Chapter 423: Intense reaction
From a distance, Seth and Will spotted Renly, who had just exited the chemotherapy room.
Today, Renly's attire was simple: a deep blue T-shirt paired with ash-gray jeans and white canvas sneakers. He exuded youthful energy from head to toe without appearing ostentatious, embodying the appearance of Adam from "50/50". He stopped by the door, waved goodbye to the fellow patients in the chemotherapy room, then turned around.
Seth could perceive a slight curve at the corner of Renly's lips. It couldn't be called a smile; it was more like a gentle amusement. It resembled the sunlight of early March casting its glow on a calm lake, its radiance soft and not glaring. Occasionally, the lingering chill of winter mingled within, wafting through the clear features of his face.
"Hey, why are you guys here?" Renly greeted them proactively, gesturing to a nearby building. "I'm getting ready to head over there. What about you?"
In recent days, the production location had changed. Renly was filming a scene with Anna Kendrick, portraying a psychological session where Catherine, the psychologist, helps Adam navigate his emotions. The building was quite a distance away, requiring a fifteen-minute walk, circumventing the hospital area.
Will attentively observed Renly.
Superficially, Renly seemed perfectly normal, as if nothing had changed. But upon closer inspection, it was evident that his previously small face had grown a little leaner. The sparkle in his eyes had dimmed slightly, as if all his radiance had converged, veiled by a thin mist.
"We're planning to head there too. How about joining us?" Seth beamed, and then inquired tentatively, "How are you feeling? Is your stomach more comfortable?"
"Very good. No issues at all." Renly nodded with a smile. He then chuckled lightly, his lips curling upward. "Don't worry. If anything goes wrong, I'll be the first to notify SAG and let them come bother you guys."
Faced with this teasing jest, Seth couldn't muster a laugh. He managed a polite "heh heh," his smile strained, because Renly's condition was indeed worrying.
Though Renly had just joked around, his smile didn't reach his eyes. It was merely like a wisp of smoke, hidden deep within his gaze. It was elusive, as if a gentle breeze could disperse it. He exuded none of the vigor and vitality he used to. This version of Renly was unfamiliar.
Seth's concern deepened. He turned to Will, raising his eyebrows, trying to coax a response from him. Before Will could speak, Renly's voice resounded again, "You guys go ahead. I need to use the restroom first and will catch up later." Without waiting for their response, Renly waved with a smile and headed toward the nearby restroom.
Seth and Will stood in place, staring at each other. This was quite sudden.
Both were somewhat bewildered. Their gazes involuntarily shifted to Renly, and that's when Will noticed it. Renly's seemingly composed steps now carried a hint of impatience. Could it be that he was genuinely anxious due to a physiological need?
But Will's intuition told him it wasn't like that. Without much thought, he quickened his pace to catch up, with Seth following half a step behind. The two reached the restroom door, ready to enter, but their steps involuntarily paused.
"Gag."
That pitiful, surging sound reverberated within the restroom space. It awakened memories deep within Will's mind. He remembered, remembered clearly, those moments of midnight rises, rushing to the restroom to violently retch into the toilet, as if trying to empty his entire body. Even his soul felt ethereal.
The vivid recollection and cruel reality halted Will in his tracks. He grabbed Seth, who was about to rush inside, gently shook his head—simple but resolute. However, the pain and struggle in his expression began to surge.
Gag. Renly felt as though his organs were about to be expelled.
Having just encountered Seth and Will, his stomach had suddenly felt uneasy. Extremely uneasy. It was as if someone was beating his abdomen relentlessly, a punch after punch. His entire stomach convulsed violently, churning like a tempestuous storm. The intensity was far beyond endurance. Another second and he might lose all control.
Ignoring the two, Renly, in a wretched state, dashed directly into the restroom. Utilizing his remaining rationality and control, he entered a stall, closed the door, and then embraced the toilet, beginning to retch heavily.
How absurd, wasn't it? Even in such a dire situation, he hadn't completely lost control. He managed to hide his disarray and mess. The aristocratic education of the past twenty years had wielded an influence far more powerful than imagined. It had become an inherent trait, even if he didn't like it himself.
Gag. It felt as though someone was continuously pounding his stomach from below, trying to knock out every object within. But here's the problem: he had barely eaten anything this morning, just half a cup of hot milk, which he had now thrown up entirely. However, the urge to vomit persisted, and waves of sourness surged upward.
