The hospital entrance was cold and sterile, but the moment Lu Qingyan stepped inside, the world didn't feel real anymore.
Her footsteps echoed faintly against the tiles, her medal still tucked in her coat pocket like a cruel joke.
She barely had time to process the bright fluorescent lights or the faint chemical sting of antiseptic before she was swarmed.
"Are you the one who just won this year's NCMO?"
"Oh my god, you're Lu Qingyan, right? I saw the live stream—"
"Didn't you give that speech about resilience? That was amazing!"
Their voices came from all directions, admiration laced in every tone, but none of it could reach her.
Not now.
She kept her expression neutral and gave a stiff nod. "Excuse me. I have somewhere I need to be."
She brushed past them as politely as she could, but it was impossible to stop her urgency from bleeding into her voice.
As she turned toward the elevator, she heard them muttering behind her.
"So full of herself now that she won."
"She barely smiled."
"Head up high like she's better than everyone…"
Her grip tightened on the strap of her bag, knuckles white, but she didn't stop. Didn't turn around. Let them talk.
They didn't know.
They didn't know that each step she took toward the third floor felt like stepping through quicksand.
They didn't know that her world was breaking apart.
She reached the third floor and the hallway felt like it stretched for miles.
The hospital corridor was too quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful—it was terrifying. The walls were pale. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air. Nurses moved around briskly. Machines beeped softly in nearby rooms. But all she could focus on was the figure hunched near a hospital door.
Her mother.
Sitting on the floor outside the ward, shoulders trembling, head bowed low as she sobbed into her hands.
And beside her—Lu Qingyan froze.
Her father.
Still in his business suit, though it was rumpled now, his tie loosened, his eyes bloodshot behind his glasses. He looked… small. Out of place. Powerless.
The man who was always distant, always busy, always composed, stood with his hand resting weakly against the wall, like it was the only thing holding him up.
Lu Qingyan wanted to laugh. Bitterly.
The last time she saw her father was weeks ago. She had half-joked that he only remembered her and her brother existed during award ceremonies. Now, the next time she saw him—was here. When Mingxun was gone.
Gone.
No. No, no, no.
She forced her legs to move.
"Mother," she called out, her voice cracking.
Her mother looked up. Her face was streaked with tears, eyes swollen and red.
The moment she saw Lu Qingyan, she broke again, arms outstretched, and Qingyan rushed into her embrace.
She collapsed into her mother's arms, the weight of it all crashing down at once.
She had already cried in the car. But this—this was different. This was real. And now that she was here, it was no longer just fear or dread.
It was truth.
And it was unbearable.
Ly Qingyan sobbed into her mother's shoulder, gripping her tightly, like if she held on hard enough, maybe time would reverse.
"I'm here," she choked. "I'm here now…"
Ten minutes passed like smoke.
Then the door opened.
A doctor stepped out with tired eyes and a clipboard clutched tightly in his hands.
He looked at the family—the broken mother, the stiff father, the trembling girl—and he sighed quietly, like he'd done this too many times and it never got easier.
"Mr. and Mrs. Lu," the doctor said gently. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Lu Qingyan blinked.
Her heart thudded hard in her chest.
The doctor continued, "It was confirmed that the patient—your son—passed due to self-harm. Based on time of death, he's been gone for approximately three hours."
Everything inside her went still.
The world didn't move.
She stared at the doctor like he'd spoken in a foreign language.
The words didn't make sense. They couldn't.
"What…?" she whispered.
No. This wasn't right.
"No. Doctor—there's… there's a misunderstanding," Lu Qingyan said, voice rising.
She took a step forward, shaking her head, pleading with her eyes. "That's impossible. My brother… he—he was the happiest person I knew. You're wrong. He wouldn't do that."
The doctor opened his mouth, but she wasn't finished.
"Just this morning—" her voice broke. "Just this morning, he told me to do my best. He said if I won, he'd treat me to ice cream. He even joked about getting two scoops because it was going to be a 'double victory day.' You don't understand—he wouldn't do that."
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she gripped the fabric of her dress, her fists shaking.
"My brother… Mingxun wouldn't do that!" she cried, louder now, desperately trying to rewrite reality through sheer will. "He's strong. He always looked after me. He always—he promised—he told me he'd be waiting when I came back from the ceremony!"
The doctor looked down, helpless.
Lu Qingyan turned to her parents, tugging on their sleeves like a child. "Mom… Dad… tell them. Tell them he wouldn't. Tell them there's no way…"
Her mother was weeping quietly now, unable to form words.
Her father… for the first time in her life, she saw him lower his head, not in shame or anger—but in sorrow. He gently placed a hand on her head, and Qingyan looked up at him with broken eyes.
"Xiaoyan," he said quietly, voice hoarse. He didn't say anything else.
Because there was nothing else to say.
Lu Qingyan's knees buckled.
She fell to the ground, clutching her chest as if she could hold the pain in—but it spilled out anyway, raw and agonizing.
"No… Please, no… not him…"
Her mother knelt beside her, embracing her as Lu Qingyan's body shook violently with sobs.
All her hard work.
All the sacrifices.
All the nights she stayed up studying, pushing herself past her limits, just to make them proud—just to make him proud.
She would've thrown it all away if it meant seeing him laugh again. If it meant hearing his voice again.
The medal in her pocket felt like a curse.
She didn't want to be a champion.
She just wanted her brother back.