CHAPTER 5
I hear a dull thud—a grunt of pain that isn't mine. My eyes snap open, disoriented. The man is now a few feet away, slammed against the alley wall. Standing before him is another man... a tall figure, imposing even in the shadows. I blink, dazed. I'd recognize that silhouette anywhere.
"Think you're tough, hitting women, huh?"
Shi Tong's voice is deep, lethal.
The attacker shakes his head, stunned, and lets out a nervous laugh.
"And who the hell are—"
He doesn't get to finish. Shi grabs him by the collar and slams him back against the wall with a bone-jarring thud.
"Apologize," I hear him hiss, barely restrained fury in his voice.
"Let me go!" the man whimpers, kicking helplessly.
My trembling hand flies to my burning cheek, stunned by what I'm seeing. Shi Tong is right here, appearing out of nowhere like a dark angel. I hear a crack—he's twisted the man's arm behind his back, drawing a howl from him.
"I said apologize," Shi growls again, his voice low and sharp as a blade.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" the man sobs, finally giving in. "I didn't know she was your girl!"
My heart skips at those words: your girl. I don't even know if Shi reacts to them; he simply scoffs in disgust and shoves the man aside. The assailant crumples to the ground, gasping for breath.
Shi gives him one last look of contempt.
"Get lost before I change my mind."
The guy, despite his obvious pain, doesn't wait to see if he's serious. He scrambles to his feet and stumbles off down the street without looking back.
Shi Tong's actions throw me into confusion. Maybe he's not the criminal I thought he was.
A heavy silence settles in the freezing air. My knees give out, and I sink to the pavement, still in shock. It all happened so fast, but the adrenaline makes me tremble violently. Shi finally turns to me. Under the nearby streetlamp, I can see his face more clearly—jaw clenched, eyes still blazing with anger. But when he sees me on the ground, his expression instantly softens with concern.
"Are you alright?" he asks, rushing over and crouching beside me.
I... can't find my voice. I manage only a shaky nod, unable to form words. He studies my face; I feel his fingers gently brushing my chin, tilting my face into the light.
"He hit you..." he mutters, visibly upset as he sees the cheek the man slapped.
"I-I'm fine," I finally manage to whisper, my voice trembling. I swallow, trying to pull myself together. "It was just... a scare."
Shi shakes his head, his gaze sweeping over me as if checking for other injuries.
"You shouldn't walk alone at this hour," he murmurs, his voice gentle but laced with guilt, like he's blaming himself for not getting there sooner.
I try to get up. He grips my elbow firmly but gently, helping me to my feet. My legs still shake, and he notices; without asking, he slides an arm around my back, pulling me close for support.
"Easy. I've got you," he murmurs.
It's ironic that he's telling me to calm down when I can feel his heart pounding just as fast as mine with me in his arms. His sudden closeness makes me hyperaware of everything—his strength enveloping me, the warmth radiating from his body even through his dark coat, the familiar scent of spice and tobacco clinging to him.
I realize I've instinctively rested my forehead on his shoulder. Embarrassed, I pull back slightly, flustered not just by the assault, but by him.
"What… what are you doing here?" I manage to ask in a whisper. "Were you... following me?"
Shi presses his lips together. For a moment, he hesitates, then gives a small nod.
"No. I had some business in the area... and thought I'd stop by to see you."
My thoughts swirl. I hesitate for a moment, unsure of his excuse. I've had the feeling since he left that someone's been watching me. But I don't mention it—what if I'm wrong?
We fall silent, both processing what just happened. My nerves begin to settle, and with that comes a wave of gratitude... and something else. Joy, maybe. I had almost accepted that he'd never come back into my life—and yet here he is, saving me again. I lift a hand to my sore cheek. It must be red. He follows the motion and his expression darkens.
"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, his voice husky.
I blink at him, surprised.
"For what...?"
"For not getting there in time. For not stopping it before he hurt you," he murmurs, his gaze lowering, brow furrowed with suppressed anger.
I shake my head quickly.
"It's not your fault." A faint, shaky smile appears on my lips.
Shi meets my gaze. The tension in his features softens just a little. We're standing too close, too aware of each other. His arm is still around my waist; he seems to realize it, slowly withdrawing it but staying close, just in case I stumble again.
"Can you walk?" he asks.
"Yes, I think so."
"I'm walking your home," he says, leaving no room for argument.
I nod. I'm too shaken to object—and deep down, I don't want him to leave. Not after this.
We start down the sidewalk together. Instinctively, Shi positions himself on the street side, keeping me on his right, away from any potential threat. I walk half a step behind him, still buzzing with adrenaline.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, motioning slightly to my cheek.
"It's warm, but it's nothing serious," I reply, brushing it off.
Shi nods, thoughtful. His eyes fix on the street ahead. I take the chance to glance at him out of the corner of my eye: he's wearing a black jacket, and underneath I can just see the shirt I gave him, peeking out at the collar. He's here, in my everyday world, dressed almost like any passerby, but there's something about the way he moves, the way he scans every shadow that sets him apart. A silent predator among civilians. And yet with me... he's been nothing but protective, almost gentle.