Vomiting until all his organs crowded his throat, blocking the pathway for air. He couldn't breathe. Despite the suffocating sensation of impending oxygen deprivation, the roiling in his stomach couldn't be suppressed. It began to regurgitate, but only acidic water came out. His throat felt as if a fist had forcefully blocked it, making it hard to breathe. He sensed a scorching heat on his face, realizing his tears had started to flow uncontrollably.
Cough, cough, cough.
Unable to vomit anything out, he choked on his own saliva, triggering a severe fit of coughing. Yet, finally, the sensation of retching temporarily subsided. The murky, scorching air rushed into his airway, too fierce to handle. It intensified his coughing, as if trying to expel everything from his organs that he hadn't vomited out just now.
His hands gripped the edge tightly, but he found his finger strength and arm power slipping away bit by bit. The feeling of losing control pounded fiercely against his stomach, but he lacked the strength to resist. He sank to the ground, no longer caring about the restroom's filth or aristocratic etiquette.
In such a wretched state.
His entire body felt as if he had just been pulled out of water, drenched in sweat. Waves of pain pulsed through his temples, akin to a million needles pricking at his head, each tiny jab slowly seeping in. The cold sweat on his forehead continued to pour out, as if being roasted on flames, then dashing wildly on ice. This scorching sensation was even more agonizing than the fires of hell. However, his back was cold, a freezing chill from his spine to the soles of his feet, bone-penetrating coldness that induced shivers, causing his muscles to stiffen.
A clash of extremes began to tear at every part of his body, causing the last vestiges of strength within his muscles to vanish. He had no ounce of energy left. He sat there, collapsed on the ground, his back pressed weakly against the marble wall. The burning sensation in his eyes forced them shut, every pore breathed pain, every cell endured torture. He even struggled to find the strength to breathe.
He didn't understand why it was like this. It wasn't a stomachache, nor was it cancer. However, he felt acutely the torment from body to spirit—the involuntary helplessness and despair, dimming the halo of his soul by another shade.
Slumped on the ground, his entire body protested and whimpered, yet he remained immobilized.
It felt as if he was sinking, the descent slowed tenfold, a hundredfold. Millimeter by millimeter, he sank gradually. He could clearly see bubbles leaving his skin's surface, dissipating like vibrant life-force dispersing. But there was no pain, rather a magnificent and splendid beauty, capturing his gaze in a heart-pounding, poetic, and picturesque manner.
He realized he was sinking but couldn't sense the agony. So, he didn't resist or struggle, just allowed himself to gradually sink. The surrounding light faded away slowly, little by little.
Renly knew; this was cancer.
When he realized his lungs had exhausted their last breath, when he realized death had encompassed every cell in his body, when he realized that only a desperate struggle could prolong his life, it was already too late. He weakly waved his arm, symbolically resisting twice, then surrendered.
But what was even more frightening was that he couldn't feel fear. The bond between reason and emotion seemed severed. Reason kept sounding alarms, warning him to be angry, to resist, to get excited. Yet, his emotions remained unresponsive, a sea of silence.
He tugged his lips into a smile, bitter, sour, absurd, mocking, sardonic. "Heh." He didn't know why he laughed. He just suddenly felt like laughing. Everything was just too amusing, wasn't it?
He faced death. He should have fought to the death, recklessly, to the fullest. Having experienced death, he should be unstoppable, no longer afraid. Having gained a new life, he should stand tall, charge toward the finish line of his dreams. He was Chu Jiashu, he was Renly, he was still Adam. But he wasn't Chu Jiashu, nor was he Renly. He remained Adam.
The boundary between illusion and reality had vanished completely.
Sitting on the restroom floor, he felt as if he lay on that bed he had spent a decade in, humming a tune, as if he had given up the struggle and accepted reality. He was also like sitting in that soft and comfortable chair, actively cooperating with chemotherapy, hoping to defeat cancer. Yet deep within, he remained uncertain about what cancer really was.
Even now, he wasn't sure what exactly had happened. Except for him, in an utterly wretched state, sitting on the hospital's germ-infested floor, retching. He wondered, if Matthew saw this scene, would his hair stand on end?
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