She Is Seriously Ill - Chapter 27

Chapter 27

There’s nothing wrong with liking someone. (Flashback Chapter)

Chen Guo lowered her eyes, her expression detached as if this matter had nothing to do with her, as if she weren’t speaking about herself.

Jiang Chen watched her for a moment before looking away, releasing an almost imperceptible sigh. Take your medicine first.

She turned to pick up the medicine from the bedside table, tapped out two pills, poured a glass of water, and handed both to Chen Guo.

Chen Guo lifted her head, her eyes filled with confusion. There’s nothing wrong with liking someone.

Jiang Chen pressed her lips together, seemingly unwilling to discuss this topic. She pushed the glass closer. Take your medicine.

Is it just because my father married Aunt Yun? But we share no blood relation at all. You’re not even my real aunt. Random strangers online can like you and call you ‘wife’ – why can’t I? Chen Guo’s dark eyes stubbornly fixed on Jiang Chen. This isn’t fair. It’s completely unfair.

Do I have to reciprocate just because you like me? Avoiding the issue ultimately proved futile. Jiang Chen slammed the cup back onto the table and turned to face Chen Guo. Even if we’re not related by blood, just because you like me, does that mean I must like you back?

Water splashed onto the back of her hand, the heat lasting only a moment before cooling – much like Chen Guo’s current state of mind.

Jiang Chen clearly saw the disappointment and sorrow on Chen Guo’s face, yet she didn’t stop her hurtful words. You should be grateful your father married my sister. Otherwise, you wouldn’t even have the chance to speak with me, let alone live in my home and talk about this ridiculous notion of liking someone. Chen Guo, I owe you nothing. I have no obligation to reciprocate your feelings. Putting you through high school and college is already more than enough. Don’t ask too much from someone who shares no blood relation with you.

After saying all this in one breath, Jiang Chen averted her eyes, not looking at Chen Guo’s reaction. Her chest heaved uncontrollably.

She clenched her fingers, never turning back, struggling to calm emotions she couldn’t understand why were so turbulent.

The hospital room remained quiet for a long while.

Chen Guo’s eyelashes fluttered as if she’d finally processed everything. She turned sideways to pick up the water glass from the bedside, threw back the medicine, then lay down and slowly turned over, presenting her back to Jiang Chen.

I understand.

Whether out of stubbornness or because her wounded heart hadn’t recovered, Chen Guo didn’t speak another word until the next morning when Jiang Chen was leaving.

Worried Chen Guo might do something extreme again, Jiang Chen glanced at her back before departing. Message me on WeChat if anything comes up. I’ll reply when I see it.

Jiang Chen knew she was awake. After speaking, she stood for a while, watching her.

After nearly half a minute, Chen Guo sat up and looked back at her. Have a smooth workday.

Around four in the morning, the nurse had taken her temperature again. The high fever had subsided.

Yet Chen Guo appeared even more listless than the previous night, her eyes seemingly veiled, dull and lifeless, though she pretended everything was fine.

Jiang Chen felt an inexplicable pang in her heart. When filming her first drama, the director had told her that empathy was an essential quality for an actor – only with strong empathy could one perform well.

She felt her empathy was too strong, which was why seeing Chen Guo like that made her feel equally upset.

Okay.

Tang Jing had been standing at the hospital room door and immediately noticed the strange atmosphere between them. Once in the car, she asked Jiang Chen, Did you two argue?

Jiang Chen closed her eyes, shaking her head wearily. It’s nothing.

But her demeanor clearly suggested otherwise. Tang Jing sighed and comforted, Kids this age are all a bit rebellious. It’ll get better once she’s in college. After all, she’s not your biological niece—just maintain surface-level harmony.

That’s not it.

Huh? Tang Jing looked at her, puzzled. What’s not it?

Jiang Chen opened her eyes, gazing absently at the back of the seat in front of her. She’s actually quite obedient.

But that wasn’t true.

Chen Guo was good at pretending. Jiang Chen knew her inner self wasn’t as docile as she appeared—in fact, she was somewhat unconventional.