A question burns on my tongue, and I can't hold it anymore:
"Why did you come back?"
Shi stops right at the foot of my building's stairs. I stop too, turning to him in the dim light.
"I already told you," he says quietly. "I had business to take care of nearby."
"And how did you know I...?"
I swallow the rest. The truth is obvious—he's been watching me. He knew I was at the hospital; knew what time I'd get off work. For a second, I'm filled with anger. But just as quickly, I remember—if he hadn't shown up, things could've gone far worse than a slap.
"I don't mind that you're watching me... but please, don't let people find out," I say at last, searching his eyes.
He meets my gaze without denying it.
"I have to keep you safe, Yiran."
My name on his lips sounds like a caress. I glance down, suddenly self-conscious. A quiet stillness falls between us. We're standing face to face under the soft glow of the entry light. I don't know what to say. A small part of me wants to invite him upstairs, but what would that mean? My rational mind warns of danger, but my heart beats with anticipation.
"Well… you're home," he says gently, as if confirming the fact. He doesn't move. He doesn't say goodbye either.
"Yes..." I murmur. I feel that if he crosses into the light of the lobby with me, this delicate, intimate moment between us will break.
Without thinking, I reach out and place my hand on the back of his. His skin is cool from the night air. He tenses for a brief second, startled by the contact.
His eyes flicker, and with a slow motion, he turns his hand undermine until his fingers wrap around mine. His thumb brushes lightly against my wrist, as if to confirm I'm really there.
A sudden warmth blooms in my chest. His nearness, his words, the steady way he holds my hand... it's too much. I feel like I'm going to melt right here, and a small alarm starts ringing in the back of my mind—reminding me of who he is, warning me to be careful.
But I silence it…
"Would you like to come in?" The words escape my mouth before I can stop them. My pulse races as I wait for his answer.
His eyebrows lift slightly, surprised.
"I don't want to disturb your rest."
"You won't be a bother," I say quickly, squeezing his hand just a little without realizing it. "Besides, I could use a cup of tea to calm down after what just happened."
Shi hesitates. I can see the inner conflict in his eyes—the same one I feel between what we should do and what we want. Finally, he gives a slow nod.
"Alright. Just a quick tea, then I'll leave."
I offer a shy smile and lead him into the building. We ride up in the small elevator in silence. I'm painfully aware of his presence beside me; the tight space amplifies his scent and the quiet energy radiating from him. Neither of us speak, but I can feel his gaze flicker over me. When the doors open, I walk ahead with him behind me. I pull out my keys with still-trembling fingers and mutter a curse when I drop them.
"Easy," Shi murmurs, bending down to pick them up before I can.
Our hands brush as he passes me the keys. That simple contact makes my heart stutter absurdly. I manage to unlock the door and step inside, switching on the light. The apartment is just as I left it—neat, with the soft scent of the diffuser lingering in the air.
"Come in," I say gently, inviting him inside.
He enters and closes the door behind him. His expression holds a mix of curiosity and tension as he finds himself here again—this time conscious and invited. He looks around cautiously, his eyes lingering for a moment on the couch where he'd once lain wounded. I can only imagine what memories are going through his mind.
"You can leave your jacket here," I say, gesturing toward the coat rack. He nods and slowly takes it off. As he moves, I notice the stiffness in his posture. Is the injury still bothering him? Probably. He hides it well.
I can't help it; my professional instinct kicks in.
"How are you feeling?" I ask as I approach him. "The wound…"
Shi gives a half-smile at my concern.
"I'm fine. You did a great job, Doctor."
I blush at the sudden compliment and the way he says it—low, almost caressing.
"May I... take a look? Just to be sure," I offer, part out of genuine concern, part because my hand already longs to confirm he's okay.
He hesitates for a moment, then nods, setting the jacket aside and turning toward me. His hands slowly begin to unbutton the top of his shirt, giving me access to the bandage. I swallow. It's the first time I see him like this while he's fully conscious. During the emergency, I was on autopilot, but now I notice every detail—the warm tone of his skin, the way the muscle lines under the cotton shift with each breath.
I shake off the rush of sensations and focus. Gently, I slide the fabric aside to inspect the area just beneath his ribs. I probe softly around the bandage. His body tenses slightly at touch, even though I'm being careful.
"Does this hurt?" I ask quietly.
"No," he replies, though his tone hints at something deeper than just physical pain.
I see how his gaze darkens as he watches me. The bandage is clean, no sign of fresh blood, and the wound is healing perfectly.
"It seems to be healing well..." I murmur, lifting my eyes to his.
I hadn't realized how close I am to him—my fingers still resting on his abdomen, my body leaning into his. We're just inches apart, our breaths mingling. Our eyes lock, and I hear a dull pounding in my ears—I can't tell if it's my heartbeat or his. He glances briefly at my lips, just a flicker, but enough to send my pulse racing.
