I woke up as a terminally ill young master in a melodramatic novel. Every day, I was supposed to act frail while breathing oxygen to win people's sympathy, and make way for my white-moonlight fiancé and his sweet, innocent-looking darling? To hell with that! I ripped off my hospital gown and struck back!
The old me: (coughing weakly) “Don't worry about me, big brother. I'm fine...”
The new me: (swinging an oxygen tank at the scumbag) “Get lost! Just looking at you makes me sick!”
I thought I could finally get my revenge, but then I realized my health was getting worse and worse. In the hospital room late at night, the beeping of the heart monitor sounded like a death knell. When the pain came crashing over me like a tide, I finally understood that I really didn't have long to live.
When my white moonlight showed up with fake concern, I slapped the test results against his face. “Want my inheritance? Then start mourning me!” I laughed so hard I could barely stand as I watched him panic, but when I turned away, I coughed up blood.
It turned out my illness wasn't an act. All that “tenderness” I'd torn to shreds was just the last stubborn defiance of someone on the verge of death. With my life ticking away, I decided to live as myself, freely and fully. Even if I had only one breath left, I would burn as brightly as the most dazzling fireworks. Still, sometimes in the deep quiet of night, as I felt my body growing weaker, I couldn't help thinking: if only I could live a few more days.
It was really depressing after reading the first few chapters. Shen Mingyuan's early writing was not pleasant. I didn't expect that I would be able to heal in the end. It would turn around a thousand times. Respect the great official match