Vio Mansello sat back in the chair by the study desk, legs crossed and propped up on the edge of the table, head tilted against the chair’s backrest.

The man held a cigarette between his fingers; the ash had grown long and was about to fall, yet he made no move to flick it off.

In his other hand, he twirled the white lighter.

Open and close, open and close—the flame would flare up only to die down again, flickering in the dim study.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Hans pushed the door open and walked over to the desk. “Boss, the girl’s fever has gone down.”

Before examining the girl, he had already explained to the boss why she had developed a fever.

Too frequent use of contraceptive injections had thrown her endocrine system out of balance.

Add to that a long period of inactivity, being cooped up in her room all the time, and the stress and emotional turmoil she’d been experiencing.

After a few seconds of silence, Vio spoke: “I understand.”

Hans nodded.

“Boss, then I’ll be going now.”

“Mm.”

Hans bowed slightly, turned, and left.

The door closed softly behind him.

The study fell quiet once more.

Only the sound of the lighter opening and closing could be heard.

Vio brought the lighter up to his eyes and squinted as he examined it.

A mere doctor—how could someone with such poor health and such a timid nature possibly go to a war zone?

He had business in Syria and had spent time there himself; he knew what the situation was like.

How could someone like that even make it to Syria? How could they perform surgery amidst the hail of bullets?

“Xixi, what would you like to eat? Auntie will make it for you.”

Maria placed the medication Hans had prescribed into a pillbox, carefully sorting each pill and labeling them:

morning, noon, evening—written neatly and precisely.

She set the box on the bedside table and turned to look at Xixi.

“Thank you, Auntie. I’d like to eat…”

Qin Qinxi wanted to say pancakes, but the words caught in her throat and she swallowed them back.

Auntie Maria was Filipino, so she probably wouldn’t know how to make pancakes.

“Anything is fine,” she said instead.

“Then how about some meat porridge? And I’ll stir-fry a little side dish for you too.”

“Okay… thank you, Auntie.”

Maria smiled gently at her, her crow’s feet crinkling together.

“Just wait a moment—I’ll have it ready soon.”

She turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Qin Qinxi slowly sat up.

Her head still felt a bit dizzy, but much better than in the morning—at least the throbbing pain was gone.

She lifted the blanket and put her feet on the floor.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, it felt like stepping on cotton—soft, yielding, sinking in with every step.

She leaned on the bed frame for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass before letting go.

Hans had told her to get more exercise. She couldn’t let her body give out—even a short jog around the room would do.

She looked down at herself.

Qin Qinxi was wearing a white silk nightgown, the ties loosely fastened, the hem reaching her ankles.

She tightened the ties a bit, then began taking small, quick steps around the room.

She ran from the window to the door and back again.

After a few round trips, she felt the space was too small and she couldn’t stretch her legs enough.

So she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

The second-floor corridor was long—from one end to the other. She estimated it was about fifty meters.

She ran to one end, turned around, and ran back.

One lap, two laps, three laps.

The hem of her nightgown fluttered around her feet, and her slippers clicked softly against the floor.

By the sixth lap, a door next to her suddenly swung open.

Qin Qinxi jumped in fright, her foot slipped, and she nearly fell.

She grabbed the wall to steady herself, then looked up.

Vio was standing in the doorway.

He, too, was wearing a nightgown—black, with the ties loosely tied and the collar wide open.

His hand rested on the doorknob, his brow furrowed as he scanned her from head to toe.

Qin Qinxi stiffened.

Hadn’t he just left? She’d thought he was out.

Had he been in the study the whole time?

And if she’d run so many laps, hadn’t he heard every single one of them?

End of Chapter 57: Chapter 57