I don't know who moves first—maybe we both do—drawn together like magnets. I can feel his breath on my mouth. My mind is screaming for me to stop, to think, but my body is already burning to cross the tiny space that separates us.
"Yiran..." he whispers to my name, his voice thick with restrained longing.
"Shi..." is all I manage to say, barely a breath, nearly a moan.
Our moment is shattered by a shrill noise—the electric kettle I turned on when we entered, stupidly forgotten in the kitchen. We both flinch, yanked back into reality. I let out a nervous laugh and run a hand through my hair. He steps back slightly, blinking like he's waking from a trance.
My cheeks are on fire.
"The tea..." I murmur, almost apologetically, and hurry to the kitchen to switch off the kettle.
I grab two mugs, trying to steady my hands. I take a few deep breaths, wondering what had almost just happened. The answer is clear—and it both terrifies and thrills me: we were about to kiss.
God…
I quickly prepare two cups of black tea and return to the living room. Shi is still standing where I left him, shirt now buttoned again. His hands are in his pockets, and he seems absorbed in the photos on my shelf: my parents and me at my graduation, Liang and some coworkers at a hospital party, and one of me as a child in Guangzhou.
"Black tea—I hope that's okay," I say, announcing my return.
He turns and gives a small, lopsided smile.
"It's fine."
I offer him a mug and our eyes meet again, lingering for a beat too long. So many unspoken things hang between us. I sip from my cup, more to have something to do than because I'm thirsty. Shi does the same in silence.
"Your parents," he says suddenly, gesturing to the graduation photo. "They must be proud."
I nod, smiling at the thought of them.
"They are. I'm the first doctor in the family."
"They live in Guangzhou?"
"Yes, I was born there. I came to Beijing for university and stayed to work."
It surprises me that he knows where they are—maybe he recognized the cityscape in the photo.
"Must've been hard at first. So young, in such a big city."
I shrug with a small smile.
"It was exciting, actually. I've always been pretty independent."
Shi nods, and there's a quiet warmth in his gaze that makes my chest tighten.
"I can see that."
We drink in silence for a while. I finally decide to ask the question that's been lingering in my mind.
"And you?" I begin carefully. "There must be someone who worries about you. Do you have a family?"
His expression shifts, hardens slightly, like a door quietly shutting.
"My parents died years ago. The closest thing I have to family are my men."
"I'm sorry," I murmur.
He shakes his head, brushing it off.
"That's life."
"Have you always... done this?"
I don't say the words mafia or crime, but we both know what I mean. Shi hesitates, his eyes narrowing just a little.
"I grew up in a neighborhood where you either joined something... or got crushed. I climbed the ranks in that world—maybe too far up."
There's bitterness in his voice. I want to reach out and touch his hand again, to offer comfort—but I hold back, letting him speak if he wants to.
"I've done things I'm not proud of," he continues, staring into the dark liquid in his cup. "But I've also done good things—for the people who depend on me. It's a strange balance... I guess it's not easy to explain."
"You can try," I say softly. "I'll listen."
Shi gives a sad smile.
"You're too good, Yiran. I'm afraid that if you really knew who I was, you'd run."
I shake my head slowly.
"I don't think I would."
He lifts his gaze to me, as if weighing my resolve.
"That night... weren't you scared?"
A shiver runs down my spine as I remember those moments.
"Of course I was." I pause before adding honestly, "But I was more afraid of doing nothing—and you dying there."
He presses his lips together, absorbing my words. Then he sets the cup aside and steps closer to me.
"You still don't feel afraid now? Knowing what you do… or sense?"
My heart starts pounding again as I meet his eyes.
"No," I reply—and it's true. In this moment, I don't feel fear toward him. I feel… something else.
Shi lifts a hand slowly toward my face. I don't move. With infinite gentleness, he brushes his fingers across my bruised cheek.
"I wish I could protect you from every harm…" he whispers. "But I'm a man full of darkness. And if you stay near me, it might stain you too."
Just as I'm about to tell him I don't believe he's that terrible, his phone rings. Shi curses softly and pulls it from his pocket. His jaw clenches as he looks at the screen.
"Everything okay?" I ask, suddenly tense.
"I have to take this," he says with a clipped, professional tone.
I nod and step back to give him space, trying to steady my own breathing and absorb the intimacy we just shared.
He answers in Thai, walking a few paces away, his voice low and serious. I can tell it's something to do with his… business, probably. His expression darkens as the call continues. I watch the tension return to his shoulders—like armor settling over him. My chest tightens, knowing he'll have to leave soon. He hangs up after a minute, gripping the phone in frustration.
"I'm sorry," he says, turning back to me. "Something urgent came up."
I swallow my disappointment and nod with understanding. The world he belongs to never stops.
"I get it."
