The hospital room was left with only her.
Chu Xi had shouted too forcefully earlier, clutching the quilt with all her might, her body leaning forward. Now her throat was dry and torn, and very painful, desperately wanting a drink of water.
But there wasn't even a ghost in the hospital room, no one to bring her tea or water.
The places on her stomach and face where she was beaten burned with pain. Her wrist hung with an intravenous drip, lying on her back sprawled on the bed, eyes empty, staring at the ceiling, as if she were dead, motionless.
If she had known she would live like this, she would rather die!
She lay there quietly, unsure of how much time had passed. The drip hanging on the rod was already empty, and since no one came to take it out, bright red blood sucked back up the fine, soft infusion tube...
It wasn't until Chu Xi felt a stabbing pain that she noticed her IV bag had run out.
...
