Shen Zhizhao didn’t take offense at his aggressive tone and patiently asked him a few more questions about Shen Yi’s current condition.
Shen Wenta struggled to remain calm, relaying her situation as clearly as possible.
After hearing this, Shen Zhizhao said, "Fever is a normal immune response to trauma. First, use a cold towel to cool her down, and remember to give her some water to stay hydrated. Watch for any signs of confusion or rapid breathing. If those appear, immediately locate the ship's first-aid equipment."
“Also,” Shen Zhizhao’s voice deepened, “make sure to summon everyone who has medical training. No matter how you do it, keep them at the door and ready to check on her at any moment.”
“I understand,” Shen Wenta replied. He turned on speakerphone and scrambled to find a towel and water.
When the cold towel touched Shen Yi’s forehead, she frowned slightly.
He stopped instantly, waiting a long while before daring to reposition it.
“Please,” Shen Wenta muttered, unable to sleep all night, his mind a chaotic mess. He couldn’t help but whisper some incoherent words, almost pleading, “Don’t be sick, okay?”
He was terrified beyond measure.
…
On the other end of the call, Shen Ruxu was uncharacteristically hesitant, almost dazed: “Will she be okay if she’s sick? Eldest Brother.”
It was rare for him to ask such a straightforward question.
Shen Zhizhao replied, “Of course she’ll be fine. We’re heading straight to the nearest port where the ship docks. You also have to trust your Third Brother—he can take care of her.”
He didn’t mention rescue.
A helicopter would need to account for wind conditions and landing feasibility on the ship, and getting clearance to enter another country’s airspace and overseas territory could take hours, even an entire day.
For now, all they could do was start moving in that direction and minimize the time it took to meet up once the ship docked.
Shen Xun muttered gloomily, “But Third Brother doesn’t know how to take care of anyone.”
Shen Zhizhao didn’t hold back this time: “You don’t either, do you?”
His mood was sour, and his words carried a rare sharpness, almost bitter.
“At least I wouldn’t be stupid enough to ask you about everything like he does,” Shen Xun said, covering his face with his hand, his voice muffled. “When I was little, I got better quickly. Shen Yi too—her fever would break the next day. But Third Brother always seems slow and clumsy. He’s unreliable.”
The more he spoke, the more irritated he became. He kept taking his hand on and off his face, repeating the motion several times.
He was annoyed at not being there himself.
…
Shen Wenta touched her forehead every few seconds, murmuring vain pleas for her fever to break soon.
His constant temperature-checking was almost obsessive, to the point of being pathological.
Soon, the three familiar unlucky souls were summoned back inside.
Among them was someone who had brought a variety of emergency medications. Dragged out of her room by security yet again, she was already taking it in stride.
Without wasting time, she quickly gave the girl some fever-reducing medicine.
The woman examined her carefully and spoke with certainty: “It’s just a fever. The wound shows no sign of infection for now. Once the medicine takes effect and we keep up the physical cooling, it should subside soon.”
“How soon is ‘soon’?”
“...It depends. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours, generally.”
“Forty-eight hours?!”
“...That’s not long.”
Shen Wenta’s face fell, his handsome features darkened with displeasure.
Seeing his sullen expression, the woman quickly added—driven by self-preservation—“I can change the wound dressing when it’s time. You have our word: we won’t let anything happen to her.”
“Thank you,” Shen Wenta said, his sincerity slightly more genuine this time.
He looked at them earnestly: “I’ll repay you all once we get home. I’ve never taken care of anyone before. Can you stay outside the door and keep watch?”
The three exchanged glances, their expressions varied, but they all nodded in agreement.
“Alright.”
After all, it was already a full night.
Why not trade a favor?
And besides, they were thinking the same thing: this guy was truly nasty, and he had a gun.
When you’re at gunpoint, you learn to make the right choices.
“We’ll stay, right outside. Call us if you need anything.”
“That’s just wonderful,” Shen Wenta said with a fake smile.
He escorted them out and, the moment the door clicked shut, his expression cooled instantly.
His words of thanks were, of course, just empty talk.
It already counted as high moral character on his part that he wasn’t seeking revenge for their initial indifference.
And so, the three stuck outside the door were about to face an endless barrage of questions from Shen Wenta.
Every twenty minutes, the door would crack open and a head would poke out.
Shen Wenta: “But she seems a bit restless…”
“...How exactly can you tell she’s restless?”
“Her brows are furrowed.”
“Normal. Of course it hurts to be injured.”
Shen Wenta frowned: “But…”
“No ‘buts’! Just let her sleep it off!”
“What if she’s thirsty?”
“She’s not dehydrated yet. You can wet a cotton swab with some water.”
The door closed.
A few minutes later, it opened again.
“When will her fever break?”
“...It’s hard to say.”
He pressed on, unwilling to drop it: “Could it be within three hours?”
“We can’t say,” the woman replied numbly. “I’m not a fortune-teller—I can’t predict exactly when.”
“But she looks so pale. Isn’t that a problem?” Shen Wenta was still paranoid, overthinking everything.
“First of all, it’s normal for someone who’s lost blood to look pale.”
“Second, sir, do you realize your face is even paler than hers? Honestly, you need rest more than she does.”
“Thanks, but I don’t,” Shen Wenta shot back quickly, closing the door again.
The three outside stared at the closed door in silence for a while.
“…That lawless maniac—does he have some kind of anxiety disorder?”
“As a doctor, you often run into neurotic family members like him. Huge risk of medical disputes,” the woman said coolly, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. “His state reminds me of parents whose kids are sick—they get so worried and distressed their heart rates hit 140.”
“The only difference is, those people aren’t carrying a gun.”
And the three of them were unlucky enough to be dealing with a terrorist’s next of kin.
“If that sick girl really has any problem, I have no doubt he’ll press the gun to our foreheads and send us to hell.”
The other two exchanged looks, their smiles tinged with a faint bitterness.
…
Inside the room.
He had no time to worry about his own appearance. He sat down again, his hands clenched tightly on his knees, lips pressed into a thin line. He was wide awake, his eyes fixed on his sister’s breathing.
Shen Wenta hadn’t slept in a full day. Dark blue veins throbbed under his eyelids, yet he felt no trace of sleepiness.
He stood up now and then to cool her down, then quietly stayed in the room, alert to anything happening outside.
Under such intense focus, normally, one wouldn't feel any drowsiness at all.
Yet, for some reason, Shen Wenta's vision began to blur, his eyelids growing heavy and drooping, as if something were weighing them down.
His head drooped, and it knocked against the edge of the bed.
He did not wake up.
Then, he had a long, drawn-out dream.
