The hum of the mine vanished. The ache in his meridians faded. The cold stone beneath him became soft sheets.
A familiar, forgotten smell filled his nostrils: the sterile scent of hospital air, tinged with antiseptic.
He was lying down. His body felt weak, frail, as if even the act of breathing required borrowed strength.
Behind his eyelids, a pale, sterile glow pressed down, a ceiling lamp's flat fluorescence.
Then came a voice.
A woman's voice, trembling, thick with tears. A voice he hadn't heard in thirty years. His mother's voice.
"…the doctors say he's showing signs of waking up—", she suddenly reacted.
"Oh, honey… can you hear me?"
Fang Yuan'lashes fluttered, and through the haze of light he saw them, two figures at his bedside.
A woman and a man. His parents.
"You've been asleep for so long… the car accident… we thought we'd lost you…" Her words broke apart as sobs overtook her.
