Sickly Bigshot CH 27 Discharge Denied
Translated by The BL Muse (ko-fi)
Everything happened too suddenly. Shi Zhou stood frozen on the spot, stunned, maintaining his original posture without moving a muscle.
Staring at the spilled medicine on the floor, he realized he’d been wrong all along. The reason Qin Yancheng died so suddenly, the reason he succumbed to an acute illness that wasn’t even highly fatal—wasn’t fate. It was simply because he didn’t want to live anymore.
That cryptic line Qin Yancheng had once said—“Good advice can’t save the damned, and great compassion can’t redeem the self-destructive”—was, in hindsight, about himself.
Even sitting outside the emergency room, Shi Zhou remained dazed, his mind blank, while a terrifying memory from the depths of his mind resurfaced. It felt as though an invisible hand had gripped his heart, squeezing it so tight he could barely breathe from fear.
He could still feel the coldness of Qin Yancheng’s fingers on his wrist, the weak, futile struggle as he tried to hold on but had no strength left.
After falling unconscious, Qin Yancheng had collapsed in Shi Zhou’s arms, cold all over—so much so that Shi Zhou had to keep tremblingly checking again and again whether he was still breathing.
When the ambulance arrived, Shi Zhou’s hand was still pressed to his chest, feeling for a heartbeat.
No matter how he tried to rationalize it, he couldn’t understand why Qin Yancheng had thrown away the medicine.
That action had clearly been suicidal. But Shi Zhou didn’t believe he would suddenly choose to end his life. At least in day-to-day life, Qin Yancheng had never shown suicidal tendencies. Aside from being evasive about his health and irresponsible with his body, everything else about him was… passably normal. He even lived somewhat earnestly.
Shi Zhou had always jokingly called him a “psycho,” but it had just been teasing. Deep down, he believed Qin Yancheng was just temperamental and aloof—never did it occur to him that his mental state might involve actual medical concerns.
Which meant: in the original script, Qin Yancheng didn’t die by accident due to an asthma attack. Or rather, he did die of asthma—but it wasn’t an accident.
In the original world, the one without Shi Zhou as a variable, Qin Yancheng, upon realizing he was having an attack, silently gave up on saving himself. He calmly walked into death amidst suffocating pain.
A female doctor rushed out. “Family member? Are you the patient’s family?”
Shi Zhou shook his head, then nodded.
“Which is it? Can you sign?”
“I’m family. I’m his… brother. I can sign.”
Shi Zhou signed the critical condition notice. The doctor said beside him, “Prepare yourself mentally. The patient has acute angina with malignant arrhythmia. There’s a risk of cardiac arrest.”
Shi Zhou’s brain was still a fog. She said many things, but all he processed were the words cardiac arrest. In short: he might die. Qin Yancheng might really die like this.
Shi Zhou collapsed back into his chair, rubbed his face hard with both hands. The body he now inhabited had sensitive tear ducts—his palms were soon damp and hot, tears dripping uncontrollably.
He had known this would happen. He’d prepared himself, hadn’t he?
He was terrified of death. Terrified of sudden illness. And most of all, terrified of this very feeling—sitting helpless outside an ambulance or ER.
He still remembered the last time he’d sat in a chair like this. He had no idea how long he waited, only that fear and anxiety consumed every second like a lifetime.
Then the doctor had come out, lifted their glasses slowly—and those two words, “I’m sorry,” exploded like thunder. It shattered his world. He'd completely lost it—roared in hysteria, a wild storm of rage.
If not for his best buddies restraining him, he might’ve rushed the doctor and body-slammed him on the spot.
He wasn’t a total brat. Once he calmed down, he realized how insane and unfair that outburst was.
But in that moment, logic had meant nothing. The doctor who announced his brother’s death had felt like Death himself. Shi Zhou couldn’t accept it. Would not accept it.
Shi Li had been twenty-seven that year—the same age as Qin Yancheng. So young. So sudden.
Now, he had just signed two critical condition notices in one night.
Shi Zhou glanced out the window. The sky had begun to lighten—rosy gold dawn igniting the clouds.
Suddenly, his phone rang. It was his temp agent Li Cheng calling. “Shi Zhou, you live in Four Seasons Spring City, right? I can arrange a ride to the airport for you.”
Shi Zhou didn’t even have time to respond before the emergency room door opened. His heart clenched. His palm grew sweaty. His pulse thundered. He dreaded hearing those two words again.
“Are you the patient’s family?”
Shi Zhou leapt up. “How is he?!”
Li Cheng was still listening intently on the other end of the line with confusion.
