Little Meteor Chapter 19
by“Lin Wei, how are you feeling today?”
Lin Wei was a patient he had admitted a few days ago. The young woman was only in her twenties, suffering from a craniopharyngioma that had recurred after surgery several years prior.
Lin Wei still refused to speak. Lin Wei’s mother choked up, saying, “Doctor Jiang, Xiao Wei is still like this. She hasn’t opened her mouth to say a word in days. We have to coax her for ages just to eat or drink, and she only reluctantly swallows a little when we feed it to her. Tell me, is this… is the tumor pressing on something again? Is her condition worsening?”
Jiang Chengxuan approached the bedside, his voice softening further: “Lin Wei, can you hear me? If you can, please blink your eyes.”
Lin Wei blinked her eyes very slowly.
“Very good.” Jiang Chengxuan took out his penlight, carefully checked her pupillary light reflex, and then gently asked her to try lifting her right hand and wiggling her toes.
He put away his examination tools and motioned to Lin Wei’s mother. The two walked over to the window of the hospital room.
“Auntie Lin, judging from the test results, we haven’t found any signs of severe neurological deterioration yet. The tumor recurrence is a fact, but its location and current size are not sufficient to affect her language function.”
“Then what is wrong with her?” Lin Wei’s mother was close to tears. “She doesn’t answer when I call her, and she doesn’t react when I talk to her.”
“We are using medication and treatment to fully control her physical illness. But psychological trauma can sometimes be more destructive than physical pain. Lin Wei is very young; she clearly understands what recurrence means for this disease. Immense fear, despair, or resistance and exhaustion from the treatment process can all cause a person to choose to shut down and stop responding to the outside world. You should pay more attention to her psychological state. You can talk about everyday things, things she used to enjoy, or just quietly hold her hand and stay with her.”
Listening to Jiang Chengxuan’s words, Lin Wei’s mother suddenly covered her face, stifled sobs leaking through her fingers: “How could this happen? Why is God so unfair to me? What sin did I commit in my past life? Xiao Wei is my only hope…”
She is my only hope.
Hearing this sentence, Jiang Chengxuan suddenly felt a sense of suffocation. He quietly comforted Lin Wei’s mother for a few moments. As he left the room, he passed the nurses’ station and heard the nurses discussing.
“Oh, I just saw the mother of the patient in Room 9, Lin Wei, secretly wiping away tears again. It’s truly tragic…”
“It is, she’s so pitiful. I heard their family situation is particularly bad. The eldest son has had polio since childhood, has mobility issues, and his mind isn’t quite right—they say he has autism. He’s over thirty and still completely dependent on his mother. She was hoping her daughter would succeed and make things easier, but now her daughter has this disease, and it’s recurred.”
“Sigh, that mother’s life is too bitter. She’s practically being beaten down by life, not a single ray of hope left for her.”
Jiang Chengxuan walked over and tapped the triage desk with his knuckles: “During work hours, please refrain from discussing patient privacy.”
“Sorry, Doctor Jiang.”
“We understand.”
The nurses stuck out their tongues and resumed sorting the documents in front of them, not daring to say anything more.
Jiang Chengxuan returned to his office. The patient records and imaging reports he needed to review were spread out before him, but he couldn’t focus on a single word.
Lin Wei’s situation was quite similar to Shen Mu’s: constantly required since childhood to be “good,” to “hold on,” to “live out your brother’s share.” “I am the only normal one in this family; I have to be their hope.” He didn’t even dare to make too much noise when he broke down.
When a person’s existence is assigned the meaning of “the only hope,” falling ill is no longer just physical pain; it becomes a betrayal and a sin.
Jiang Chengxuan took out his phone and called Shen Mu.
The phone rang a few times before being answered. Shen Mu said, “Calling at this hour, is something wrong?”
Jiang Chengxuan opened his mouth, but swallowed all the words he wanted to say.
What was he going to say? That you don’t have to be strong forever, you don’t have to carry hope, you don’t have to bear everyone’s expectations, you are just Shen Mu to me.
Shen Mu’s deep-seated pride and self-respect meant he habitually digested all pressure alone. Shen Mu might allow himself a rare moment of vulnerability, but that absolutely did not mean he needed sympathy or pity from others. Such overly direct concern felt more like an offense to him.
“Nothing special,” Jiang Chengxuan chuckled. “Just calling to ask what kind of soup you want tonight.”
Shen Mu thought for a moment and said, “Lotus root and pork rib soup. We can go buy the lotus root together later.”
“Okay.”
Jiang Chengxuan still couldn’t leave work on time, so Shen Mu bought the lotus root and ribs. By the time he returned, Shen Mu had already started the stew.
Only a floor lamp was on in the living room, with the news playing on the TV. The kitchen light was bright, and the clay pot was bubbling on the stove.
