120: Chapter 120 Girls' Generation will always have nine members, not one less.

At 6:27 AM, Jessica Jung woke up in pain.

The pain was dull and heavy, coming in waves from her right ankle, like a hammer striking inside her bones.

The anesthesia had worn off, and although the pain pump was still working, the pain remained clear.

She opened her eyes and first saw the white ceiling, then the IV bottle hanging beside her, with transparent liquid dripping through the thin tube into her body.

It took her a few seconds to remember where she was and what had happened.

Stage, fall, ambulance, hospital, surgery.

Memories came flooding back like a tide.

She moved her left hand, wanting to press the call button, but her fingertips touched something warm.

Jessica Jung paused for a moment and turned her head to look.

Her left hand was being held by another hand.

It was a man's hand—slender fingers, distinct knuckles, faint blue veins on the back of the hand, and a very warm palm.

The hand held hers loosely, without force, just resting naturally, as if it had been holding hers for a long time.

Jessica Jung followed the hand upward.

Song Tianhao was sitting on a chair beside the hospital bed, leaning back against the chair, eyes closed, appearing to be asleep.

He was wearing the same black shirt from yesterday, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the collar unbuttoned by two buttons, and his chin had faint blue stubble.

The morning light spilled in through the gaps in the blinds, casting alternating light and shadow on his face.

He looked... very tired.

Jessica Jung looked at the hand holding hers, then at Song Tianhao's sleeping face, her heart suddenly beating a few beats faster.

She retracted her hand as if struck by electricity.

The movement was a bit too large, pulling at the wound on her right foot, causing her to gasp in pain and furrow her brows tightly.

Song Tianhao opened his eyes.

His eyes were clear, not looking like he had just woken up, though they were a bit bloodshot.

He looked at Jessica Jung, his voice raspy from just waking up: "You're awake?"

Jessica Jung nodded, not daring to look at him, her gaze shifting to her right foot, which was encased in a thick plaster cast.

The cast wrapped from her ankle all the way up to her calf; it was white, looking bulky and glaring.

"Does it hurt?" Song Tianhao asked, standing up to press the call button by the bedside, "There is a pain pump; if it hurts badly, you can have the nurse adjust the dosage."

"It doesn't hurt," Jessica Jung said, her voice dry and raspy.

Song Tianhao glanced at her without speaking, then stood up to pour a glass of warm water, inserted a straw, and held it to her lips.

Jessica Jung looked at him, hesitated for a moment, then lowered her head to take the straw and drank in small sips.

The water temperature was just right, neither hot nor cold, and as it flowed down her dry throat, she felt much better.

After a few sips, she released the straw and looked at Song Tianhao, her lips moving as she wanted to ask something.

"Ask whatever you want to ask," Song Tianhao put down the water glass and sat back in the chair.

Song Tianhao looked at her.

Jessica Jung opened her mouth to say something, but in the end, she didn't say it.

She just looked at Song Tianhao, her eyes reddening bit by bit, then she turned her head to look out the window, her lips pressed tightly together.

The hospital room went quiet.

There was only the rhythmic ticking of the instruments and the faint sounds of carts, footsteps, and voices from the distance.

At this moment, rustling sounds came from the sofa.

Tiffany Hwang woke up. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, still wrapped in that white blanket, her hair messy, her makeup smeared even worse, looking a bit disheveled.

"Jessica!" Seeing Jessica Jung awake, she immediately jumped up and ran barefoot to the bedside, "You're awake! Does it hurt? Are you thirsty? Do you want something to eat?"

Jessica Jung looked at her, at her messy hair, her red and swollen eyes, her smeared makeup, and her bare feet stepping on the cold floor.

Then she shook her head gently: "No pain. Not thirsty. Don't want to eat."

"How can that be? You haven't eaten anything since yesterday noon..." Tiffany Hwang said as she went to pour some water.

"Tiffany," Jessica Jung called out to her.

Tiffany Hwang turned back.

"Go back and rest," Jessica Jung said, her voice very soft but clear, "You look very tired. Go back, take a shower, and get some sleep. Here... Song Tianhao is enough."

Tiffany Hwang froze.

She looked at Jessica Jung, then at Song Tianhao, and nodded: "Okay, then I'll go back first and come see you in the afternoon. What do you want to eat? I'll have the manager oppa buy it."