He steps forward again, lifting his hand to my cheek once more, this time with a tenderness that makes my breath catch.
"Will you be okay?"
I nod, covering his hand with mine.
"Yes. It was just a scare." I force a smile to reassure him. "I've dealt with worse in the ER."
A flicker of pride flashes in his eyes.
"I'll see you again," he promises.
"Be careful," I whisper, knowing he's heading into danger.
His gaze burns with determination.
"Always."
And just like that, he's gone—slipping into the quiet hallway as suddenly as he arrived. I close the door behind him and lock it immediately, pressing my forehead to the wood as I listen to the sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Take care, please, I think, wishing I had said it out loud. I lift my hand to my cheek, which already aches less, remembering the fury in his eyes when he saw me hurt. No one's ever looked at me like that—with such a mix of tenderness and rage over my pain.
CHAPTER 6
The place greets me with a foul stench of damp and rust. I move forward, my men following close behind, crossing the threshold of the corroded metal door with firm steps. Beneath my boots, the filthy gravel crunches like broken bones. A heavy silence hangs over us like an invisible shroud. Every sound—the echo of my footsteps, the wind whispering through rotted walls—clings to my skin like a brutal reminder that I am alive. Alive… and furious.
Each breath I take drags the rage deeper into my lungs.
A bare bulb dangles from a frayed wire, flickering with each gust of wind, casting sickly yellow flashes over the cracked floor.
And in the center of that imperfect circle of light… I see him.
He lifts his head when my footsteps shatter the stillness. For a brief moment, his eyes wander, lost—until recognition slams into him like a hammer. He trembles. The chair creaks beneath his weight. Then fear betrays him: a dark stain spreads across his pants. The acrid stench of urine mixes with the rancid mold, saturating everything.
He lowers his head, defeated, sobbing like a child trapped in a nightmare he'll never wake from.
He knows who I am. He knows he won't leave here unscathed.
I approach slowly, unhurried. Each step I take echoes like a verdict. I say nothing. I don't need to.
Let fear hollow him out from the inside.
"Did you think I'd let you go?"
My tone makes my men snicker as they watch the trembling creature.
Just because I didn't act in front of Yiran doesn't mean I forgot him.
I only wanted to keep her from seeing the monster inside me.
"Wrong day... wrong woman," Zhang mutters, confirming what we all know.
The doctor is MY WOMAN, and no one—no one but me—gets to touch her.
"Pl-please... please," he whimpers.
"Why did you attack her? How could you hurt my woman?" I ask, my voice low, more lethal than a bullet.
He lifts his gaze instantly, pupils wide with terror.
"I told you! It was a job!" he cries, drowning in panic. "I didn't know who she was! I was just following orders, I swear!"
I cross my arms over my chest, my face turning to stone.
I let him squirm.
"Who sent you?" I ask, my tone cold as sleet.
He swallows with an ugly, convulsive sound.
"A doctor… someone named Wei Liang…" he whines, curling into himself. "I went to his clinic today. After he treated the ulcers on my legs, he offered me a job."
"A job?" I mutter.
"He offered me money... just to scare her... I didn't mean to really hurt her! But she hit me first and I acted on impulse, I swear. I wasn't going to—"
My jaw tightens until it aches. I feel fury slither under my skin like ancient poison.
"What exactly where you supposed to do?"
He shrinks further, tears streaking through the filth on his face.
"Scare her into looking for protection... to make her trust him," he stammers between sobs. "It was just a plan to play the hero. If you hadn't shown up, that doctor was going to swoop in and rescue her—win her over."
Each word is a nail driven into my skull.
Scare her. Break her confidence.
Drive her into the arms of poison.
My stomach churns. The world could burn right now and all I would feel is the urge to destroy the one who dared to toy with her fear.
"Which hand did you hit her with?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper—sharper than a blade.
He stammers, pale as death.
"Th-the right..."
I don't let him breathe. I turn to my men. One order is enough.
"Cut it off."
The scream that follows cracks the air like thunder.
He thrashes, kicks, begs—but the restraints don't budge. The scent of fear seeps into every crevice of this wretched place. One of my men draws a machete. The blade catches the flickering light as it lifts.
"No, please! No, sir! I'm begging you! I didn't know! Please, nooo!" he howls, consumed by pure panic.
I don't move.
Unflinching.
Cold as marble.
The first blow lands. The machete slices through his wrist with a sickening crunch—bone and flesh parted in one clean strike. His scream echoes through the moldy walls, shattering everything. Blood gushes out, splattering the floor, my boots, even the air.
The severed hand hits the ground with a grotesque thud.
I don't blink.
Another man brings over a searing-hot iron rod. Without mercy, he presses it against the open wound. The scent of burning flesh spreads like a choking fog. The man would scream if he had a throat left. Now he only gasps, a shivering mess of agony and fear.
I lean in close to his ear, soaking in the stench of terror.
"If you ever cross her path again... if you so much as think about her..." I whisper—each word a nail in his coffin—
"I will cut you into pieces."
