Hospital

Yi-yun’s heels echoed sharply against the linoleum floor as she moved briskly yet with deliberate control through the hospital corridors.

She knew how she looked.

An elegant indigo-blue dress, its sequins catching the fluorescent light like scattered stars.

Hair styled with meticulous care, though a few loose strands had escaped in her agitation.

Too polished for this place.

Too flawless for this moment.

But she had no time to think about that.

When she finally stopped in front of the hospital room, she closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a slow, steady breath.

Then she opened the door.

Her gaze went immediately to the bed at the far end of the room where Shu-fen lay.

Her eyes were closed, her face thinner than Yi-yun remembered, her hair white.

A slender tube ran beneath her nose, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

At the foot of the bed stood Mei-ling, arms crossed, her expression tense.

Beside her was a man in a white coat, a clipboard tucked under his arm.

They glanced at Yi-yun only briefly before turning back to each other.

“…for now, her condition is stable,” the doctor was saying, his voice calm and clinical. “But we have to be honest. At her age, and after a stroke of this severity, that can change at any time.”

Mei-ling pressed her lips together.

“Can she speak?” she asked.

The doctor hesitated. “Only to a limited extent. She may be able to form individual words, perhaps only sounds. It’s difficult to predict at this stage.”

Yi-yun took a step closer but remained in the background, as though unwilling to intrude.

The doctor added a few more remarks, then murmured something about being outside if they had questions and left the room.

“I told her,” Mei-ling said suddenly, not quite addressing anyone in particular. “Again and again. That she can’t stay alone. That she needs help.” Her voice cracked briefly. “She’s just so damn stubborn…”

She ran a hand through her hair. “And I…” She shook her head. “I should have acted sooner. I shouldn’t have let her go on like that for so long, alone on that damned tea plantation…”

Tears slid down her cheeks.

“Mom?” Yi-yun said quietly.

Only then did Mei-ling seem to truly notice her and she managed a faint smile.

“Thank you for coming, Yi-yun…”

Yi-yun nodded.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

Mei-ling gave a quick nod too, wiping away the last of her tears.

“Yes. I’m fine. It’s not as if this wasn’t only a matter of time…”

There was a trace of bitterness in her voice before she exhaled audibly.

“I need to make some calls. Not everyone knows yet,” she said at last. “I’ll be right back.”

A moment later, the door closed softly, and the room fell silent.

Yi-yun stood there for a moment, unmoving.

Then she walked slowly over to the bed, sat down on the chair beside it, and folded her hands in her lap.

“Hi, Grandma,” she said softly.

Her voice sounded strange in the stillness.

“Long time no see, huh?” She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work. “I’m sorry… that I haven’t visited you in a while…”

The monitor continued its steady beeping.

Yi-yun swallowed and leaned forward slightly.

“Mom always says you’re too stubborn,” she went on. “But I think what she really means is that you never gave up. So you’re not allowed to give up now either, okay?”

She carefully reached out and laid her fingers over Shu-fen’s hand.

For a while, nothing happened.

Then Shu-fen’s eyelids moved.

Slowly and heavily, her eyes opened, clouded at first, then a little clearer as they focused on Yi-yun’s face.

“Grandma…?” Yi-yun leaned closer at once. “I’m here.”

Shu-fen’s fingers twitched weakly in her grasp.

Her mouth opened, and a faint sound escaped her, little more than a groan.

“It’s okay,” Yi-yun whispered. “Don’t strain yourself.”

Shu-fen tried again and her lips shaped something that didn’t make sense at first.

Then once more, very slowly.

“How…” A breath. “…are…”

Shu-fen blinked, gathering all her strength for the final words.

“…you…?”

Yi-yun held her hand more firmly.

“Me?” she echoed softly. “How am I?”

She let out a short, fragile laugh.

“Fine… I think. I’m fine.”

A brief pause.

“At least that’s what everyone says. That I have everything one could wish for.”

She lowered her gaze.

“But honestly…” She exhaled. “I’m not doing well.”

Her voice trembled only slightly.

“Not well at all.”

Shu-fen’s gaze rested on her, calm and attentive, as though she had expected this answer all along.

“You know, Grandma…” Yi-yun began quietly, aware that she had been carrying these words inside her for a long time. “Everyone always thinks I’ve made it.”

She gave a soft, bitter snort.

“They say I’m so young and already so successful. That I should be grateful. That I should be happy.” She swallowed. “And maybe I should be.”

Her eyes drifted over the floor, the cables, the monitor, everything and nothing at once.

“But sometimes it feels like I’m just functioning,” she continued. “From one appointment to the next. From one shoot to the other. Always put together, always smiling, always ready.”

She lifted her free hand briefly and let it fall again. “And the more perfect everything becomes, the less I know who I actually am when no one is watching.”

Her voice grew quieter.

“I play roles. And at first, I enjoyed it. I still do. But at some point, I realized…” She looked back at Shu-fen. “…that I’m playing one even when the cameras are off.”

Several seconds passed.

“I know Mom didn’t mean any harm when she sent me down this path,” Yi-yun said at last. “She just wanted me to have a successful career. A secure future.”

Her voice quivered slightly. “But sometimes it feels like she only sees what everyone else sees, or thinks they see. An image of me. Not who I actually wanted to be.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, only then realizing that tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“And then there’s this fear,” she whispered. “That one day I’ll wake up and realize I’ve lived my entire life according to other people’s expectations. And that by then it’ll be too late to change anything ”

Shu-fen’s hand lay quietly in hers when Yi-yun took another deep breath.

“That’s why…” she said more softly, almost timidly, “that’s why I sometimes really miss the time I spent with you when I was little.” A faint smile flickered across her face. “Back then, no one wanted anything from me. I was just… me.”

She looked at Shu-fen, open and vulnerable.

“I miss that. I miss you.” Her voice broke. “And right now… I could really use your advice.”

She was openly crying now, unable to hold back the tears, and something in Shu-fen’s gaze shifted.

It became more alert, more resolute.

Then her lips moved.

“Tea…” she forced out.

A breath.

“…estate…”

Another.

“…cellar…”

Yi-yun blinked.

“The… cellar?” she asked, confused, wiping away her tears. “What do you mean? Do you need something from there?”

Shu-fen slowly shook her head.

Her gnarled fingers tightened around Yi-yun’s hand.

“For…” she said with effort. “…you.”

Yi-yun’s heart began to race.

“Me?” she whispered. “You mean… there’s something in the cellar? For me?”

Shu-fen’s gaze stayed fixed on her.

One single, clear nod, before she squeezed Yi-yun’s hand just a little tighter.

She groaned softly with the effort, then closed her eyes again, as if she needed to rest from it.

Yi-yun watched her grandmother for a moment, who seemed to have drifted back to sleep

“In the cellar…” she repeated quietly.

Her phone vibrated.

When she looked at the screen, there was a text message.

You forgot your stuff at the studio. I can bring it to you. And if you feel like talking… just let me know.

- Zhi-hao

Yi-yun glanced once more at Shu-fen, first with concern, then with resolve.

Then she began to type.