"Anything," Jessica Jung said.

Tiffany Hwang gave a few more instructions and then hurried out of the hospital room. The door closed gently, leaving only Song Tianhao and Jessica Jung in the room, making it even quieter.

Through the gaps in the blinds, the morning light brightened bit by bit, changing from pale gold to bright gold.

The sky outside the window was a clean blue with a few wisps of clouds drifting slowly. In the distance, she could see tall buildings, the Han River, and the city slowly waking up in the morning light.

Jessica Jung looked out the window for a long time, then spoke, her voice very soft, as soft as talking to herself.

"President."

"Hmm?"

"The stage accident..." She paused, turned her head to look at Song Tianhao, her eyes bright and sharp, "It wasn't an accident, was it?"

Song Tianhao looked at her without speaking.

"I've been dancing for over ten years; I know what a stage is like," Jessica Jung continued, her voice steady, but her fingers gripping the bedsheet tightly, "But it just so happened that during the performance, that piece of the stage floor became loose, and it just so happened that when I turned, the dry ice was so thick I couldn't see anything."

She looked at Song Tianhao without blinking.

"This wasn't an accident, right?"

Song Tianhao was silent for a few seconds, then nodded: "It's under investigation."

"What have you found?" Jessica Jung asked.

"The dry ice nozzle was manually adjusted to be larger, and the fixing bolts were loose," Song Tianhao said concisely, "Non-staff members went to the stage area before the accident, and we are tracking them."

Jessica Jung's breathing quickened a little.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"We don't know yet," Song Tianhao said, "But I will find out."

Jessica Jung looked at him for a long time, then nodded gently: "Hmm."

She turned her head again to look out the window. The sunlight was getting brighter, casting streaks of light and shadow across her face through the blinds.

Her profile was quiet, as quiet as a sculpture, but Song Tianhao could see her clenched jaw, her slightly trembling eyelashes, and her hands gripping the bedsheet with trembling knuckles.

She was enduring.

Enduring the pain, enduring the anger, enduring the fear, enduring all the emotions.

At this moment, the hospital room door was knocked, and a nurse pushed a cart in. She was a nurse in her thirties with a round face, wearing a mask, revealing only her eyes.

She pushed the cart to the bedside, glanced at Jessica Jung, then at Song Tianhao, and began to check the IV bottle and adjust the dosage of the pain pump.

"If it hurts, say so; don't endure it," the nurse said while working, her tone a bit perfunctory, "The pain pump can be adjusted at any time; enduring pain is not good for recovery."

"Hmm," Jessica Jung replied.

The nurse checked the data on the monitoring instrument and recorded something in her notebook. Her movements were fast and skillful, but she muttered something under her breath; the voice wasn't loud, but the room was very quiet, so it could be heard clearly.

"Entertainers are just delicate; with a little injury, they want the best medicine and to stay in the best hospital room..."

As the words fell, the room suddenly went quiet.

The nurse seemed to realize what she had said and paused for a moment, but she didn't look up and continued recording.

Song Tianhao looked at Jessica Jung.

Jessica Jung's expression was very calm, as if she hadn't heard that sentence. But Song Tianhao saw her fingers gripping the bedsheet tighten a little, her knuckles trembling.

After finishing the recording, the nurse pushed the cart to leave. As she passed the bed, she instinctively glanced at Jessica Jung's right foot.

The cast was thick and heavy, wrapping from the ankle to the calf. At the edge of the gauze, some dried bloodstains and swollen skin could be seen.

Jessica Jung's right leg was fixed by a brace, unable to move, and could only be placed rigidly.

The nurse's footsteps paused.

She looked at the cast, the bloodstains on the gauze, the brace, and then turned to look at Jessica Jung.

Jessica Jung was also looking at her, her face pale, but her expression was very calm, even nodding slightly at her.

The nurse's lips moved, wanting to say something, but it didn't come out. She pushed the cart and hurried out of the room, her footsteps somewhat flustered.

The door closed again.

Song Tianhao looked at Jessica Jung; she was still looking out the window, her profile quiet, but Song Tianhao saw something very bright at the corner of her eye, flashing by in the morning light.

But she didn't cry, just blinked, and that bright spot disappeared.

"President," she suddenly spoke.

"Hmm?"

