Kicking the wheelchair aside, Chen Yang delivered a punch straight to the man’s face. Blood trickled from the corner of the man’s mouth as muffled groans and screams followed.

Perhaps the man hadn’t expected Chen Yang to be so ruthless. Fear crept through him like a parasite. “I won’t say anything… I won’t say anything anymore!”

Chen Yang grabbed the man by his hair. “How did my mom die?”

He yanked the man’s head up forcefully, speaking each word with chilling precision. “I’m not like my mom.”

The man’s face was fully exposed.

In an instant, Le Ya remembered—the man in the wheelchair who had pushed her to the ground late one night not long ago.

It was him.

Le Ya hadn’t even processed it yet.

The fear coursing through her limbs intensified as she watched Chen Yang pin the man against the wall, his hand tightly gripping the man’s neck. Her entire body went cold.

Chen Yang gritted his teeth, his low voice dripping with icy menace. “Do you think you have the right to say those things after everything you’ve done?”

The corridor was silent, and every sound echoed clearly.

A chill ran up Le Ya’s spine, spreading upward.

It was the first time she had seen Chen Yang look so terrifying. She froze in place, too scared to make a sound.

Everything had happened in the blink of an eye.

As soon as Liang Qian exited the elevator and heard the commotion, he rushed over upon seeing Chen Yang holding the red-faced man. “Yang-ge, stop hitting him! Stop! If you keep going, he’ll die!”

Both he and Zhao Mingri hurried forward, but they couldn’t pull Chen Yang away.

Through the gap between them, Chen Yang caught sight of Le Ya standing not far away.

Instinctively, he loosened his grip.

The man on the floor gasped for air, coughing violently and collapsing against the wall. Seeing that he was still alive, Liang Qian and Zhao Mingri exhaled in relief.

Fighting was one thing, but killing someone would’ve been disastrous.

To be honest, both of them wanted to throw punches, let alone Chen Yang himself. His injuries from earlier and the man’s provocation had only fueled his anger.

Bandages still covered Chen Yang’s head and arms, and small wounds on his face had reopened due to the intense movement, seeping blood.

As he walked toward her, lips pressed tightly together, Le Ya finally couldn’t hold back and let out a soft sob.

The corridor was silent except for the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing.

She wasn’t far from Chen Yang and could see the man in the wheelchair slumped on the floor, staring directly at her with an unreadable expression.

Chen Yang stood in front of her, gently touching her nose. “Did I scare you just now?”

Le Ya’s legs gave out, and she crouched down.

Chen Yang also squatted down, saying nothing.

Needle marks were still visible on the back of his hand—he must have been receiving an IV just moments ago, and the puncture site was slightly swollen and bleeding.

Le Ya grabbed his hand. “What happened?”

“Let’s go inside,” Chen Yang said, picking her up and carrying her into the ward without looking down once.

As they passed the wheelchair, Le Ya couldn’t help but glance at the man’s face.

Chen Yang immediately blocked her eyes with his hand, kicked the door shut behind them, and sealed off all outside noise.

Outside, Liang Qian and Zhao Mingri sat on the floor, sighing deeply.

Chen Mingwu wiped the blood from his face, gritting his teeth.

Inside the ward, there was nothing but the slow drip of medication from the IV needle, soaking a small patch of the bedsheet.

Chen Yang placed Le Ya on the bed. She clutched his hand, her voice trembling. “Don’t move. I’ll call the doctor.”

“I’m fine,” Chen Yang said.

“How can you be fine?” Le Ya flipped his hand over, revealing the clear marks on the back. Up close, they looked even more horrifying.

“And your head…” She reached out to touch it but stopped midway, tears uncontrollably streaming down her face.

Everything she had witnessed—from the moment she saw it to now, as he stood before her—made her realize for the first time that he was far more complicated than he appeared.

Why had her father provided financial support? What truths lay hidden beneath? Why hadn’t he told her who the recipient was? It felt like everything had been concealed from her.

Chen Yang feigned calmness. “I’m fine. I’ll be better in a couple of days.”

Le Ya’s gaze fixed on his forehead. Struggling to breathe, she stammered, “Just now… just now, I was so afraid you’d… kill him…”

She had feared that Chen Yang would strangle the man to death.

That moment had truly terrified her.

Chen Yang used the back of his hand to wipe her tears, feeling somewhat at a loss.

The only sounds in the ward were the girl’s sobs and her stuttered words. He couldn’t focus on anything else—his entire attention was on her.

He squatted beside the bed. “Can you please stop crying?”

Le Ya clutched his hand. The blood on it smeared onto her tears, drying briefly before dissolving again, leaving faint traces.

She reached out to touch it, whispering softly, “Does it hurt?”

Nothing compared to the ache in her heart.

Chen Yang nodded, then shook his head. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”