Lin Zihao’s sudden collapse sent a jolt of panic through everyone.

Lin Xiaoxiao told Zhou Huai’an to call for a car immediately while she carefully supported Lin Zihao’s head, keeping him lying flat on the floor. A simple fainting spell from fever was one thing, but if it was related to an infection or bleeding in his poorly healed head wound, the situation could be far more serious. Just days ago, she’d marveled at how quickly he’d bounced back from surgery, already active and roaming about.

Soon, Lin Zihao was admitted to the hospital. Zhou Xiaoling, visibly shaken, clutched Lin Xiaoxiao’s hand. “Do you think he’ll be alright? Could a high fever make his condition worse?”

Lin Xiaoxiao patted her hand reassuringly. “He’ll be fine. It probably isn’t serious.”

After a thorough examination, the doctor concluded that Lin Zihao had simply fainted due to the fever; the wound on his head showed no complications. Relieved, Lin Xiaoxiao and the others finally relaxed.

Zhou Xiaoling, however, was still weighed down with guilt. “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d just come home earlier yesterday,” she said, her eyes rimmed with red.

Lin Xiaoxiao tried to comfort her. “No one could have predicted this. He’s attached to you, but you can’t put your entire life on hold to watch over him every moment.”

Secretly, though, she harbored a hope for a miracle—that this fever might somehow jolt Lin Zihao’s memory back or restore his faculties.

Zhou Huai’an spoke up abruptly, his tone pragmatic. “We should inform his parents.”

Lin Xiaoxiao was surprised. “Why? I thought he didn’t get along well with his family. Didn’t you say he wouldn’t want them to know?”

“I may have been too optimistic before,” Zhou Huai’an admitted. “I assumed having one more person around wouldn’t complicate things. But seeing how dependent he’s become on Xiaoling… if he never recovers, she can’t be expected to care for him indefinitely. She has her own life to live.”

Zhou Xiaoling didn’t hesitate. “I can take care of him forever, Brother. It’s fine.”

Zhou Huai’an shook his head firmly. “No. He’s your first cousin. Do you really want to fuel more rumors? He might not care about his reputation, but you must protect yours.”

Lin Xiaoxiao opened her mouth to object, but found she had no argument. Zhou Huai’an was right. If Lin Zihao remained in this state, his dependence on Zhou Xiaoling would only grow. He wasn’t her responsibility, and she shouldn’t have to sacrifice her future for him.

But could they really rely on a miracle? The odds were vanishingly small.

Zhou Xiaoling knew her brother had her best interests at heart. Though reluctant, she also understood her duty to the family’s reputation. She rubbed her eyes and conceded quietly, “Then… notify his parents.”

Lin Zihao’s father—Zhou Xiaoling’s uncle—was, by all accounts, a decent man: refined, diplomatic, with the polished elegance of a Shanghainese gentleman and the shrewdness of a career bureaucrat. He had always been kind to her, yet Zhou Xiaoling had never liked him. Perhaps her resistance to acknowledging this branch of the family had colored her view from their very first meeting.

After receiving an injection to reduce the fever and some oral medication, Lin Zihao slowly regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, and he immediately grew agitated, looking around frantically. “Sister? Where’s Sister?”

Seeing this, Lin Xiaoxiao felt a sinking disappointment. So much for a miracle, she thought.

Since Lin Zihao was awake and stable, Zhou Huai’ansuggested Zhou Xiaoling stay with him at the hospital while he and Lin Xiaoxiao returned home to update Li Yunlan and look after the children. They also needed to contact the Lin family.

Walking out of the hospital, Lin Xiaoxiao sighed deeply. “For a moment, I really thought his fainting might trigger some amazing turnaround. But nothing changed.”

Zhou Huai’an looked puzzled. “Where do you get these ideas? The doctors said his current recovery is itself a miracle. Why would a fever suddenly cure him?”

“You have no imagination!” Lin Xiaoxiao chided. “But what if? The world is full of wonders—things we can’t explain happen every day.” She launched into examples: an eighty-year-old woman giving birth, a paralyzed man suddenly walking again. She even ventured, “And what about possession? You’ve read Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, haven’t you? Those stories must be based on something real.”

Zhou Huai’an had listened indulgently to her earlier examples, dismissing them as fanciful. But when she mentioned “possession,” an inexplicable unease prickled down his spine. He glanced at her but remained silent.

Lin Xiaoxiao continued, undeterred. “Don’t be so skeptical about things beyond our understanding.”

Zhou Huai’an nodded slowly. “I believe you. Perhaps miracles really can happen.”

Oblivious to his sudden pensiveness, Lin Xiaoxiao grinned, her eyes curving into happy crescents. “So we should keep hoping for one! It makes life less bleak.” Seeing no one around, she looped her arm through his. “I used to hope every single day that you’d come back early. I heard stories of men who were gone for two or three years without a word… It terrified me. What if you came back after so long that the children were old enough to wonder who you were? And what if… you had forgotten me?”

Zhou Huai’an’s resolve always softened when she used that tender, slightly plaintive tone. But on a public street, he could only clear his throat and gently extricate himself. “I wouldn’t have. Now, let’s hurry home.”

Lin Xiaoxiao feigned indignation, a playful glint in her eyes. “So eager? But Mom, Auntie, and the children are all home. And besides, it’s broad daylight—wouldn’t that be a little inappropriate?”

Seeing her flirtatious, mock-shy expression, Zhou Huai’ancouldn’t help but laugh, a faint smile touching his lips. “What nonsense are you thinking now?”

Back home, Li Yunlan and the others were relieved to hear Lin Zihao was fine.

When told about the decision to contact the Lin family, Li Yunlan agreed. “I never expected things to turn out like this with Zihao. It’s better to inform his parents. Otherwise, if something serious happens later, they might blame us.”

Zhou Huai’an made the call. The Lin family seemed genuinely shocked and concerned, asking detailed questions about Lin Zihao’s condition and promising to come to Beijing as soon as possible.

That evening, Lin Zihao returned home with Zhou Xiaoling. His illness seemed to have made him even more attached to her; at dinner, he insisted on sitting right beside her.

Zhou Huai’an shot a disdainful look at the childlike man. “Your parents will be here in a couple of days. You’ll be going back to Shanghai with them.”

The words “parents” meant nothing to Lin Zihao. He didn’t even bother to think before refusing. “I’m staying here. Wherever Sister goes, I go.” Then, with utter conviction, he added, “I’m going to marry Sister.”

The declaration made Zhou Xiaoling choke on her rice porridge. She coughed violently, clutching her chest.