Surgery Godfather-Chapter 2007 - 1357: The Truth

Song Zimo was resting in the office, leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed.

Footsteps came from afar, heavy and urgent, it could only be Xiong Shihai. In the entire emergency department, only he walked like driving in stakes, every step seemed determined to break through the floor.

"Director Song," Xiong Shihai’s voice was low, yet the urgency could not be suppressed, "that child has woken up."

Song Zimo opened his eyes.

"Which child?"

"Zhang Ke, the one from the car accident yesterday, both parents are gone." Xiong Shihai paused, "He’s been looking for his mom, the nurses can’t calm him, he’s crying and fussing, you see..."

Song Zimo was silent for a moment.

He recalled the scene from yesterday. When the child was carried off the ambulance, his face was covered in blood, already unconscious. He performed emergency debridement and found it was only superficial wounds plus a fracture in his left arm, the real injury was in the heart.

"I’ll go take a look." 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

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Song Zimo was the only one in the elevator, he looked at his reflection in the elevator door, feeling a bit dazed.

More than twenty years had passed.

He remembered that afternoon, his mother was right beside him. He crawled over and hugged his mother’s head. Blood flowed from her ears, onto his hands, his legs, every part of his body. He didn’t know what to do, just cried, and kept calling for his mom.

Later someone came and picked him up. That person said, "Child, your mom is asleep."

He didn’t know who that person was, but he always remembered those words.

"Asleep."

It took him many years to understand that it wasn’t sleep, it was never waking up again.

The elevator doors opened.

He walked to the ward door, looked inside through the glass.

Zhang Ke was lying in the hospital bed, his left arm in a cast, eyes swollen but no longer crying. The young nurse beside him was wiping his face, he was obedient, not moving at all. There was a bowl of porridge on the bedside table, already cold, untouched.

Song Zimo pushed the door open and entered.

The young nurse saw him and hesitated for a moment: "Director Song?"

Zhang Ke turned his head and looked at him.

"Uncle," he said, his voice hoarse as if he’d been crying for a long time, "were you the doctor from yesterday?"

Song Zimo nodded and sat down beside the bed.

The bed was a bit low, his knees nearly hit his chin, but he didn’t adjust his posture.

"Does your hand still hurt?"

Zhang Ke shook his head, then nodded.

"A little bit."

Song Zimo looked at his cast. It was well wrapped, with no swelling or bruising.

"Are you hungry?"

Zhang Ke thought for a moment.

"Hungry."

Song Zimo looked at the young nurse.

"Do we have any hot porridge?"

"Yes, the cafeteria just sent over some millet porridge, it’s still hot."

"Get a bowl ready."

The young nurse left and soon returned with a bowl of porridge. Steam rose from it, the aroma of the rice wafting out.

Song Zimo took it, stirred with a spoon, scooped a bit, blew on it, and brought it to Zhang Ke’s mouth.

"Can you eat by yourself?"

Zhang Ke nodded, took the bowl. His hand shook a little, but he held the bowl steadily, drinking it in small sips.

Song Zimo watched him, didn’t say a word.

This child was only about five or six years old. At five or six, he should be at kindergarten, playing with friends, or cuddling in his mother’s arms. But now he was lying in a hospital bed, left arm in a cast, still not knowing that his mom would never return.

After a few sips, Zhang Ke suddenly stopped.

"Uncle," he said, his head lowered, looking at the porridge in the bowl, "where is my mom?"

Song Zimo smiled and said, "Your mom is very badly injured, the doctors are trying to save her."

Zhang Ke looked up at him.

Those eyes, just like any five or six-year-old’s eyes, clear, pure, filled with expectation. But there was a thin sheen of tears at the bottom, the traces of long crying.

"When can she come to see me?"

Song Zimo looked at him.

He remembered another pair of eyes. Thirty years ago, he also looked at that person like this, asking: "Where is my mom?"

That person didn’t answer him. The person just picked him up and said, "Child, your mom is asleep."

He didn’t understand why that person lied. Maybe it was to let him survive first, or maybe they couldn’t bear to tell a five-year-old the truth. Whatever the reason, those words made him have many dreams over the years. Dreamed of his mom waking up, coming to take him home.

Later the dream faded.

"When you get better," Song Zimo said, "you’ll be able to see her."

Zhang Ke looked at him, stared for a long time.

"Really?"

"Really."

Zhang Ke lowered his head, continued drinking the porridge.

After a few sips, he stopped again.

"Uncle," he said, "what’s your name?"

"Song Zimo."

"Uncle Song," Zhang Ke looked at him, "you’re a doctor, you can save many people, right?"

Song Zimo nodded.

"Yes."

Zhang Ke thought for a moment.

"Then save my mom."

Song Zimo looked at him.

"Okay," he said.

Zhang Ke’s face broke into a smile. It was the first time he smiled since the accident, the smile was ugly, tears were still on his face, his nose still running, but it was a real smile. A child’s smile, without any reservations, trusting every word you say.

"Thank you, Uncle Song." he said.

Song Zimo stood up, patted his head.

"Eat well, sleep well. When you feel better, I will take you to the garden for a walk. The hospital garden is big, with fountains, pigeons, many children like to go there."

Zhang Ke nodded.

Song Zimo turned and left.

In the corridor, the young nurse stood at the door, her eyes red.

"Director Song," she said softly, "you’re lying to him, when he finds out in the future..."

Song Zimo looked at her.

"The future will be dealt with in the future," he said, "for now, let him rest well. Let him be able to eat, to sleep, and first get his body better. As for the rest, wait until he has the ability to bear it before telling him."