I don't wait for a response. He's incapable of giving one.
I rise slowly, brushing dust from my jacket. I walk toward the exit, leaving behind the blood, the despair, and whatever's left of the man.
I don't look back.
He's not worth it.
The night greets me with a blast of cold air. I inhale deeply, letting the rain wash away the stench of misery I left behind.
Sun stands by the car, stiff, respectful, phone in hand.
"Tell Gao I want everything on this Wei Liang bastard—within five minutes," I say.
My fists clench with a dry snap. The rage crawls up my spine like a black tide.
Wei Liang...
I grit my teeth until I hear them creak. I won't let some opportunist weaponize her fear. I won't allow anyone to exploit her vulnerability.
She will never be anyone's prey—not while I breathe.
I close my eyes for a moment. Her face, delicate and innocent, imprints itself in my mind—a vow that can't be undone.
I will burn to the ground anything that tries to touch her.
I will reduce to ashes every threat.
Even if it costs me the last shred of my soul.
CHAPTER 7
The white light of the consultation room illuminates every corner; the air smells of iodine and forgotten decaf coffee left on the table. A construction worker sits before me with a slashed forearm, his gaze heavy with pain. I watch as a scab begins to form over the open wound: the edges are swollen and reddish. I push my thoughts aside to focus on him.
"I'm going to clean your wound, alright?" I say calmly, my tone soft so as not to scare him. "It'll sting a little," I warn in a low voice as I wipe away the dried blood.
The antiseptic's contact with the wound draws a grimace of pain, though he clenches his jaw stoically. My hands move on their own, with that learned precision fatigue can never cloud. I insert the needle into the torn skin, thread it through, close the edges patiently. Then, as the needle pierces the laborer's tough flesh, the memory returns uninvited.
The night at the pub. Shi Tong's body collapsed on the floor, his shirt soaked in blood, breathing shallow, lips pale, a bullet lodged in his side.
I relive kneeling at his side, trembling, fumbling with torn fabric to find the source of the bleeding. How, between gasps and whispers, I managed to bring him to my apartment. My throat tightens as I recall the image of his bare torso under the dim light of my living room, my needle threading through his torn skin while he, fully conscious, stared at me.
Those eyes. So full of pain. So full of life clinging to mine. Every stitch I made that night was like sealing a silent pact between the two of us. Every knot secured into his flesh marked more than just a wound: it fixed an invisible bond between his dark world and my orderly existence.
I return to the present just in time to finish the final stitch on the worker's arm. I force myself to take a deep breath.
"That's it," I announce, cutting the surgical thread.
I apply a fresh gauze pad, medical adhesive tape, and check the stability of the suture before meeting his eyes.
"You need to take antibiotics twice a day to prevent infection," I explain professionally, still dragging the shadow of the memory behind me. "Keep the wound dry for the first seventy-two hours. Come back in a week to remove the stitches, and if you notice any fever, redness, throbbing pain, or discharge, come in sooner."
The worker nods gratefully, holding his bandaged forearm.
"Thank you, doctor."
"Take care," I add with a tired smile.
I watch him leave the room and, as the door clicks shut, I place a hand on the edge of the table to catch my breath. But before I can recover from everything Shi Tong stirs in me, I hear a soft knock: someone's at the door again. I look up; it's Liang.
"I came to see you," he says, stepping timidly through the doorway, "just in case you needed a break."
I stretch slowly, letting my body and mind relax.
"Thank you, Liang," I reply quietly. "You always seem to know what I need."
"That's me!" he exclaims with a big smile. "And living up to that lovely description you just gave me, I'm guessing you need a proper breather, right?"
My lips curl into an amused smile.
"Come on! Cheer up, you don't have any patients right now! Let's go to the café and grab one of those cakes Mrs. Wang makes."
"You do know how to convince me," I say as I rise from the seat.
I have many weaknesses, and one of them is that magnificent cake. I don't know how Mrs. Wang does it, but every time I eat one, all my troubles disappear—if only for a while.
We walk down the freshly painted stairs. The cafeteria, with its large windows facing outside, smells of freshly ground coffee and just-baked pastries. I sit across from Liang, and within seconds, a waitress comes to take our order. A strong coffee and a slice of cake are all I ask for. I don't need anything else.
"It's been a while since I've seen you this exhausted," he comments, running a hand through his hair. "Did you pick list B again?"
As they bring what I ordered, my eyes lock on the cake. For a moment, I forget what he asked—I'm entirely focused on savoring the chocolate, mint, and strawberry cake.
"What did you ask me?" I blurt after rolling my eyes with delight several times.
"I asked if you chose list B again," Liang replies, handing me a napkin so I can wipe my lips.
"Yes. They offered it to me when I arrived this morning, and I couldn't say no," I respond. "I know it's exhausting, but I don't mind because it makes me appreciate the breaks even more," I explain, raising my hand to point at the now-empty plate, hoping they'll bring me another. "And you? How's it going for you?"
