Chapter 65:

The Han Family

Gu Qiuyan went to check on her eldest son first thing in the morning. Seeing that he was doing alright, she prepared to make breakfast for him. The moment she pushed the door open to leave, her eyes instantly reddened.

She leaned her head against the door, afraid her sobs would disturb her son inside. Covering her mouth with both hands, she wept silently.

These past few days, she hadn’t had a single restful night’s sleep. Several times, she had woken up in a cold sweat from nightmares—dreams where her eldest son was paralyzed, never able to stand again. The torment of illness had made him gloomy, irritable, and withdrawn, his pale face etched with despair and desolation. When she woke, she knew it wasn’t real, but she was terrified—terrified that the dream might come true.

That was her eldest son, the one she had always been so proud of. How could she bear to see him like that?

She wanted to scream, to vent, but she couldn’t. Because she was the matriarch of the Han family. The more critical the moment, the more she had to remain calm and composed, dignified and steady. So she hid her tears, hid her fragility, and handled the family affairs with an air of composure. She had to comfort her injured son, reassure her younger daughter and second son, and support her husband.

The matriarch of the Han family couldn’t be a woman who panicked at the slightest trouble!

But her heart ached so much it felt as if it had split in two, making it hard to even breathe.

She only dared to cry like this in secret, where no one could see.

But Gu Qiuyan was a strong-willed woman. This moment of weakness lasted only a few minutes.

She wiped away her tears, straightened her back, and once again became the composed and dignified matriarch of the Han family.

She couldn’t be defeated—her eldest son was still waiting for her to find a doctor!

She couldn’t collapse. No, she couldn’t…

It was seven in the morning, and the rest of the Han family hadn’t yet woken up. Han Yumin always rose early, usually around six-thirty. After waking, he would go for a morning run or practice martial arts—a habit ingrained from decades of military service. But these past few days, due to Han Yixun’s condition, he had been working tirelessly, and half of his once jet-black hair had turned white.

He was no longer young—in his fifties. Though he usually appeared vigorous and full of energy, it couldn’t hide the fact that his body was aging. Staying up like this was taking a toll on his health, so last night, Gu Qiuyan had lit a calming incense to help him sleep. He had finally gotten a good night’s rest, and she couldn’t bear to wake him.

So at this moment, apart from the servants moving about, Gu Qiuyan was the only one awake in the Han household.

She walked into the kitchen, where the servant Wang Ma saw her and hurried over respectfully. “Madam, is there something you need? Can I help?”

Gu Qiuyan waved her hand, signaling Wang Ma not to mind her, then opened the fridge. Inside was a cleaned black-boned chicken, placed there fresh by the servants earlier that morning. Perfect for making a nourishing soup.

Wang Ma took one look and immediately understood—Madam was making soup for the eldest young master. She tactfully stepped back and quietly resumed making breakfast. These days, Madam had been in the kitchen more often than in all the previous decades combined. Ah, the heart of a parent was truly pitiable!

Gu Qiuyan occasionally cooked, but for her, it was more of a pastime, a way to pass the hours. She wasn’t particularly skilled, though her soup-making was decent. Now that her eldest son was injured and the doctor had advised nourishing meals, she had picked up cooking again, preparing medicinal soups every day.

A good soup required time—only then would the essence of the ingredients fully infuse the broth, making it truly valuable.

After starting the black-boned chicken soup, Gu Qiuyan didn’t leave immediately. She pulled up a stool and sat beside the pot, occasionally lifting the lid to check.

Truthfully, she didn’t need to watch over it so closely. A low flame would let it simmer for three or four hours on its own. But Gu Qiuyan wasn’t at ease. She believed that by staying nearby, she could monitor the soup’s condition—adding water if it reduced too much, adjusting the heat if it boiled too vigorously. That way, the soup would surely turn out better.

The old Gu Qiuyan would never have done something like this—she hadn’t had the time. As the matriarch of the Han family, even if she disliked socializing, she couldn’t avoid engagements given their status. But since Han Yixun’s injury, she had canceled all social obligations, focusing solely on caring for her son.

This was the instinct of a parent—doing what was best for their child, even if it meant suffering themselves.

Apart from meals, Gu Qiuyan didn’t leave the soup’s side for a moment.

Around nine, she lifted the lid, and a rich aroma instantly filled the kitchen. Had the door not been closed, it might have wafted outside. The broth was a clear golden hue, with a thin layer of oil floating on top. Satisfied, she ladled out a bowl and carried it to her son’s room.

*Knock, knock.*

“Yixun, Mom’s coming in.”

Hearing his response, she pushed open the door—but not before wiping all traces of sorrow from her face, replacing them with gentle concern and motherly affection.

