Chapter 310: The Life-Saving Night
Chen Yechu hesitated for a few seconds, her mind spinning. Then she took a deep breath, quietly opened the door, and slipped out into the rain.
The moment she stepped outside, the cold drizzle instantly soaked her shoulders. The air was sharp and damp, the wind carrying a faint smell of wet soil mixed with the faint stench from the animal pens nearby.
Holding up her coat collar against the rain, she hurried across the muddy yard. The flashlight’s beam flickered through the rain, barely cutting through the dense mist.
The path to the shed was slippery, her shoes quickly caked with mud. Thunder rolled again, shaking the night sky, but Chen Yechu’s steps didn’t slow.
She remembered clearly—it was that abandoned livestock shed in the corner of the production team yard, the one no one dared to approach.
Her pulse quickened as she neared the place. A weak light flickered inside, barely visible through the cracks in the boards.
“Anyone there?” she called softly, knocking on the door.
For a moment, no one answered—only the rain’s steady drumming and faint groans from within.
Chen Yechu pushed the door open and stepped inside. The smell of damp straw and mold filled her nose. A woman lay on a pile of hay, face pale, clutching her belly. Sweat mixed with tears streamed down her face.
“Who… who are you?” the woman gasped weakly.
“Don’t be afraid,” Chen Yechu quickly said, kneeling beside her. “I came to help. You’re in labor—how long have you been like this?”
The woman’s lips trembled. “It… it started a while ago… no one came… I can’t… I can’t anymore…”
Chen Yechu’s heart twisted painfully. The woman’s belly was already tense, her breaths shallow.
She immediately tore off part of her outer garment, spread it under the woman, and looked around for hot water or cloth—but there was nothing, only a half-filled bucket of cold rainwater.
“Hang in there,” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady. “I’ll help you deliver the baby.”
In her previous life, she had seen this scene in her dreams countless times, always powerless. But now, she was here—alive and able to act.
The woman’s cries grew sharper as contractions hit.
Chen Yechu guided her through the breathing, remembering everything she’d ever read or seen about childbirth. Her trembling hands tried to be steady.
Time stretched endlessly. Outside, the rain softened slightly, and the thunder moved farther away.
Finally—after what felt like forever—a faint, weak cry broke through the silence.
The child was born.
Chen Yechu quickly cleared the newborn’s airways, wrapped the baby in her coat, and placed it near the mother’s chest.
“It’s okay now,” she whispered, her own eyes misting. “Both of you are safe.”
The woman sobbed weakly, murmuring thanks over and over before fainting from exhaustion.
Chen Yechu wiped her own tears and began checking the mother’s condition. She didn’t dare move her, but she made sure there was no massive bleeding.
After confirming the woman was stable, she wrapped her tightly with straw mats and covered her with her own coat to keep her warm.
Only then did she notice how cold her own hands were—white, trembling, and completely numb.
She glanced outside; dawn’s gray light was beginning to seep through the clouds. The storm was finally easing.
Taking a deep breath, she quietly walked out of the shed, rainwater dripping from her hair and eyelashes.
Her clothes were soaked through, but her heart felt lighter than it had in years.
Behind her, a faint cry of the newborn mixed with the sound of rain—soft, fragile, yet filled with life.
In the distance, the eastern sky was turning pale.