Liang sighs and leans back in his chair. In the distance, doctors and nurses chat beside a coffee machine.
"Two minor procedures, four patients with stomach problems, one pregnancy test, and a mother with depression because her son's almost forty and still not married."
"You've been so busy," I say with a hint of sarcasm.
"The most entertaining part of the day was that woman reminding me of my own mother. She wants me to get married too, but every time we talk about it, I tell her my beloved still hasn't replied. I don't know if she doesn't realize how I feel or if she just doesn't want to reject me and break my heart."
My chest tightens in surprise and confusion. I didn't expect Liang to say something so direct. I open my mouth to reply, but the words abandon me. Instead, I hear the quickened beat of my heart. As I eat—though I no longer taste the second cake—I try to find the right words to make him understand that my feelings for him aren't romantic. To me, he's an older brother.
"I wouldn't waste time," I say, more serious than I intended. "If you need to get married and she hasn't answered, find someone else."
Maybe because I'm tired of his hints.
Liang frowns, confused by my response. He looks at me in silence for a few seconds, and I hold his gaze. I don't need any more confusion between us—I know exactly what I don't want.
"I think it's time to head back," he says seriously.
"Sure," I say, scanning the QR code on the table to pay the bill with my phone.
We leave the café together. The stillness of the hallway wraps around us like a cold sheet, trying to cover a latent discomfort. We walk side by side in silence, each step marking a distance that hadn't existed barely an hour ago.
I can still taste the lingering aroma of coffee on my lips, but it's no longer enough to sweeten the bittersweet tension settling between us.
Liang keeps his hands in the pockets of his coat, his expression tense, jaw clenched. I know my words back at the café hurt him, but I can't take them back. It wouldn't be fair to either of us to feed a hope I can't return.
We pass a pair of nurses whispering as they see us. Their giggles and knowing glances prick me like invisible pins. One of them mutters something about a perfect couple. I suspect Liang hears it too, but he doesn't say a word. His silence is more telling than any forced attempt at conversation.
My chest tightens—not from guilt, but from clarity. Liang will have many other options. Women who wouldn't hesitate to return his kindness, his tenderness, his unwavering heart. Women who don't carry, as I do, invisible scars or hearts that tremble for someone they shouldn't want.
When we reach the door to my office, we stop automatically. The silence stretches a little too long.
"See you later," he says quietly.
I feel the dull ache of his sadness, but I know I can't offer him anything else.
"See you later," I reply, meeting his gaze with all the gentleness I can muster.
He nods slightly and walks down the hall without looking back.
CHAPTER 8
I take advantage of the fifteen minutes I have before seeing my next patient step out of my office. I hold the register of admitted patients in one hand and head to the nurses' station to drop off the forms. I close the door behind me, take one step… and the world stops.
There he is, leaning against the wall with studied indifference.
Shi Tong.
I only need a fraction of a second to recognize him, even with half his face covered by a black mask. His eyes… those dark, deep, dangerously magnetic eyes, hook into mine like an invisible lure. Blood pounds violently in my temples. He's wearing worn jeans that cling obscenely well to his powerful hips, a black T-shirt that outlines the breadth of his shoulders, and a leather jacket that seems like part of his skin. Everything about him screams danger, restrained strength, a threat wrapped in brutal allure that no hospital could ever tame.
The faint scar on his left eyebrow adds a devastating, imperfect beauty. His short, messy hair seems to defy any attempt at control—just like him. A silver ring gleams discreetly on one of his fingers, a detail that, far from humanizing him, only enhances his impenetrable aura. He stands out in this hallway of white coats and cold lights. And yet, he is the only presence that makes my heart regain a rhythm I recognize as my own.
My body reacts before my mind can. Tension floods my muscles, but it's not fear I feel. It's something far deeper, far more dangerous: raw, visceral, irrational desire. I don't think about Liang, or the bitter coffee in the cafeteria, or the cake I enjoyed more than the conversation. All of that turns gray, dull, nonexistent. There is only Shi Tong and the overwhelming need to get closer.
I take a step toward him, wondering if he's come to find me because he's hurt, because he feels unwell…
I need to know. I need to touch him.
A thunder footsteps crashes into the hallway. I see the gurney appear like a lightning bolt, two paramedics struggling to avoid a collision. Before I can react, I feel a firm pressure at my waist. Shi Tong wraps around me in one swift movement, pulling me toward him, shielding me from impact without losing a shred of control.
My back slams against his chest, hard as armor beneath the leather jacket. His arm locks around my waist, possessive, unyielding. My entire being shudders at the contact. I feel his slow, deep breathing brush against my neck, his heat burning through the thin fabric of my clothes. The scent of his skin—wood, mint, smoke—wraps around me like an invisible net of primal sensations. For one eternal second, there is only him and me.
