The joy outside the delivery room did not last long.
Although the nurse announced that both mother and daughter were safe, her brow was furrowed with concern.
Soon, the attending physician came out, removed his mask, and addressed the Su family who instantly gathered around him, his tone grave:
"Mr. Su, your wife is physically fine, she just needs rest and recuperation."
"However, the baby's condition is... somewhat complicated."
The atmosphere in the corridor instantly grew tense once more.
"We have found that your daughter has a congenital heart condition."
"The premature birth has placed additional strain on her heart and lungs, making the situation a bit more challenging."
"With current medical capabilities, we cannot cure it."
Looking at Mr. Su's ashen face, the doctor continued with difficulty, "With meticulous care in the future, avoiding any strenuous activity or extreme emotional fluctuations, she might live into her twenties."
All the initial joy vanished without a trace, replaced only by worry and sorrow.
Leaning against the wall, Gu Chengyu was also stunned by the news.
Congenital heart disease?
He subconsciously tried to convince himself: It had nothing to do with him; it was congenital. He had just happened to be there.
Yet, as his gaze fell upon the tiny infant in the hospital room, that recently dispersed sense of guilt began to coil around him once more, faintly.
He watched her being taken out of the incubator, watched her grow a little each day.
The tiny infant had fair, delicate skin and exceptionally fine features, especially a pair of large, dark eyes that seemed to hold stars within them—pure and lively.
Despite her physical weakness, she was unusually cheerful, not prone to crying like other babies.
Whenever someone approached, she would open her toothless mouth in a grin, her eyes curving into beautiful crescents, letting out soft, gentle giggles.
Gu Chengyu stood by the bedside in his intangible state, unnoticed by anyone.
Once, looking at that pink, soft little face, as if compelled by some unseen force, he quietly extended a finger.
Even though he knew he couldn't touch her, he still gently tapped the spot on her cheek.
The next second, miraculously, the little baby on the bed seemed to sense it and looked in his direction.
Her clear, bottomless eyes were full of happiness. Her tiny hands grasped towards where his finger had been, and she babbled joyfully.
She couldn't see him, nor could she touch him.
But she smiled at him.
His heart of ruthless cultivation, unshaken for centuries, gently wavered, softening.
What was Gu Chengyu thinking at that moment? He wanted to steal her away and raise her himself.
...Never mind. She was someone else's child.
Gu Chengyu's sense of morality wasn't particularly high to begin with. Afraid he might not be able to restrain himself from secretly taking and raising this adorable little bundle belonging to others, he fled, like an escape, to a neighboring minor world for half a year.
The flow of time differed between the two worlds.
Springs passed and winters came, year after year. In this world, Su Qianqian was now a sixteen-year-old girl.
She had blossomed into a graceful young woman. Though still pale from her illness, her features were exquisite, delicate and touching.
When Gu Chengyu returned to see her again, he was truly startled.
He had only spent half a year in other minor worlds, yet over a decade had passed here.
He saw the young girl, Qianqian, leaning against the headboard of a hospital bed. Soft, black hair cascaded over her shoulders, making her small face appear even more pale and translucent.
She was looking down at a tablet on her lap, a slight curve at the corner of her lips, her eyes sparkling brightly—clearly in a good mood.
Gu Chengyu saw her slender fingers tap and swipe on the screen, pulling up interface after interface of exam papers, all with astonishingly high scores.
He raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised.
This little one had quite a good head on her shoulders.
