HNYWEF -Chapter 99 A Sense of Powerlessness

When Zhou Xiong pushed the door open and walked into the courtyard, Zhou Hong was under the corridor chopping firewood. The axe rose and fell, steady and rhythmic.

Zhou Yi squatted nearby, gathering the split wood and stacking it neatly.

Hearing the door, both of them looked up.

Zhou Xiong didn’t say anything.

He walked past them and went inside.

Zhou Hong and Zhou Yi exchanged a glance.

Zhou Hong put down the axe and followed him in.

Inside the house, Zhou Xiong had already placed the wooden box in the corner and sat down by the table.

He just sat there, staring at the table, completely still.

Zhou Hong walked over and stood beside him.

“Brother?”

No response.

Zhou Hong called again.

“Brother?”

Still no reaction.

Zhou Hong stood there, looking at his brother’s profile.

There was no expression on his face at all.

But Zhou Hong felt something in his brother’s eyes.

Not emptiness.

Something else.

He couldn’t describe it.

Zhou Yi ran in from outside and stood beside Zhou Hong.

“Father?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t move.

Zhou Yi looked up at Zhou Hong.

Zhou Hong shook his head.

The two of them just stood there, watching the man sitting motionless by the table.

The room was completely silent.

Only the crackling of the stove fire could be heard.

Zhou Xiong sat there, his mind completely blank.

Yet at the same time, it felt like countless thoughts had passed through him.

He was a medical student—he had studied medicine to save people.

He remembered when he left the new recruit camp, choosing to become a medic.

He had studied seriously in the military hospital—trauma care, first aid, debridement, suturing—learning and practicing everything step by step.

Later, when he boarded the peacekeeping force’s aircraft, he had saved many people—comrades, civilians, even war criminals.

He had believed that what he learned could save people.

Save many people.

And now?

Du Ruhui lay there, reduced to nothing but skin and bones, and he could do nothing.

“Yin-Yang separation.”

The words surfaced in his mind.

It was a term taught to him by an old village doctor long ago.

In modern terms, it was roughly organ failure.

But he had never used the term before.

He wasn’t even sure if he was using it correctly.

Suddenly, he felt very tired.

Not physical exhaustion—but a deep weariness from the bones outward.

He buried his head in his arms.

And just stayed like that, slumped over the table.

Zhou Hong and Zhou Yi stood nearby, watching him.

And as they watched, Zhou Hong suddenly realized—

His brother wasn’t moving anymore.

He walked over and gently pushed him.

No response.

He pushed again.

Still nothing.

He bent down and looked closer.

Asleep.

Zhou Hong froze for a moment.

He looked at the face resting on the table—the furrowed brows, the exhaustion seeping through every line.

He suddenly didn’t know what to say.

He straightened up and looked at Zhou Yi.

Zhou Yi was also looking at him.

Zhou Hong spoke softly.

“Come help me.”

Zhou Yi walked over.

“Carry him to bed,” Zhou Hong said.

Zhou Yi nodded.

The two of them carefully lifted Zhou Xiong—one holding his shoulders, the other his legs—and moved him up.

Zhou Xiong shifted slightly, but didn’t wake.

They carried him to the bed, gently laid him down, and covered him with a blanket.

He turned over, facing inward, and continued sleeping.

Still motionless.

Zhou Hong stood by the bed, watching.

After a while, he reached out and brushed aside the stray hair on his brother’s forehead.

Then he turned and waved lightly at Zhou Yi.

The two of them quietly slipped out.

The curtain dropped, and the room fell into darkness.

Zhou Xiong lay on the bed, completely still.

His breathing was steady.

Zhou Hong and Zhou Yi stood in the outer room.

Zhou Hong said in a low voice, “I’ll go boil some hot water. He can drink it when he wakes up.”

Zhou Yi nodded.

Zhou Hong walked toward the kitchen. After a couple of steps, he suddenly stopped.

He turned back and looked at Zhou Yi.

“Has your father ever been like this before?”

Zhou Yi thought for a moment.

“No.”

Zhou Hong nodded.

He didn’t ask anything else.

He went into the kitchen.

Zhou Yi stood in the outer room, staring at the curtain.

He watched it for a while.

Then he walked to the corner, picked up the wooden box, and opened it.

Inside, everything was neatly arranged—tweezers, small knives, probes, medicinal powders, and that strange wooden tube.

He looked at it for a long time.

Then he closed the box and put it back in its place.

He walked to the doorway and squatted down.

Staring outside.

The sky had already darkened.

He stayed there, motionless.

From the kitchen came the sound of firewood burning—crackling, popping.

Listening to it, he suddenly felt like today had been unusually long.

He squatted for a long time.

Until Zhou Hong came out carrying a bowl of hot water.

“Has your father woken up?”

Zhou Yi shook his head.

Zhou Hong placed the bowl on the table and walked over to lift the curtain for a look.

Zhou Xiong was still asleep, his posture unchanged.

Breathing steady.

Zhou Hong let the curtain fall and came back.

He squatted down beside Zhou Yi.

The two of them sat side by side, looking outside.

Only the firelight from the kitchen flickered across the window.

Zhou Hong suddenly spoke.

“The person your father went to see today… is he almost gone?”

Zhou Yi glanced toward the inner room and nodded.

Zhou Hong asked, “Your father couldn’t save him?”

Zhou Yi thought for a moment.

“He seemed… very upset.”

Zhou Hong froze slightly.

“Upset?”

Zhou Yi said, “Not the kind of sadness where you cry. It’s just… he said himself, he studies trauma treatment. When it’s internal illness, he’s not good at it.”

Zhou Hong didn’t speak.

He stared into the dark outside for a while.

Then he suddenly said,

“Your father… he looks like he doesn’t care about anything, but in reality, he can’t let anything go.”

Zhou Yi turned to look at him.

Zhou Hong also looked at him.

He reached out and ruffled Zhou Yi’s hair.

“Alright. I’ll watch the fire. Stay here for a while—call me if he wakes up.”

Zhou Yi nodded.

Zhou Hong stood up and went into the kitchen.

Zhou Yi continued squatting at the doorway, staring into the night.

A lamp was lit in the house.

Zhou Xiong was still asleep.

Unmoving.

Zhou Yi squatted there and suddenly thought of when he was little, when they lived outside the city.

Sometimes his father would become like this too—suddenly quiet, sitting there in a daze.

But back then, he didn’t know what his father was thinking.

Now he still didn’t know.

But he felt like he understood a little more than before.

The fire in the kitchen burned strong.

The house was warm.

Zhou Yi squatted by the door, waiting for his father to wake up.

Waiting… he started to feel sleepy too.

His eyelids grew heavy.

He rubbed his eyes and kept squatting.

After a while, he stood up, gently lifted the curtain, and peeked inside.

His father was still asleep.

Not moving at all.

Zhou Yi let the curtain fall and returned to the doorway.

The night had deepened.

The alley was silent.

Only the kitchen fire still crackled softly in the background.