He Zhenhua refused to have the operation.
According to Jiang Pinzhen, his condition was dire. Without surgery, it was little better than a slow surrender—drugs to prolong the breathing and time until death. The doctor listened, frowned, then said, “Mr. He, our hospital has introduced an advanced surgical procedure. A renowned specialist from abroad will come and operate personally. You can trust the technique.”
“But the success rate is under thirty percent, isn’t it?” He Zhenhua gave a bitter laugh. “Even if I agree to the operation, there’s no guarantee I’ll walk out of that OR alive.”
It was the truth, and the doctor had no rebuttal. After a long pause he sighed. “I can only advise. Right now surgery offers the best chance. The choice, however, is yours.”
He stood and headed for the door. At the doorway he saw Jiang Pinzhen and Ye Yanxi waiting and offered a polite smile. “Mrs. Jiang.”
Jiang Pinzhen returned the smile with a small nod. When the doctor left, the two of them stepped into the room.
It had been a long time since Ye Yanxi had seen He Zhenhua. He lay thin and frail under a pale blanket, more haggard than the last time she had seen him at the school. His face was unnaturally white; his deep-set eyes had sunk further into hollows, and the emaciation had reshaped his features.
At the sight of them at the doorway, his eyes brightened with an emotion that broke through the haze—surprise and something like joy. He struggled upright.
“Xiao Xi… you came.” A flicker of light returned to those dim eyes.
“I heard you were ill. I came to see you.” Ye Yanxi’s voice was measured. She carried a complicated weight of feeling: memories of the past—years of fleeing for her life, living reliant on others, a dozen years cut off from family—all because of this man. She hated him for abandoning her, for taking another child in and leaving her to fend for herself. The list of wrongs was long.
Yet thankfulness threaded through her bitterness. Had it not been for Ye Junze bringing her back then, she might not have survived at all. Pain and gratitude had both been carved into her life; having endured so much, she had grown colder, but also more careful with what she held dear. Forgiving He Zhenhua would not come easily. He had been cruelly decisive in the past; sometimes the deepest wounds were inflicted by the closest people.
Still, upon learning he was sick, she could not stand by and watch him die. Hatred and pity sat side by side, neither able to fully displace the other. What she refused to admit was any filial acceptance of him as her father.
Seeing her, He’s happiness was almost childlike. Her presence alone proved that she had not erased him from her heart entirely—she was not a stranger. That was enough.
“You came to see your father,” he said with a smile that could not hide the loneliness in his eyes. “Even if you won’t admit I’m your father, that’s alright.”
Ye Yanxi regarded him coolly. “How is your illness? What did the doctor say?”
He tried to laugh it off and then answered with a pained smile, “You heard the doctor. I don’t have long… maybe this is my fate. Maybe it’s the chance to atone for what I did.”
He looked at her with a mixture of caution and longing. “Xiao Xi… it was father’s fault back then. Could you… could you forgive me?”
Ye Yanxi closed her eyes for a moment as if fighting back a storm inside. After a long while she spoke, each word slow, deliberate. “If you could go back to those days, and you learned from someone that I am not your biological daughter—would you still have done the same?”
Faced with that question, He Zhenhua’s shoulders sagged. He had been asked that before. After a while his answer came out between clenched teeth: “I would.”
“I know that answer will hurt you more,” he said weakly, a helpless smile on his face. “But I won’t lie to you.”
Ye Yanxi showed little reaction. “Thank you for being honest.”
“You won’t forgive me, will you?” he asked quietly. “I suppose I can’t ask for it. I’ve spent my life making mistakes I can’t take back.”
“You don’t have to worry. Blood ties don’t change…” Ye Yanxi stopped, searching for the right words. “I won’t just stand aside. I’ll try to get you treated.”
Those few words gave He a fragile joy. “You don’t have to,” he said, waving a hand weakly. “Just hearing you say that is enough. Don’t tire yourself running after me—it’s an incurable disease.”
