Chapter 30: The Most Desperate Moments

"Or maybe there's a spot on your forehead that feels a little itchy, but you have no hands to scratch it.

Even just one scratch — that might be enough to make the feeling disappear entirely.

But when you're lying alone in bed, no one around, no one who can help you, that itch just keeps amplifying. The more desperately you want to scratch and can't, the worse it gets."

This was Ye Qinghe's most honest account of his experience.

Over the past couple of days, he had genuinely gone through moments like that.

If his hands could move — if he could just reach up and scratch his forehead — the torment would vanish in an instant.

But because he couldn't move, that suffering would drag on and on.

Ye Qinghe described it so vividly that the image immediately sprang to mind for everyone listening, and more than a few people couldn't help but crack a smile.

But the smiles froze on their faces almost as quickly as they appeared.

Because for any ordinary, able-bodied person, this was the most trivial thing imaginable — yet for Ye Qinghe, it was an insurmountable chasm.

He simply couldn't do it.

All he could do was endure the sensation as it slowly, relentlessly grew, until finally, with no other option, it faded away just as gradually.

At first it sounded like a joke. But the more you thought about it, the more it felt like a uniquely cruel form of torment.

It truly was a moment of despair.

"In those moments, I find myself wishing someone would hurry up and develop a real robot — so that when there's no one around, I could use voice commands to have it scratch that one spot for me.

Just one scratch. That's all I need!"

If the earlier sight of Ye Qinghe wrapping himself round and round with restraint straps to stay secured in his wheelchair for the recording had been the first knife thrust, then this answer drove that same blade in even deeper.

"Ye Qinghe, have you accepted any online donations? Or crowdfunding campaigns for your medical treatment? I want to contribute something!"

Xiang Ge, who had already lost his composure more than once — eyes red, tears streaking down his face — read out the question with a sudden gleam of hope in his eyes.

This was the most he had ever cried in his entire career.

He genuinely ached for Ye Qinghe.

Only nineteen years old, and he had already been through so much — yet he had managed to process all of it internally and speak about it in such a calm, almost joking tone.

There's a saying: the more well-behaved a child is, the more your heart breaks for them.

Because a child who is that composed has surely suffered.

Right now, Xiang Ge wanted to do whatever small thing he could to help.

"That's really not necessary. My current situation isn't actually that expensive in terms of treatment costs — my father delivers food and does designated driving every day, and that's just about enough to cover things.

We don't feel there's any need to ask everyone to donate to us. That money could go to people who need it far more.

I can earn a little myself too — I'm not completely useless.

So please don't donate to me. I haven't launched any kind of fundraising campaign on any platform, and if you see anything like that, it's definitely fake — report it. Report it immediately, no question."

This was something Ye Qinghe and Ye Dali had genuinely never done — not because they didn't know about it, but because in the very beginning, after Ye Dali sold the family home and business, there had still been quite a lot of money.

Enough to sustain the early period of rushing everywhere, consulting specialists, and spending heavily on various imported medications.

The fact that they had now been reduced to renting a tiny place was simply because that money had run out — but lately, they truly didn't have many expenses either.

So the thought of fundraising had never really crossed their minds.

That said, even though Ye Qinghe spoke this way, Ye Dali was actually somewhat tempted. Before any signs of Ye Qinghe's recovery had appeared, he might not have entertained the idea — but now that recovery seemed genuinely possible, he felt it was worth thinking about how to raise more funds.

The main issue was that Ye Qinghe was unwilling to participate in specialist research programs.

If he had agreed, many of the examinations and treatments might not have cost much at all — but refusing meant every one of those things came with an astronomical price tag.

Otherwise, the money from selling the business and the house wouldn't have been completely exhausted in just three short years.

"You said you can earn some money — how exactly do you do that?"

Xiang Ge was a little puzzled by what Ye Qinghe had said.

With his body in this condition, lying at home unable to move all day — how could he possibly earn money?

"That's the power of knowledge!"

Ye Qinghe smiled.

"I can't move, but my knowledge base is still quite broad. A childhood friend of mine helped me pick up some work through her university — translating academic papers for people. Each paper pays a few hundred yuan.

On top of that, I took on a job online helping someone with mathematical derivations. I just finished it a couple of days ago and earned a few thousand yuan."

The moment Ye Qinghe finished saying this, a flood of bullet comments poured across the screen.

"I have translation work too — Qinghe, do you want to take it? I'll pay the highest market rate!"

"How do I get in touch about this work? I have exactly this kind of need!"

"I want to place an order too — I can pay upfront, and the translation itself can wait until whenever you have time!"

"Exactly — just tell us how to place an order. I'll do it right now. The translation can come later!"

Many viewers were moved by Ye Qinghe's positive, self-reliant attitude and wanted to do whatever small thing they could to help.

"You want to place orders with me? You're just trying to donate money to me in disguise, aren't you?

But that really isn't necessary. Being able to take on work within my means — that's about wanting to be self-sufficient.

In a situation like this, self-reliance is sometimes more important than money.

Once you become too dependent on others or on external support, you might truly never find your way back up."

Ye Qinghe understood exactly what they were trying to do.

He was confident that one day he would recover his health, and he was confident in his own abilities — that the future would be better. So he absolutely could not afford to accumulate debts of gratitude like this.

"Please don't ask me questions like this anymore — I won't answer them even if you do. I don't want your pity."

After saying this to the viewers, Ye Qinghe asked Xiang Ge to stop reading out any more questions about donating money to him — directly or indirectly.

After that, Xiang Ge selected a few more questions, Ye Qinghe answered them, and then — amid the reluctant protests of the audience — the day's broadcast came to an end.

The recording had genuinely gone on for a very long time. Even though he couldn't feel his body, his mind was somewhat exhausted.

He needed to go back and rest properly.

"I'm truly sorry. I know you probably don't mind, but I still need to express my apologies."

On the way back to the hotel, pushing Ye Qinghe in his wheelchair, Xiang Ge once again offered his apologies.