Chapter 13: The Doctor's Verdict
The Medical Suite was a different kind of quiet. Not the stunned silence after Grandmother Lin’s cane struck marble, but a humming, sterile pause. The air tasted of ozone and the faint, clean sting of antiseptic. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city blurring into a watercolor of dusk, but inside, the light was a soft, shifting blue from panels set into the walls, mimicking deep water.
Wei Zhao lay on a padded examination table, the paper sheet rustling under him with every slight movement. He felt exposed, the thin gown doing little against the cool air. Jian stood against the wall, a rigid silhouette, arms crossed. He hadn’t moved since helping him onto the table. His intensity was a physical pressure in the room.
Doctor Feng was a compact beta woman with kind eyes and efficient hands. She moved without sound, her touch clinical but gentle as she applied gel to Wei Zhao’s lower abdomen. The ultrasound machine was a sleek, silent beast beside them.
“Just relax,” Doctor Feng said, her voice low. “This will be a little cold.”
Wei Zhao focused on a single bioluminescent panel, watching its blue bleed into gentle violet. He tried to separate himself from the moment, from the cold transducer gliding over his skin, from Jian’s watchful stare. He thought of the empty lantern in the dining hall, waiting for a light. He felt like that lantern.Hollow.
The machine came to life with a soft rush of static. A grainy, shifting image appeared on the monitor. Doctor Feng leaned in, her brow furrowing slightly as she adjusted a dial. The whooshing, rhythmic sound of a heartbeat filled the room.One heartbeat.
Then, a fraction of a second later, another, slightly faster, weaving around the first.
Doctor Feng’s professional calm didn’t break, but her eyes darted to the screen, then to Wei Zhao, then to Jian. She moved the transducer, angling it.
Jian pushed off the wall. “What is it?”
“Give me a moment, Mr. Li,” Doctor Feng said, her focus absolute.
Wei Zhao held his breath. The whoosh-whoosh, whoosh-whoosh, a duet against the static, was the loudest thing he’d ever heard. He didn’t need to be told. The truth was there in the twin rhythms, in the slight, astonished parting of the doctor’s lips.
“Well,” Doctor Feng said finally, a slow smile breaking through her clinical demeanor. She turned the screen slightly so they could see. “Congratulations are doubly in order.”
On the monitor, in the black and grey sea, were two distinct, bean-shaped blurrs. Two flickering points of light, like tiny stars. Two heartbeats.
Jian made a sound, a sharp intake of breath that got caught in his throat. He took two steps forward, his hand reaching out as if to touch the screen, then curling into a fist at his side. His gaze was locked on the image, utterly lost.
“Twins?” Wei Zhao whispered. The word felt foreign, immense.
“Fraternal twins, yes. Two sacs, two placentas. It’s early, but both measure perfectly for eight weeks. Strong heartbeats.” Doctor Feng’s voice was warm now, celebratory. Then it shifted, just a degree, as she moved the transducer again, taking measurements, typing notes into a tablet with her free hand. “However.”
The single word dropped the room’s temperature.
“Wei Zhao, your weight is critically low. Your metabolic markers show significant depletion. Carrying one pup would be a strain on your body in this state. Carrying two…” She paused, choosing her words with care. “It is a considerable risk. To you, and to them.”
The euphoria that had begun to bubble up in Wei Zhao’s chest froze and shattered. The twin heartbeats now sounded like a countdown.
“What do we do?” Jian’s voice was rough, stripped of all its usual command. It was just raw fear.
“Rest. Substantial, enforced rest.And nutrition. Not just eating, but a strategic, high-calorie regimen to build reserves. You need to gain a significant amount of weight in the next month, or we will be discussing hospitalization for intravenous feeding.” She wiped the gel from Wei Zhao’s stomach with a clean towel, her touch firm. “This is not optional. Your body is currently consuming itself to support this pregnancy. That stops today.”
She handed Wei Zhao a cloth to clean his hands. “I will send a detailed plan to Grandmother Lin. I understand she has already engaged a specialist chef.”
Jian’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, glanced at it, and a complicated look passed over his face—relief, resignation, awe. He showed the screen to Wei Zhao. It was a text from an unknown number.