"Can you help me adjust the bed? I want to sit up a bit more."

Song Tianhao stood up and pressed the button by the bedside. The head of the bed rose slowly, and Jessica Jung's body sat up a bit more, her view becoming wider.

"Thank you," she said.

Song Tianhao didn't speak, just took the tablet computer from the bedside, unlocked it, opened a video, and handed it to her.

Jessica Jung took the tablet.

The video was an encore clip from last night's concert. On screen, the eight members stood on stage, waving and bowing to the fans below. The fans held up their light sticks, a sea of pink swaying in the darkness.

Then, the scene shifted to a fan-made tribute video.

The first frame showed a sign that read "Jessica, get well soon," held high.

The second frame was a video filmed by a fan on their phone, shouting at the camera, "Jessica Jung unnie, please get better soon, we're waiting for you!"

The third frame, the fourth frame, the fifth frame...

Different people, different voices, but saying the same thing:

"Jessica Jung unnie, get well soon."

"Jessica, we will always support you."

"Girls Generation will always be nine members; not a single one can be missing."

At the end of the video was a photograph.

In the photo was Jessica Jung from many years ago. She looked about fifteen or sixteen, wearing a simple T-shirt and sweatpants, her hair tied in a ponytail, without a trace of makeup, smiling brightly at the camera. The background was the mirror of a practice room, reflecting her dancing figure, her back soaked with sweat.

Beneath the photo was a line of text:

"2004, Jessica during her trainee days. Back then you said you wanted to dance until you were thirty. Now, we are waiting for you to return, to dance until you're forty, fifty, until you can't dance anymore."

The video ended, and the screen went dark.

Jessica Jung stared at the darkened screen for a long time.

Her fingers gently rubbed the edge of the tablet, her fingertips trembling slightly. Her lips were pressed tightly into a straight line. Her eyes were red and bright, but no tears fell.

Song Tianhao watched her for a long time, then spoke, his voice low but clear.

"Look, so many people are waiting for you," he said. "So, get well soon."

Jessica Jung slowly raised her head to look at Song Tianhao.

The morning light shone from behind her, gilding her silhouette with a faint golden edge. Her face was somewhat blurred in the backlight, but her eyes were bright, shining as if filled with starlight.

"President," her voice was a little hoarse.

"Hm?"

"Last night... I had a dream. I dreamed I returned to my trainee days, in the old practice room at S.M. Entertainment, practicing dance in front of the mirror."

Jessica Jung said, her gaze unfocused, as if looking at something far away. "That dance was very difficult. I danced it over and over, dancing until I was drenched in sweat, until my feet cramped, until I finally fainted and collapsed onto the floor.

There was no one else in the practice room, just me. I lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling for a long time, but no one came. Later, I woke up, pulled myself up, and kept dancing."

She paused, her voice growing softer.

"I'm not afraid of pain, President. Dancers are always in pain. Feet get blisters, blisters burst and bleed, the blood dries and scabs over, the scabs fall off and new blisters form, over and over again. Knees hurt, back hurts, neck hurts, my whole body hurts. But I'm not afraid."

She turned her head to look at Song Tianhao, her eyes red but clear.

"What I fear is that one day, I won't be able to dance anymore. I'm afraid of becoming a burden to the team, a burden to the company, becoming... the one who gets abandoned."

Song Tianhao looked at her without speaking.

"My parents... they were never around when I was growing up," Jessica Jung continued, her voice calm, as calm as if she were talking about someone else. "They were busy doing business in the U.S., leaving my sister and me with a nanny. When I became a trainee, they opposed it, thinking it wasn't a proper profession.

When I debuted, they thought it was luck. When I won awards, they thought it was the company's packaging. No matter how well I did, they always felt I should have studied hard, gotten into a good university, and found a decent job."

She smiled, a faint, bitter smile.

"So I worked hard, worked especially hard. I wanted to prove to them that the path I chose was right, that I could do it, that I could shine on stage, and make them proud of me.

But sometimes... sometimes I wonder, if one day I can't dance anymore, can't stand on stage, will they say, 'See? I told you this path wouldn't work'?"

She stopped and didn't continue. She just looked at Song Tianhao, her eyes red, but she didn't cry.

Song Tianhao looked at her for a moment, then reached out and took her left hand, which was resting by the bedside. Her hand was cold, her fingers slender, and her palm was slightly sweaty.