Someone was waiting for him at home, someone was making soup for him. This feeling was quite magical—a strange warmth welled up from his heart, quickly spreading through his limbs and bones. It was an indescribable sense of security and belonging. Only at this moment did Jiang Chengxuan confirm that he was just an ordinary person.
Hearing the door open, Shen Mu came out to look, holding a kitchen knife and half a scallion: “You’re back?”
“Mhm.” Jiang Chengxuan changed his shoes, took off his jacket and hung it up, and walked toward the kitchen. “The soup is on? It smells wonderful.”
“Yes, the heat is about right. It just needs to simmer on low for a little longer.” Shen Mu continued to chop the scallions in his hand into fine pieces. His movements weren’t practiced, but they were steady.
Jiang Chengxuan leaned over to look at the clay pot and reached out to lift the lid: “Should I taste it for salt?”
Shen Mu slapped his wrist: “Don’t touch it. The timing isn’t right yet; lifting the lid now will let the steam escape.”
Jiang Chengxuan rarely heard this kind of authoritative tone, and he found this side of Shen Mu very endearing. He chuckled softly: “Alright, I’ll listen to the chef.”
“What do you need me to do? Peel garlic? Or wash vegetables?”
Shen Mu didn’t even look up: “No need. Just wait to eat.”
Jiang Chengxuan didn’t insist on helping anymore. He leaned against the doorway, his gaze somewhat vacant. Shen Mu turned his head to look at him and asked, “Are you tired?”
Jiang Chengxuan snapped out of his thoughts, shook his head, took a few steps forward, and gently wrapped his arms around Shen Mu’s waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.
Shen Mu’s body stiffened imperceptibly for a moment, but he didn’t push him away, instead complaining deliberately, “You smell like disinfectant.”
“Mhm,” Jiang Chengxuan responded softly, tightening his arms slightly. He took a deep breath; his nose was filled with the aroma of the rib soup and Shen Mu’s scent. “So this is what recharging feels like.”
Shen Mu didn’t speak again, allowing himself to be held. After a long while, Shen Mu finally moved, gently nudging the person behind him with his elbow: “Alright, the soup is ready. Serve the rice.”
Jiang Chengxuan released him, reached out to turn off the stove, and using a thick towel as a pad, carried the clay pot to the heat mat on the dining table. Then he scooped two bowls of rice from the rice cooker.
The two sat opposite each other. Shen Mu picked up the ladle and first served Jiang Chengxuan a full bowl of soup, piled high with ribs and lotus root, before serving himself.
“Thank you.” Jiang Chengxuan took the bowl, blew on it, and took a sip, sincerely praising, “The flavor is perfect.”
“Really?”
Shen Mu rarely cooked, but having written scripts, he understood the theory well, though his practical experience was minimal. Shen Mu took a sip himself and was not entirely satisfied: “It still tastes a little fishy.”
Jiang Chengxuan smiled: “It’s already very good. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Shen Mu lowered his head and took another sip of soup. After a moment, he spoke: “That phone call this afternoon wasn’t just to ask about soup, was it?”
Jiang Chengxuan paused in the act of picking up food and briefly explained Lin Wei’s situation.
Shen Mu tightened his grip on his chopsticks and remained silent for a long time.
Jiang Chengxuan put down his chopsticks: “Shen Mu, I wasn’t comparing you to her, nor was I feeling pity or…”
He was usually calm, but now he was flustered and didn’t know what to say, afraid that any word might become a thorn to pierce Shen Mu’s heart.
Shen Mu gave a faint laugh: “I really don’t like bringing this up, but I suppose I can with you.”
Jiang Chengxuan looked at him, momentarily unsure how to respond: “Shen Mu…”
“You just said Lin Wei is very silent, not saying a word, right? I don’t think it’s because of fear or terror. When a person’s value is defined as the sole hope of the family, she is no longer living just for herself. Her health and her success no longer belong to her; they are the pillar that keeps the entire family from collapsing completely. She is not only enduring physical pain but also carrying a huge psychological burden. Silence, shutting down, refusing to respond—this might be the only self-protection she can manage under immense pressure. Even if this self-protection is passive, as long as she doesn’t speak, she can temporarily escape that suffocating responsibility and expectation. As long as she doesn’t respond, she doesn’t have to face the light in her mother’s eyes that is shattering because of her.”
As Jiang Chengxuan listened to Shen Mu speak, his heart felt like it was being wrapped in fine silk threads, tightening with every word.
Jiang Chengxuan looked into his eyes: “Shen Mu, you may not believe it, but with me, you never need to be anyone’s hope, or even the ‘normal’ one. If you’re tired, you don’t have to talk. If you’re annoyed, you can ignore people. You can even disappoint someone’s expectations. To me, you are just Shen Mu.”
Shen Mu froze, then lowered his gaze and took a sip of soup, his breathing becoming slightly heavier.
Jiang Chengxuan stared at him for a while, then said, “Shen Mu, would you consider moving in to live with me?”