The beat of his heart drums against my back, strong, steady, like it's trying to reset the frantic rhythm of mine. The gurney rushes past, the voices fade, the world goes on… but I remain anchored to this moment, to this body holding me with a familiarity that shouldn't exist.
When he finally lets go, he does so with a softness that belies the brutality of his hands. I turn, trembling, and meet his eyes. The mask hides his expression, but it can't hide the flash of restrained fury, of fierce concern burning in his gaze.
"Are you alright?" he asks in a low, hoarse voice that vibrates in my chest like a forbidden caress.
I swallow hard, unable to fake composure.
"Yes… yes, thank you," I whisper, barely aware of what I'm saying.
He doesn't look away. He holds me as if trying to memorize every reaction, every tremble, every breath I draw because of him. Then he leans in, so close I feel his breath—through the mask—against the sensitive skin behind my ear.
"Be careful, doctor. I won't always be there to save you."
The shiver that shoots down my spine is immediate, uncontrollable. Before I can say a word—before I can make the madness of clinging to him a reality—Shi Tong steps back. His eyes pierce me one last time, like a silent vow… and he disappears down the hallway, swallowed by the hospital.
I remain frozen, breathing heavily, trying to pull myself together. That's when I hear familiar footsteps.
Liang appears at the far end of the corridor, frowning as he sees me still pressed against the wall, the folder clutched to my chest. His steps quicken, and a shadow of alarm crosses his face. Behind him, two paramedics push a gurney at full speed, racing down the hallway like a whirlwind. A murmur of worried voices fills the air.
Liang draws closer, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.
"What happened to you?" he asks, voice low and tense, as he tries to spot some injury that might explain my rigid posture.
Still gripping the folder against me, I force a light smile, as if I could sweep away the tension that's shaking me from the inside out.
"Nothing serious," I reply, shrugging with feigned nonchalance. "Just that if I hadn't stepped aside in time, you'd have had me as one of your patients," I add jokingly, trying to downplay the moment.
Liang's expression loosens slightly, but he doesn't smile. His dark eyes study me with a different kind of intensity. He's not seeing fear in me—I know that. His gaze flicks down briefly to my cheeks, where the blush betrays me. It's not the pale flush of fright. It's something warmer, more intimate, more revealing.
For a brief moment, his jaw tightens. He looks away, scanning the corridor as if searching for a more logical explanation for the strange gleam in my eyes, for the soft rise and fall of my chest. He finds nothing. Just a quiet hallway, the distant echo of medical voices, the faint hum of the gurney wheels retreating.
When he looks at me again, his features have hardened slightly, as if trying to suppress a budding suspicion he's not ready to face. I hold his gaze, outwardly calm, though inside my heart is still hammering like I'm back in Shi Tong's arms.
Liang breaks the silence with a curt gesture.
"You'd better rest a few minutes before seeing the next patient," he says, his voice restrained, heavy with something unnamed.
"I will," I respond kindly, thanking him with a slight nod.
Without another word, Liang gives me a small nod and walks away down the hall. His footsteps sound firm, but just a little heavier than usual. I stay by the wall a moment longer, allowing myself a deep breath before pushing off and returning to my office.
There, in solitude, I let out a trembling breath. And though logic whispers that I should be afraid, that I should close the door of my life to that dangerous man… my heart beats with an irrational, silent, devastating hope. Because by his side—even in the midst of danger—I feel more alive than ever.
CHAPTER 9
I leave the hospital with long, measured steps, but inside, the storm is still pulsing beneath my skin. I finally know who the doctor is who's trying to win Yiran's love. I've seen his face, and my men have found out where he lives. For now, I'll keep watching him—I don't want a minor disruption in his life to ripple into hers.
She'd worry about him… and abandon me.
The night air crashes against the heat Yiran left in my body, and for one absurd moment, I wish the temperature would drop even lower, that it would freeze me from the inside out, rip the tremor from my hands by the root.
The feeling of her body against mine still lingers—so vivid I could swear her scent, mixed with everything she uses to save lives, has seeped into my clothes. Her breath, ragged at first, then surrendered, had struck my chest like a whisper of silent surrender.
She didn't push me away. She wasn't tense. She didn't reject me.
That simple fact—something that should mean nothing to someone like me—pierces my skull like a slow bullet. I could tell myself I saved her out of duty, strategy, to protect what belongs to me. I could say it was instinct.
Lie…
I knew it the moment I grabbed her: I don't want to protect her just because she's mine.
I want her like I've never wanted anything in my fucking life.
Gao is waiting on the sidewalk next to the car. He glances at me, maybe picking me up on the shift in my demeanor. Beneath the mask, my jaw is still clenched, fighting the absurd urge to turn back, to barge into her life again, to claim what was never mine. The pull to return is fierce. Savage. But the insistent buzzing of the phone in my pocket drags me back to reality.
I inhale deeply, choking down the hunger in my chest.
"Have they all arrived?" I ask by way of greeting.