Chef Pascal and security lead en route. ETA 20 minutes. The suite is prepared. Let the doctor do her work. – Lin
She’d known. Of course she’d known. She’d set the wheels in motion before the doctor had even confirmed the pregnancy.
Doctor Feng finished her notes. “I will see you twice a week for monitoring. Any dizziness, any spotting, any cramping, you call immediately. This is your only job now. To grow these pups.” She patted Wei Zhao’s shoulder. “It’s good news. But it is serious news. Rest.”
She left them then, the door sighing shut behind her.
The hum of the machines faded. The twin heartbeats were just a memory in the quiet. Wei Zhao stared at the ceiling, his hands coming to rest on his stomach.It felt no different. Flat, soft. Yet inside, a universe had just doubled in size.
Jian walked to the table. He didn’t speak. Slowly, he knelt on the polished floor, bringing his eyes level with Wei Zhao’s. He reached out, his large, calloused hand covering both of Wei Zhao’s where they lay.
His hand was trembling.
Wei Zhao had never seen him tremble. Not when facing down the media, not when growling at a room full of people. Seeing it now, feeling the fine vibration against his skin, was more terrifying than anything the doctor had said.
“Jian,” he breathed.
“I can buy you the best doctors,” Jian said, his voice cracking. “I can build a fortress. I can fight your family, the press, the whole damned city.” He bowed his head, his forehead resting against their joined hands. His next words were muffled, desperate. “I can’t do this for you. I can’t… nourish you.”
The admission shattered something between them. The final pretense of the all-powerful alpha, the unshakeable protector. Here, in the face of this biological truth, he was powerless.
Wei Zhao turned his hand, lacing his fingers through Jian’s. The warmth was real. The connection was real. “You don’t have to.” He took a shaky breath, feeling a new determination, hard and sharp, crystallize inside him. It wasn’t the timid hope of escape anymore.It was a mandate. “They’re mine. My job. Our job is to let me do it. To help me.”
Jian looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. He nodded, once, a sharp, decisive motion. He released Wei’s hand and stood, the vulnerability sealing over into a fierce resolve.“Okay. Okay.” He scooped Wei Zhao up, paper gown and all, cradling him against his chest. “Then we start now.”
He carried him out of the Medical Suite, not into the main penthouse, but down a different hallway Wei Zhao had never seen. It ended at a set of double doors, which swung open silently.
Inside was not a bedroom. It was a sanctuary. The walls were a soft, calming green. One entire window looked out over the private rooftop garden, now lit by subtle ground lights. A huge, low bed dominated the room, piled with pillows. A sitting area faced a fireplace, and through an open door, Wei Zhao could see a vast sunken tub.
On a table by the bed sat a simple tray. A bowl of rich, fragrant bone broth, steam still curling from it. A small plate of delicate, steamed buns. A glass of something that looked like a milkshake.
Sitting in a chair by the window, cane in hand, was Grandmother Lin. She surveyed the room, then them, with a satisfied nod.
“The chef is unpacking in the kitchen. He is very French, very dramatic, and makes a consommé that could raise the dead. You will drink it.” She pointed her cane at the tray. “Security is integrated. No one comes up this elevator without my say. You,” she said, her sharp eyes landing on Jian, who still held Wei Zhao in his arms, “will stop looming like a thundercloud and put him down. He needs to eat, not be admired.”
Jian, chastised, gently placed Wei Zhao on the edge of the bed. Wei Zhao’s fingers instinctively curled over his abdomen again, a protective, wondering gesture.
Grandmother Lin saw it. Her expression softened, the stern commander giving way to something ancient and knowing. “Two,” she said quietly. “The Li blood runs strong. And stubborn.” She leaned forward. “Listen to me, boy. Your body has survived hardship. It knows how to endure. Now you must teach it something new. How to thrive.” She tapped her own temple. “It starts here. In your mind. You choose to be strong for them.”
Wei Zhao looked from her fierce, believing face to Jian’s anxious one, then down at the steaming bowl of broth. The scent, for the first time, didn’t revolt him. It smelled like life.
He reached for the spoon. His hand was steady.
“Okay,” he said, echoing Jian’s word, a promise to the two tiny, flickering stars inside him. “I choose.”