Realizing the call was still live, Shi Zhou muttered hastily, “Qin Yancheng is sick. I’m not going. Replace me if you want—I’ll pay the damages,” and hung up.
Only when the doctor said, “He’s out of immediate danger. After a few more hours of observation, we’ll transfer him to a general ward,” did Shi Zhou exhale, as though a thousand-pound boulder had dropped from his chest.
He slumped back into the chair, overcome with trembling relief.
Three years ago, Shi Zhou had been dazed and numb, not understanding anything as others handled the procedures. Now, he could calmly manage his emotions while paying fees and calling Bai Ran to get a contact for Qin Yancheng’s family.
He summarized the situation. Bai Ran gasped, “What?! That serious? But… but we can’t reach President Qin’s family—”
“His parents are gone?”
“His mother might still be alive. But I’ve never met her… not sure. It’s just—”
Shi Zhou sensed Bai Ran was hiding something. “No one else will know. Not even Qin Yancheng.”
“…Alright. The thing is, President Qin and his mother don’t get along. She might have some… mental issues…”
“What?”
Could Qin Yancheng’s madness be inherited from his mother?
But maybe not. From another perspective, Shi Zhou remembered a quote: Some people spend their lives being healed by childhood; others spend their lives healing from it.
Just what happened in the past to make Qin Yancheng like this?
After staying tense for so long, Shi Zhou finally relaxed when Qin Yancheng was transferred out of ICU. He reached out to smooth the furrow between his brows—still creased even in sleep. After confirming that his breathing and heartbeat were steady, Shi Zhou yawned and fell asleep on the couch beside the hospital bed.
He hadn’t been asleep long when Li Cheng called again. “Shi Zhou, filming doesn’t start until tomorrow afternoon. Today was just for promo footage—it’s fine if you can’t make it.”
Groggy and cranky, Shi Zhou's young master temper snapped, “I said I’m not going! Unless you can get plastic surgery and go in my place tomorrow!”
Of course he wanted to be on the show—money, exposure, popularity. But Qin Yancheng had nearly died. With not a single relative around, how could he bear to leave while he was still unconscious?
Li Cheng didn’t know what was going on. He just thought: Shi Zhou is getting too full of himself. To turn down such a golden opportunity? He really must be riding high on Qin Yancheng’s support.
With Jinshui Film Studio now up and running, and Qin Yancheng dipping into the entertainment industry, no one would dare rival him from now on.
Now fully awake, Shi Zhou went downstairs for a quick meal, picked up medicine, and finished the remaining paperwork.
When he returned, Qin Yancheng was awake. He had already yanked off the oxygen mask and was trying to pull out the IV needle.
“Hey hey hey!” Shi Zhou rushed over, pushed him back down, stuffed his unruly hand under the blanket. “What are you doing? The IV isn’t done! How do you feel? Anything uncomfortable?”
Qin Yancheng’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp, but firm: “…I want to be discharged.”
Shi Zhou froze. “What?”
He wondered if his ears were broken.
“I. Want. To. Leave.” Qin Yancheng enunciated every word. His sharp, beautiful features were clouded with darkness, and his pale face was full of hostility.
Great—Shi Zhou’s ears were fine. It was Qin Yancheng’s brain that was broken.
“Qin Yancheng, I signed two critical condition notices for you last night! You almost fucking died!” Shi Zhou couldn’t hide his anger, but he kept his voice low, afraid of stressing his heart.
Qin Yancheng didn’t budge. He acted like staying another second in the hospital would get him abducted by aliens. He struggled to get up again, but Shi Zhou held him down with gentle threats and coaxing.
What the hell—why did he seem like a totally different person?
Too weak to fight, Qin Yancheng eventually lay stiff and silent, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Shi Zhou looked at his sickly pale face, those thick, feather-like lashes lowered. Even with that cold look of gloom, Shi Zhou’s heart softened. He couldn’t keep scolding such a beautiful man.
“Qin sir? Hungry? Want me to get you some congee?”
But the moment he said it, he regretted it. What if Qin Yancheng ran the moment he stepped out?
“Actually—forget it, I’m too lazy to go downstairs. I’ll order delivery.”
Qin Yancheng still didn’t respond. His foul mood was visible to the naked eye. In fact, Shi Zhou had rarely seen him wear his emotions so clearly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Shi Zhou suddenly noticed his fingers trembling uncontrollably.
Just as he wondered what was going on, the doctor knocked and entered. “The patient's awake? How do you feel? It's time to draw some blood—”
Before the doctor could finish, Qin Yancheng suddenly started shaking all over—then clutched the bedrail and began retching violently.