Love in the Depths of Time (GL) - Chapter 30

The CT scan glowed with a cold, white light on the viewing panel. Wen Jia Le’s pupils suddenly contracted. The shadow lurking in Lin Xi’s left lung gate resembled a venomous spider that had been dormant for years, now spitting out cruel silk towards her.

“The pathology report came out this morning,” the oncology department director’s voice was muffled behind the N95 mask. “Small cell lung cancer, stage IV.” He tapped the CT scan with a metal forceps, pointing to the spreading burrs. “The bone metastasis is in the T4 vertebra. Has she been in pain for about six months?”

The monitor emitted a rhythmic beeping sound as Wen Jia Le mechanically turned Lin Xi’s wristwatch. The tiny diamonds at the twelve o’clock position refracted the morning light into colorful specks, reflecting on the “Pain Pump Usage Record” section of her patient file—three consecutive weeks marked in red for the maximum daily dosage.

“She always said it was an old rib injury.” Wen Jia Le heard her own voice as if it came from underwater. Memories flashed back to countless late-night emergency visits over the past six months—Lin Xi curled up on the waiting room chair, her white shirt always damp with sweat, mapping a silent, invisible pain.

The director handed her a glass bottle containing a biopsy sample. The dark red tissue floated in formalin solution. “This was taken from the bronchoscopy this morning. You…”

The smell of disinfectant suddenly became unbearably strong. Wen Jia Le staggered, grabbing the treatment table for support, and saw her own gloved fingertips trembling—these same hands had traced the scars on Lin Xi’s shoulder blades just last night, while Lin Xi had laughed, saying the new pain relief patches smelled like lavender.

The call bells at the nurses’ station rang one after another. Wen Jia Le was staring at the medication box on Lin Xi’s bedside table. The neatly arranged OxyContin blister packs looked like rows of tombstones. At the bottom of the stack lay a faded convenience store receipt: February 14, 2023—strawberry milk *1, pain relief patches *3.

“Dr. Wen!” An intern rushed in with a bl00d gas analysis report. “Bed 3’s oxygen saturation is dropping rapidly!”

Wen Jia Le ran, her ID badge ripping from her coat. The automatic doors of the emergency room swung open before her. She saw Lin Xi lying among the mechanical arms, as fragile as a wilting magnolia. The endotracheal tube rose and fell with the ventilator’s rhythm, and the sapphire ring on her finger reflected the operating light, casting shards of icy brilliance.

“Prepare ECMO.” She heard herself issue the command in an unfamiliar yet steady voice. Her fingers firmly gripped the fiberoptic bronchoscope. The camera passed through the swollen bronchial tubes, revealing the cancerous lung tissue writhing grotesquely on the screen, like a nebula drowning in a crimson mist.

The monitor let out a sharp alarm. Wen Jia Le abruptly withdrew the bronchoscope and, under the stunned gazes of those around her, tore off her sterile gloves. She unbuttoned Lin Xi’s hospital gown with trembling hands. Fresh puncture marks on the T4 vertebra stood out vividly—they were not signs of metastasis pain but the daily injections of granulocyte-stimulating factor.

“You knew all along.” Wen Jia Le leaned close to Lin Xi’s ear, tears fogging her face shield. “You lied about bone metastases… just so I wouldn’t feel as much pain?”

The ECG waveform suddenly spiked erratically. Lin Xi struggled to lift her IV-inserted hand, her fingertips tracing broken letters in Wen Jia Le’s palm: S-O-R-R-Y.

“Switch to palliative care.” Wen Jia Le suddenly turned around and announced. Amidst the collective gasps, she removed her director’s badge. “From this moment on, I am only Lin Xi’s family.”

She tore off her work ID, the metal clip bouncing into the shadows. A competition badge from fifteen years ago slipped out from its broken plastic cover. The faded handwriting on the back glowed faintly under the resuscitation room lights:

[When the mass difference in a binary star system exceeds the critical value,]

[The smaller star will turn into a supernova and illuminate the entire universe.]

Even though Lin Xi’s condition had reached its final stage, her resolve remained firm. Wen Jia Le sat by Lin Xi’s bed, gently holding her hand, feeling the familiar warmth. Lin Xi’s breathing was weak, but her eyes held a trace of peace.

“Jia Le,” Lin Xi’s voice was soft, as if afraid to disturb something. “Thank you… for always being by my side.”

Tears slipped down Wen Jia Le’s face. She forced a small smile. “Lin Xi, don’t say that. You are the most important person in my life. How could I not be here with you?”

Lin Xi shook her head slightly. She knew she didn’t have much time left, but she didn’t want Wen Jia Le to be too sad. With the last of her strength, she pulled out a small box from under her pillow and handed it to Wen Jia Le.

“This is…?” Wen Jia Le took the box, confused.

“Open it and see.” Lin Xi’s voice was already faint.

Wen Jia Le carefully opened the box. Inside was a delicate platinum ring with a sapphire, identical to the one Lin Xi wore on her wrist. Tears welled up in Wen Jia Le’s eyes—she understood its meaning.

“We picked this together at the night market, remember?” Lin Xi’s voice carried a hint of laughter. “I always wanted to give it to you, but…”

“Don’t say anything, Lin Xi.” Wen Jia Le interrupted, her vision blurred by tears. “I know. I’ve always known.”

Lin Xi shook her head lightly. “Jia Le, I… I have a wish. Will you help me fulfill it?”

Wen Jia Le held her hand tightly. “Tell me. Whatever it is, I will do it.”

Lin Xi gazed out the window. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on her face. “I want… to see the sea again. When we were kids, we always said we’d watch the sunrise by the ocean together, but we never did. Now, I want to make it happen.”

Wen Jia Le’s heart clenched. She knew Lin Xi didn’t have much time left, but she couldn’t let her go with regrets. She nodded. “Alright. We’ll go to the sea.”

A few days later, Wen Jia Le pushed Lin Xi’s wheelchair to the seaside. The sea breeze carried a hint of salt, and the sunlight shimmered on the waves, peaceful and serene.

Lin Xi leaned back in her wheelchair, looking at the distant horizon with a rare, contented smile. “It’s beautiful, just as I imagined.”

Wen Jia Le stood beside her, holding her hand. “Yes, it’s beautiful. We finally made it.”

Lin Xi turned to her; eyes filled with reluctance. “Jia Le, I… I’m really happy we could do this together.”

Tears welled up in Wen Jia Le’s eyes again, but she forced a smile. “Lin Xi, don’t talk like that. We’ll always be together, no matter what.”

Lin Xi gently shook her head. She knew her time was running out. With her last ounce of strength, she pulled a small note from her pocket and handed it to Wen Jia Le.

“This is…?” Wen Jia Le took it, puzzled.

“Open it,” Lin Xi whispered.

Wen Jia Le unfolded the note. One line was written on it:

[When the minute hand catches up to the hour hand, I will still love you in a parallel universe.]