Yet hearing Tang Jing’s words, Jiang Chen inexplicably defended her with a lie.

It wasn’t out of any particular motive—just that this was the child she was raising. She could criticize her herself and not mind, but when others did the same, she felt an inexplicable urge to stand up for her.

After starting filming, Jiang Chen would unconsciously check her phone every night after work. If there were no messages from Chen Guo in the chatbox, she’d feel a sense of relief.

But the next moment, remembering the expression on Chen Guo’s face that night, her heart would inexplicably tighten with discomfort.

People are always like this—contradictory.

For the first few days, Jiang Chen would occasionally recall the incident, her heart clenching each time.

But as work gradually picked up, with wrap times often past midnight, she no longer had the energy to dwell on it.

The day she received Chen Guo’s WeChat message, the crew had just moved from Xining to a village in Xiangxi for location shooting.

After wrapping that night, Jiang Chen returned to the car wrapped in her down jacket and saw Chen Guo’s message: her final exam results were out, and her math score wasn’t ideal. She wanted to sign up for a winter tutoring class.

She asked Jiang Chen if it was okay.

The text seemed to speak—Jiang Chen could almost see Chen Guo’s humble, pleading demeanor through the words.

Jiang Chen felt inexplicably angry and immediately transferred her a sum of money without another word.

Soon, Chen Guo replied: This is too much.

Jiang Chen asked, Aren’t you going to eat during break?

After a while, the money was accepted. Thank you. I’ll pay you back someday.

Jiang Chen scoffed coldly. You’d better.

In truth, Jiang Chen regretted sending that message the moment it went through. But seeing the excessive politeness and distance in Chen Guo’s words made her furious.

All her past kindness felt wasted.

Chen Guo didn’t reply again. Lying in the small town inn, Jiang Chen couldn’t sleep. Nearing midnight, she reached for her phone on the bedside table, unlocked it, and sent another message: There’ll be snow in a few days. Buy yourself two sets of warm clothes.

On the 13th, light snow fell. On the 14th, it turned to moderate snow. On the 15th, the snow stopped for a day.

Just as the director began to rejoice about finally resuming work, a Snowstorm suddenly hit on the 16th.

Overnight, the entire town was buried under heavy snow. Not only was filming impossible, but even travel became difficult.

The snow and freeze paralyzed almost all transportation in the town. The crew was trapped in the small inn, with everyone from producers to directors wearing worried expressions.

That afternoon, news reports began covering how this rare Snowstorm had already escalated into a snow disaster.

The highway was severely congested, and in many surrounding villages, residents’ homes had collapsed under heavy snow. News broadcasts repeatedly reminded people throughout the day to stay indoors unless necessary and to call emergency numbers if in danger.

A tense atmosphere permeated everywhere.

The small hotel booked by the film crew received calls daily from all over the country.

The director’s mother, the lighting technician’s sister, Tang Jing’s mother… Family members were deeply worried about their loved ones trapped at the epicenter of the snow disaster, calling multiple times a day, fearing they might suffer from hunger or cold.

Only Jiang Chen’s phone remained unusually quiet. Dai Xiaoqin and Jiang Yun were far abroad, likely completely unaware of the snow disaster.

As for Chen Guo… she was still just a child and couldn’t do much anyway.

Jiang Chen stayed in her hotel room, reading the script over and over until she had nearly memorized every line.

Once work resumed, things would become much easier.

At mealtimes, a staff member would call her downstairs. Transportation hadn’t fully recovered, and the town’s supplies were limited. Every meal was simple, but no one complained—being able to eat their fill was already a blessing.

After eating, Jiang Chen returned to her room and pulled up a movie she’d already seen, planning to watch it again to pass the time.

Suddenly, there came urgent knocking at the door, sounding particularly frantic.

Thinking something had happened, Jiang Chen hurried to open it.

Outside stood the production assistant, who immediately pointed downstairs the moment he saw her. He seemed extremely agitated, and on closer look, his face held an indescribable shock.

Hurry! Your your niece is down there!