Jessica Jung was stunned, looking down at her held hand.

"Jessica Jung," Song Tianhao said, his voice low, but every word seemed to land on her heart. "At Sky Entertainment, there is no such word as 'abandon.' If family is temporarily injured, we heal together, and then we continue moving forward together."

Jessica Jung raised her head, her eyes wide.

"You are Jessica of Girls Generation, you are an artist at Sky Entertainment, you are my..." Song Tianhao paused, looking at her. "You are someone I want to protect. So, you only need to do one thing: focus on healing and get better soon. Leave the rest to me."

He squeezed her hand. His hand was warm, with thin calluses on the palm, but his grip was steady and firm.

Jessica Jung looked at his hand, at their joined hands, and then slowly, she gripped his hand back.

Her fingers tightened, gripping his hand, holding on tight as if grabbing onto a lifeline, as if clutching the last ray of light.

"President..." her voice was trembling.

"Hm."

"If I... if I really can't dance anymore..."

"Then sing," Song Tianhao interrupted her, without any hesitation in his tone. "You sing very well too. If you can't sing, then do Acting. If you can't act, then be a producer, a teacher, anyone you want to be. The stage is vast; it's not just about dancing. The sky is high; there isn't just one path to fly."

He looked at her, his eyes very bright. "Jessica Jung, your life won't end just because of one injury. It has simply changed direction, that's all."

Jessica Jung looked at him for a long time, and then the tears finally fell.

It wasn't a loud sob, not a breakdown, just tears flowing quietly, streaming down her cheeks, one drop, two drops, landing on the white quilt, seeping out into small, dark marks.

She didn't wipe them away, nor did she make a sound, just letting the tears flow.

Song Tianhao didn't speak either, just holding her hand, letting her cry.

The morning light grew brighter, pouring in through the gaps in the blinds and filling the entire hospital room. The rhythmic ticking of the equipment, the faint sound of traffic in the distance, and the occasional chirping of birds outside the window blended together, becoming the background noise of this morning.

Time flowed slowly.

It was unknown how much time had passed, but Jessica Jung's tears stopped. She let go of Song Tianhao's hand and raised her hand to wipe her face, her movements a bit hurried and disheveled.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice still a bit hoarse. "I lost my composure."

"It's fine," Song Tianhao said, handing her a tissue.

Jessica Jung took it, wiped her face, then wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, raised her head, and looked at Song Tianhao. Her eyes were still red, but her gaze had regained its calm, and was even brighter and more determined than before.

"President."

"Hm?"

"I will get better," she said, every word spoken clearly and forcefully. "I will do my rehabilitation properly, I will stand on stage again, and I will dance even better than before."

Song Tianhao looked at her, at her red, swollen but determined eyes, at her pale but stubborn face, and then nodded gently.

"Good."

Jessica Jung smiled, a faint but genuine smile. She turned to look out the window; the sunlight had already filled half the room, and tiny dust motes danced in the beams of light in the air.

"President."

"Hm?"

"Thank you," she said, her voice very soft but very earnest. "Thank you for rushing onto the stage to carry me down yesterday, thank you for taking me to the hospital, thank you for staying with me during surgery, thank you for... the words you just said."

Song Tianhao didn't speak, just looked at her.

Jessica Jung turned her head to look at him, her eyes very bright.

"I..."

She didn't finish her sentence. The hospital room door was suddenly knocked, softly but urgently.

Then the door opened. Tiffany Hwang walked in carrying two paper bags, a smile on her face: "Jessica Jung, I bought some porridge, and also what President likes..."

Behind her stood another person. A woman in her forties, wearing a well-tailored beige suit, carrying an Hermès handbag, with exquisite makeup, and her hair meticulously pinned at the back of her head.

She was Jessica Jung's mother. Her face bore a five or six-part resemblance to Jessica Jung's, but her features were harder, colder, her brows tightly furrowed, her lips pressed into a straight line, and her complexion ashen.

She stood at the doorway, her gaze sweeping across the room, past Tiffany Hwang, past Song Tianhao, and finally landing on Jessica Jung on the hospital bed.

Then, she spoke, her voice very cold, as cold as ice.

"Jessica Jung, you'd better explain this clearly to me. What exactly is going on here?"