Jiang Pinzhen let out a low sigh. It seemed the rift between father and daughter could not be mended easily. She had hated He Zhenhua before, but she also knew how genuine his care for her had been in earlier years—even when he’d been mistaken about her. Hearing he was ill had stirred something in her she could no longer deny. In private, she’d understood her love for him had always been deep, and blame had only made it sharper. She felt guilty for their daughter’s losses, wanted to make amends, and also hoped desperately they could reconcile. Now, it seemed, that might never happen—but at least they weren’t strangers.
“The doctor said surgery could cure him, didn’t he?” Jiang asked.
“But the success rate is less than thirty percent,” He Zhenhua smiled faintly. “If the surgery fails, my life could end there. I’d rather live a few more days out of stubbornness—let nature take its course.”
He had only spoken a few words when his breathing tightened, his face flushing unnaturally. Jiang Pinzhen gently propped his pillow. “Rest. Don’t talk more now.”
“He’s sleeping,” he murmured, then, straining, he looked at Ye. “Xiao Xi…”
Ye Yanxi lowered her eyes; her long lashes hid whatever emotions churned behind them. “I’ll come see you again tomorrow.”
“All right.” He breathed easier. “You must come.”
“I will.”
He soon drifted off into a deep, drug-clouded sleep. Afterwards, the two women left the room and closed the door behind them. Jiang’s face was drawn and troubled. She led Ye to the attending doctor’s office, intent on getting clearer answers. The doctor, free at that moment, rose to greet them and asked them to sit.
“Mrs. Jiang… and this young lady?” he asked.
“This is my daughter,” Jiang replied.
“Oh—Miss He?” the doctor started, then stopped. Ye smiled and corrected him, “No. My surname is Ye.”
The doctor’s surprise was thinly veiled; He’s surname was He, yet his daughter carried the name Ye. It didn’t make immediate sense. Jiang explained quietly, “For other reasons she keeps her mother’s name, but she is our biological daughter.”
“I see.” The doctor returned to his desk. “You’ve come to learn about Mr. He’s condition, I assume?”
“How serious is it?” Jiang gripped the armrest.
The doctor sighed. “In reality, Mr. He is in the late stages of liver cancer, but not beyond hope. Surgery could help, but it can’t guarantee complete removal or prevent recurrence. Right now the success rate is under thirty percent.”
“I’ve heard that,” Jiang said gravely.
“The choice between surgery and medication depends on the patient,” the doctor continued. “At the moment Mr. He’s physical state is poor. His outlook is bleak; he’s lost hope. That mental state affects outcomes. Even if we operate, it’s hard to promise much.”
“Is there anything that can raise the chance of success?” Jiang asked.
“That depends on Mr. He’s will to live. A patient with strong survival instinct and a positive mindset responds better to treatment. Emotional repression harms the liver most; some patients’ cancer progresses slowly because their spirits remain unbroken. You are his family—if you can rekindle his desire to live, treatments will likely go more smoothly. That’s all I can say.”
Jiang Pinzhen nodded, gratitude and urgency in her eyes. “Thank you, doctor. I know what I must try.”
They left, quiet on the walk back. Before they reached the door, the doctor called out, “Miss Ye—what’s your full name? Ye Yanxi?”
Ye paused and turned. “Is there something more?”
“Mr. He used to mutter a name when he was unconscious: he kept saying ‘Ye Yanxi.’ Maybe—if you could convince him to change his mindset…”
Ye considered that for a moment, frowning. Outside the office she and Jiang fell silent until they reached the ward corridor. Then, just as Ye was about to walk on, Jiang Pinzhen seized her hand, voice shaking with a hope she could barely hide. “Xiao Xi—please. I’m begging you. Help your father.”
Ye looked at her, the question suspended between them: could she awaken something in a man so long hardened, revive a will to live strong enough to tilt the odds? She had reasons to refuse—and reasons she could not ignore.