His mom once said something along the lines of: many things shouldn’t be thought about or spoken of, or else they’ll come true.

So, whether it was because he’d secretly wished the night before that Su Huanliu would stay sickly for a long time, or not, the next day, Su Huanliu collapsed again.

It wasn’t Fa Muzhi who witnessed the collapse firsthand, but a notification from the neighboring research institute.

The emergency contact Su Huanliu had designated at the institute finally came into play. However, when Fa Muzhi rushed over from his office, he found no one there—only news that Su Huanliu had already been sent to the hospital.

Hailing a cab while requesting leave, Fa Muzhi sensed this might be serious. Based on past experience, Su Huanliu usually waited for him to arrive. Being rushed to the hospital so quickly meant bodyguard Xu Yao must have judged immediate medical attention necessary.

Fortunately, the hospital was nearby and familiar—it was the same one Su Huanliu was always admitted to. Not just him; whenever anyone in his family fell ill, they came here too. This, the largest private hospital in the city, seemed to be one of the family’s holdings.

Sure enough—

When Fa Muzhi arrived breathless at the east wing of the hospital’s first floor—the ward tightly connected to the main building yet subtly separated by corridors and multiple doors—Xu Yao was standing outside the entrance.

“How is he?” Fa Muzhi slowed his pace, taking several deep breaths to steady his breathing before approaching Xu Yao to ask.

“He had a slight fever the day before yesterday. The doctor advised him not to go out, but the young master insisted on leaving. Then, while at work today, he collapsed and fell unconscious. His blood oxygen levels are low. The doctor says it’s affected his lungs.” Xu Yao delivered the situation in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.

Fa Muzhi’s brows knitted tightly.

No wonder he’d noticed the other man looking healthier these past two days—that pallid face had regained some color. But now he realized it wasn’t health at all, just sickness! The reason he hadn’t noticed was likely because the other had taken medicine to suppress the fever!

He should have been more vigilant—Fa Muzhi chastised himself inwardly.

“Can I go in to see him?” he asked, looking past Xu Yao.

No answer came. Xu Yao simply stepped aside, allowing Fa Muzhi to enter. Once the automatic doors closed behind him, Xu Yao silently returned to his original spot.

And so, Fa Muzhi saw Su Huanliu again.

The friend who had smiled serenely over lunch yesterday now lay weakly in the white hospital bed, seemingly in pain. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, the color of his lips frighteningly pale. oxygen tubing dangled from his nose, IVs hung from his wrists, and even his fingers weren’t spared—monitors clamped onto his slender digits. Every vital sign was quantified into numbers and curves displayed on the screen beside him.

His breathing was labored, his chest heaving violently, yet even so, he seemed to be getting little oxygen. A flurry of procedures by the doctors and nurses in the room did little to improve his condition. More medical staff rushed in, initiating a new round of interventions. Fresh instruments and tubes were brought out, new medications administered, and more lines attached. The once-sturdy man now looked thin and ethereal.

Fa Muzhi knew: he wouldn’t be able to speak with Su Huanliu today.

Indeed, Su Huanliu never regained consciousness that entire day. New doctors arrived constantly, instruments were added and removed, and medications were changed repeatedly. Unless they were blood relatives, they wouldn’t discuss Su Huanliu’s condition with him. Yet, judging by the increasingly frequent visits of these doctors, Su Huanliu’s situation hadn’t improved—it had most likely worsened.

To avoid disrupting the medical staff’s comings and goings, Fa Muzhi pressed himself against the wall, standing in the corridor outside the ward. At first, he could still glimpse Su Huanliu through the glass window across the corridor. Later, they drew the blinds on the inside of the window, and he could see nothing.

Slapping his face, Fa Muzhi glanced at Xu Yao outside the door. After a moment, he left the corridor, found a random restaurant nearby, ordered two takeout meals, and headed back toward the hospital.

Like any corner of Zhongcheng City, several cherry blossom trees stood outside the hospital. A gust of wind sent white petals tumbling from the branches like snowflakes.

So many petals fell that Fa Muzhi raised his hand to shield his face, lowering it only after the gust had passed.

Looking up at the branches again, he noticed the cherry blossoms had reached their peak, hanging loosely and sparsely. Even without wind, they occasionally couldn’t bear their own weight and fell from the branches.

This season of cherry blossoms is ending, he thought.

Without lingering, Fa Muzhi carried two boxed meals back to the hospital. He and Xu Yao sat outside the ward door, eating a bland lunch together.

That afternoon, an urgent company matter arose, forcing Fa Muzhi to dash back to the office. When he returned, Su Huanliu was no longer in her original hospital room.

Xu Yao was gone too.

Instead, a text message awaited him: “The young master has been taken home.”

That night, torrential rain poured down on Zhongdu City. As temperatures plummeted, the downpour raged nonstop through the night. When Fa Muzhi returned to this family’s home via the tree branches the next day, not a single cherry blossom remained—neither on the tree nor beneath it.

The downpour had washed everything clean, ending the cherry blossom season abruptly.

For the next three days, there was no word from Su Huanliu.

A similar situation had occurred before, though they had only been out of contact for two days. When he could no longer bear it and went to visit the Su residence, he still saw Su Huanliu.

But this time was different.

Seemingly sensing instinctively that this time was different, Fa Muzhi went to Su Huanliu’s house from the very first day. At first, someone answered the door but refused entry, though politely, citing Su Huanliu’s illness and stating he shouldn’t be disturbed. By the second day, no one even opened the door. He waited outside that dark, rectangular gate for most of the day, but it never opened.

It wasn’t until Fa Muzhi returned after working half a day at the company that afternoon that he found the gate open. Luxury cars were streaming in one after another. Yet when he approached to state his purpose—to visit Su Huanliu—he was refused.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re a friend of Young Master Huanliu, but under the current circumstances, only his close friends are permitted entry.”

“Those who just entered—” he gestured toward the luxury cars entering—“are the children of the old master, Young Master Huanliu’s uncles and aunts.”

The attendant whispered this, and because of the rain, he even called a colleague to fetch an umbrella from the mansion for him. Yet when asked what was happening inside or how Su Huanliu was faring, the attendant remained tight-lipped, refusing to say a word no matter how much Fa Muzhi pressed him.

The black gate loomed like a mountain, obscuring the mansion’s exquisite pavilions and terraces, the ancient trees and flowers in perpetual bloom within, and blocking Fa Muzhi’s path to see Su Huanliu.

Standing in the rain under the umbrella, Fa Muzhi’s brows knitted tightly.