"Yes, not a single one is missing," Zhang replies.
"We'll be there in thirty minutes."
I glance back at the hospital—I have to return to my real life. That moment with Yiran was a breath, a burst of fresh air that replenished the oxygen in my blood. But that's all it was. Now it's time to become the monster I really am.
"To the warehouse," I order as I settle into the back seat.
The car starts, taking me farther from her with every block. As the city passes by, my face grows harder. Thirty minutes later we arrive at one of our hideouts. Dhitong waits outside and opens my door.
"Everything's as you requested, boss," he says quietly as I walk with him inside.
"Perfect," I reply, trying to wipe any trace of emotion from my face.
Inside, the air is icy, smelling of damp and rust. Hanging beneath the only lit bulb is Wu Kang, wrists tied to a beam, his bare feet barely touching the ground. His face is swollen from the attention he's already received. When he sees me, he groans—a mix of fear and relief.
"Shi Tong! P-please… have mercy, I…"
"Shut up," I snap, stopping in front of him.
It's strange—just minutes ago my voice was soft when speaking to Yiran, and now it cuts like a whip. I feel Zhang behind me, his silent support anchoring the room.
Wu Kang presses his split lips together. Dried blood stains his chin. This man betrayed our trust. I stare at him with cold disgust, but I force myself to control the fury—I need answers first.
"Talk," I order. "Where is Liu Jian?"
"I don't know!" he whimpers immediately. "After the failed hit, he fled the city—I don't know where he went!"
I nod to Sun, who punches him in the liver without hesitation. Wu Kang doubles over with a choked groan.
"Try again," I suggest coldly. "Where is Liu Jian?"
"I'm telling the truth!" he sobs. "All I know is he was planning to go to Hong Kong… or maybe Macau, I'm not sure… He was scared of your retaliation."
"With good reason," I growl. I signal Sun to hold off—for now. "Then tell me who's left from his crew here. How many men does he still have operating in Beijing?"
Wu Kang coughs.
"About… eight or ten. Most of them are hiding, waiting for instructions."
"Instructions for what?" I demand.
He hesitates, swallows hard.
"For the final strike."
My eyes narrow.
"My men are on high alert. They won't stand a chance."
Wu Kang falters. His gaze wavers between the filthy floor and my eyes. He can't find a convincing lie.
"Liu… he's running out of options," he stammers. "He's paranoid, and anything he can get his hands on to destroy you—he'll use it. Until then, he's staying hidden."
I stay silent, thinking. Wu Kang trembles, sensing the danger of my silence. In my world, silence is more terrifying than a blow. My mind is already working—how do I flush out a rat? I breathe deeply, letting the idea take shape.
"What else did he assign you besides informing him of the time and place of our meeting?" I ask.
He swallows with effort.
"Once you were dead, I was to hide until things settled. Then, I'd call him again for new instructions. But since you're not dead, I don't know if he wants me to contact him or wait longer."
"Call him now," I order coldly. "Tell him Shi Tong found out you're the traitor and your life is in danger. Ask him to help you escape."
I know that bastard won't give a damn about this fool's life, but at least I'll hear that piece of shit's voice—and I'll tell him he's already dead.
"Yeah, yeah, of course. Call him. You'll find him under the contact LINDA," Wu Kang adds, with a glimmer of hope that makes me want to vomit.
Before I can even turn to give the command, Zhang has already dialed and is holding the phone to Wu Kang's ear. I watch him carefully—if he deviates from what I said, I'll gut him in seconds.
"Liu…" Pause. His face tightens. "No, no, I'm fine… I didn't call earlier because I was tracking down Shi Tong."
I signal my men to stay silent. I remain in the shadows, listening closely to every word.
"Yes, I saw him," Wu Kang goes on, feigning confidence. "He's badly injured. I think you could finish him off if you move fast. Maybe we could—"
Suddenly, his face freezes. His eyes go wide. The voice on the other end has changed tone.
"No… no, of course not," he rushes to say. "I just…"
He goes quiet, and the shiver running down his spine tells me he doesn't like what he's hearing.
I know exactly what's happening—but I want him to confirm it. To realize the truth himself: Liu Jian doesn't value anyone. Everyone is disposable.
"What?" I snap, raising my eyebrows.
"He didn't believe me. The last thing he said was: 'Tell Shi Tong I'm going to drain the blood from his body drop by drop."
A thick, painful silence follows. Then, without another word, I step forward, and Zhang steps aside with the phone, trying to trace the call.
"Please… don't kill me… I…"
I don't let him finish. I pull out my pistol, press it to his head, and fired it once. The shot echoes through the warehouse. No one says a word. Gao watches me as if a mosquito had flown by. Sun simply pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the brain matter off his shirt.
"From now on," I say with icy calm, "no traitor breathes after speaking my name."
My men nod. The rules are clear. I glance one last time at Wu Kang's lifeless body. He wasn't the first, and he won't be the last to chase the impossible: my mercy.