Chapter 73
Luna White saw her own deathly pale face reflected in Andrew Smith's deep eyes. "He... will be fine..." Her teeth chattered uncontrollably, her entire body aching from tension.
Andrew gave a silent nod and handed her a steaming cup of brown sugar water. But her trembling fingers nearly spilled it. With a sigh, he took the cup and held it to her lips. "Drink." Once again, this girl had performed a miracle before his eyes. He had watched as her silver needles pierced precise acupoints, her fingers deftly twisting the tails. Nathaniel Turner, who had been on the brink of death, gradually regained steady breaths, a faint flush returning to his pallid face.
After helping her finish the drink, Andrew strode out of the ward.
Outside, the crowd held their breaths. General Charles Turner rushed forward, hope blazing in his eyes. The boy he had watched grow up was now his only lifeline.
"He's stable," Andrew said simply. "Luna said to prepare some plain congee. He should wake by noon."
Helen Turner shot to her feet. "Really? Nathaniel is really okay?" Her voice shook.
"Go see for yourself, ma'am," Andrew replied gently. "Luna needs rest now. She’s exhausted."
David Moore squared his shoulders. "I'll take her home."
"She can't walk right now," Andrew refused.
Fiona Turner spoke up immediately. "She can rest in our room." This girl had saved their entire family.
When the group entered the ward, they found Luna curled up in a chair, wrapped tightly in blankets and shivering violently. Her ghostly face silenced them all—how much strength had this cost her?
Helen rushed to her son’s bedside. Nathaniel’s breathing was steady, his complexion healthy, with no trace of his near-death state. The five specialists exchanged glances and hurried to examine him.
Andrew had already carried Luna to the adjacent bedroom. Only then did everyone realize the blankets had been prepared for the doctor. Many marveled inwardly: This is what a true miracle worker looks like.
No one knew the agony Luna was enduring.
The moment Andrew set her down, she suddenly burst into tears.
"What’s wrong?" He gathered her and the blankets in alarm.
"My... leg... cramping..." Beads of sweat dotted her forehead as she clenched the sheets in pain.
Andrew immediately massaged her calf. But just as the spasm eased, another seized her. She bit her lip, tears streaming down her face. He could only keep kneading her muscles, gently flexing her joints.
Perhaps it was his soothing touch, or perhaps because no one had ever cared for her like this, but Luna sobbed harder.
Seeing her suffering, Andrew made a decision. He pulled back the covers and drew her into his arms. As she gasped in surprise, he tucked a hot water bottle against her and wrapped them both tightly in the quilt.
"You—" She tried to protest, but her chattering teeth cut her off.
"Relax." His steady voice rumbled above her.
His scorching warmth made her dizzy. Heat seeped into her bones, driving out the icy chill. His strong arms held her firmly, shielding her from each tremor.
"It’ll pass soon," he murmured, wiping her tears with a towel.
After several rounds, the shaking finally subsided. Luna slumped weakly against his chest, her ear pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The warmth lulled her into drowsiness, and she vaguely felt a hand patting her back.
"Sleep..."
She drifted off.
Andrew exhaled slowly and carefully laid her down. Watching the color return to her cheeks, a flicker of tenderness crossed his gaze. Having witnessed her needlework firsthand, he understood better than anyone the price she had paid.
The need to protect her burned clearer than ever.