Carefully holding the tray, she entered to find her son reading.

“Yixun, don’t overexert yourself,” she chided softly. “Books can wait. Right now, the most important thing is rest.”

Han Yixun obediently closed the book. His expression was calm, devoid of the anguish typical of a patient—as if he weren’t injured or facing paralysis. “There’s not much else to do. Reading helps pass the time. I never had this much leisure before.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, as if merely stating a truth.

Gu Qiuyan’s expression flickered, but she quickly masked her heartache, feigning annoyance. “Oh, stop that. Here, Mom made you black-boned chicken soup. Drink it while it’s hot.”

Han Yixun had caught his mother’s fleeting distress but pretended not to notice, accepting the bowl silently.

If she didn’t want him to know, he would play along.

His gaze drifted to the lower half of his body, hidden beneath the blanket.

*Sigh. It’s my own fault.*

He took a sip. “Mom, your cooking’s improved. This is delicious.”

Han Yixun wasn’t one for many words, nor did he flatter. His filial piety usually manifested in actions rather than speech. But when such a reserved person offered praise, it carried extra weight.

Gu Qiuyan beamed, nodding eagerly. “Then drink more, drink as much as you like.”

Once he finished, she reluctantly took the tray, not wanting to intrude further. “Rest well. I’ll leave you be.”

Han Yixun watched her go, only looking away once the door closed.

For a moment, he stared blankly out the window before reopening his book.

As a soldier, he didn’t regret his decision to save his comrade. If given the choice again, he’d do the same.

Gu Qiuyan descended the stairs with the tray, only to find her husband conversing with two strangers in the living room.

She was surprised. Her husband loathed small talk, considering it a waste of time—he’d rather do something practical. The only people he socialized with were his old army comrades.

*What’s going on? Has the sun risen in the west?*

Though puzzled, she maintained her composure, descending gracefully.

Handing the tray to a servant, she approached. “And these guests are…?”

Jin Weidao and Qiu Nianhui had been sitting stiffly on the sofa, hands fidgeting nervously as they answered Han Yumin’s questions.

It was impossible not to be tense. Han Yumin’s commanding presence, honed from years of leadership and battle, was overwhelming.

Just as they were about to buckle under the pressure, Gu Qiuyan’s arrival was a relief.

And for Han Yumin, too. These two had been so nervous around him that he hadn’t known how to put them at ease—especially since this concerned his eldest son. Thankfully, his wife had arrived.

Jin Weidao and Qiu Nianhui stood hastily. “Madam Han,” Jin Weidao said respectfully, “I’m Jin Weidao, the current head of the Jin family.” He gestured to his wife. “This is my wife, Qiu Nianhui.”

Gu Qiuyan nodded in acknowledgment, sitting beside her husband. She motioned for them to sit and asked curiously, “And what brings you here?”

“Ah, yes—we came regarding Young Master Han’s condition. We’ve encountered a doctor who might be able to treat him,” Jin Weidao explained hurriedly.

“What?” Gu Qiuyan’s eyes widened in shock, but skepticism quickly followed. “Are you certain? You do realize the consequences of misleading the Han family?”

“We wouldn’t dare! This doctor truly has a high chance of success.” Jin Weidao steadied himself. “We learned of her through my sister. After a difficult childbirth, my sister was bedridden for years. No doctor, domestic or foreign, could help. Recently, she was on the brink of death when this doctor intervened. Now, she’s fully recovered—no different from a healthy person. But my confidence in her treating Young Master Han isn’t just because of my sister. It’s because she once cured a paralyzed patient.”

At the word “paralyzed,” Jin Weidao glanced subtly at Han Yumin and Gu Qiuyan. Seeing their expressions remain neutral, he continued, “The patient was Lian Huijie of the Yu Zhou Lian family. He was paralyzed in a car accident, his spinal cord injured—similar to Young Master Han. Worse, he sought treatment three or four years after the accident. Yet, he recovered completely.”

Gu Qiuyan’s heart raced. Lian Huijie’s case gave her immense hope. Same injury, same paralysis—and Yixun’s wound was fresh. Did that mean his recovery would be even easier?

No matter what, they had to secure this doctor.

“Who is this doctor? How do we find her?”

Gu Qiuyan knew nothing of medicine, unaware that even the slightest differences in injuries could lead to vastly different treatments. Both cases involved spinal cord damage and paralysis, but the underlying causes might differ—meaning what worked for Lian Huijie might not work for Han Yixun.

She overlooked this detail, but Han Yumin didn’t. Still, he didn’t stop her. Right now, they couldn’t afford to dismiss any possibility—no matter how slim.