Consciousness gradually returned from the darkness. Luo Yang felt his eyelids were heavy, as if they had been glued shut.
He forced his eyes open. His vision was filled by a stark white ceiling, with several damp, peeling patches of paint at the edges that were particularly eyesore.
The pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with the metallic scent of povidone-iodine drifted into his nose. His throat was dry and painful, and his mouth tasted like rust.
He tried to move his fingers, his fingertips brushing against the rough cotton bedsheets.
A dull ache spread from his right ribs, tugging at every nerve in his body. The muscle soreness from extreme overexertion, combined with the dense cluster of wounds, caused cold sweat to break out with every movement.
“Is this... the academy’s affiliated hospital?”
He dazed for a moment. His last memory before losing consciousness was dozing off against a sandbag; now, he was here.
Li Xin must have brought him in.
Luo Yang pressed his hand against his aching chest and propped himself up on the mattress. The oversized hospital pajamas clung to his body, concealing the thick layers of gauze wrapped beneath. The coarse fabric rubbed against the fresh dressings, sending jolts of stinging pain through him.
The ward was dim. By the faint light filtering in from the corridor, he could make out his surroundings.
On the bed to his left, Li Qiang was lying on his back. He hadn't suffered any external injuries, but his blood energy depletion was severe, requiring significant rest and replenishment.
Heavy snoring echoed in the quiet room. Further down, Tang Xuan was curled up under her blanket, a small ball of a person breathing steadily.
Luo Yang’s gaze moved past them to the bed by the window.
The bed was empty. The white corner of the quilt was folded neatly, showing no signs of having been slept in.
By all accounts, that bed should have belonged to Qiu Shubai.
But where was she?
Luo Yang threw back the covers and slipped into the slippers beside the bed.
He pushed open the door, and the bright fluorescent lights of the corridor stung his eyes.
The hallway was a cacophony of sound. The rubber wheels of carts rattled across the floor, the soles of nurses’ shoes squeaked as they hurried by, and the suppressed groans of the wounded intermingled in the air.
Several medical staff in blood-stained uniforms rushed past with a gurney, the wheels splashing a few drops of wet blood onto the white wainscoting of the wall.
“Prepare Operating Room Three!”
A coarse shout made his eardrums thrum. Wounded Punishers and military personnel were being brought in continuously; the mangled limbs and charred wounds on the stretchers were a harrowing sight.
Luo Yang stood against the wall, avoiding the rushing crowds. He narrowed his eyes, searching through the people.
He couldn't find that cold, aloof figure anywhere. The faint scent of blood lingered in the air, but he couldn't find her specific scent.
Emergency was on the first floor, surgery on the second, and intensive care on the third.
Her injuries weren't severe enough for intensive care, and given her personality, she wouldn't stay in a crowded place just to watch the commotion.
Intuition guided him. Luo Yang turned and walked toward the elevators at the end of the hall.
The two elevators were crowded with anxious family members and nurses pushing equipment. Just as the doors were about to close, he squeezed into the small space filled with the smell of sweat and medicine and pressed the button for the top floor.
The red numbers ticked upward. When the doors opened, the top floor was quiet and empty.
The security door at the corner of the stairwell was slightly ajar. The metal latch was charred and broken, the break showing a silvery-white gleam.
He pushed open the heavy fire door.
The night breeze, carrying a hint of dry heat, rushed over him, clearing the lingering smell of medicine from his lungs. The city’s neon lights in the distance turned the clouds a reddish hue. The exhaust fans let out a low hum, their giant blades slowly slicing through light and shadow.
Someone was sitting on the edge of the guardrail.
Her grayish-white hair was tossed about by the wind. She wore the same oversized striped hospital pajamas, her silhouette looking somewhat frail against the deep blue night sky.
Luo Yang stopped. His foot stepped on a piece of gravel, creating a soft click.
The figure didn't turn around.
He sat down about half a meter away from her. Qiu Shubai tilted her head, and their gazes met in the dim light.
After a split-second pause, they both looked away.
Luo Yang gazed out at Yuanxing City, which was currently in the midst of its nightlife. He idly picked up a piece of rusted wire from near his feet and began unconsciously bending it back and forth, though his movements were slow; it would likely take a long time before he actually snapped it.
The hum of the exhaust fans filled the silence.
“How are you?” Luo Yang asked.
His gaze was fixed on a distant signal tower, not looking at her directly.
“I won't die,” her voice was flat and steady, just as it usually was. “It’s not a big deal.”
The brief answer effectively shut down the conversation.
Luo Yang didn't respond. The wire in his hand snapped into two pieces. The night wind grew slightly stronger, snapping the hem of his hospital pajamas.
Qiu Shubai quietly shifted her gaze, her peripheral vision sweeping over the person beside her.
From his open collar to his arms, Luo Yang was covered in white gauze.
Dark red spots seeped through the bandages in many places, and some areas showed the pale yellow stains of medicinal fluid. Several small scratches lined his jaw, capped with dark red scabs.
He was heavily injured—certainly much worse than she was.
She withdrew her gaze, her fingers picking at the rough granules of the concrete guardrail.
“And you?” she asked, looking at the tiny flow of traffic below. “How do you feel?”
Luo Yang turned his head to meet her evasive gaze and reached out to lightly pat his bandage-wrapped chest.
“Heh, I’m much more impressive than you right now.” He curled his lips, a smile spreading in the night. “I’ll be fine after a few naps. Of course nothing’s wrong.”
His tone was light, carrying his usual punchable bravado.
The movement tugged at his wounds, and he immediately gritted his teeth, swallowing a groan of pain.
Qiu Shubai looked at his somewhat annoying smile. The wind swirled a few withered leaves around their feet, and the siren of an ambulance drifted from the distance.
“Next time...” Qiu Shubai lowered her voice. The noise from the exhaust fans was so loud it almost shredded her words.
“If possible, don't try to be a hero all by yourself again.”
“Hey, I call it ‘with great power comes great responsibility.’” He leaned back slightly, bracing himself on the cold concrete with both hands.
Qiu Shubai ignored his banter. She turned and looked Luo Yang straight in the eye.
The night chill crept into her collar, and she shrugged her shoulders slightly.
“People have limits,” she said clearly. “Even geniuses are no exception.”
The smile on Luo Yang’s face faded slightly.
“If one day you truly fall into a desperate situation...” Qiu Shubai bit her lower lip. “There might not be anyone who can help you.”
Her voice trembled; the night wind was cold.
Luo Yang watched her silently. The dim yellow glow of the streetlights from below highlighted the contour of her profile.
Her long eyelashes cast a shadow over her eyelids, and the air seemed to stand still in that moment.
“Haha,” Luo Yang laughed, reaching up to scratch his messy hair, breaking the heavy atmosphere.
He leaned in closer, staring into her eyes.
“Are you that worried about me?”
His voice trailed upward at the end, laced with a hint of teasing.
Qiu Shubai snapped her face away, her back instantly becoming ramrod straight.
The roar of the exhaust fans masked her erratic breathing.
“I just...” Her speech quickened, a clumsy attempt at a cover-up. “I just don't want a ‘friend’ to leave me, that’s all.”
Luo Yang mulled over those two words. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and let out a silent sigh.
He pulled back from his leaning position and rested against the guardrail again.
“Fine.” He looked up at the pitch-black night sky. “For the sake of that word ‘friend,’ I’ll try my best to die as late as possible.”
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