When Su Yi arrived at the VIP ward, he paused for a moment outside the heavy wooden door, sensing the profound emotional disturbance within. He took a deep breath, recalibrating his aura from the cheerful date companion back to the measured, empathetic counselor.
He gently pushed open the door.
He saw Jessica Campbell standing by the expansive window, gazing outward at the city that now felt alien and hostile to her. It was late dusk, and the lingering, bruised rays of the setting sun sliced through the glass, catching the fine dust motes swirling in the sterile air and illuminating Jessica's gaunt, yet perfectly healthy, profile.
Beside her, the chrome IV drip stand stood silent, a redundant accessory to a body that had spontaneously healed itself.
Jessica seemed to be utterly lost in thought, consumed by the silent, agonizing calculations of guilt and tragedy, and didn't notice Su Yi's quiet arrival at all. Her mind was a fortress of new, painful memories and confusing, untamed power.
Knock, knock, knock!
Su Yi had no choice but to gently knock on the door frame, making a sound that was soft but designed to pierce her internal haze.
Hearing the sound, Jessica snapped violently out of her daze. The speed of her reaction, the instant rotation of her head, was inhumanly quick, a twitch of raw, newly integrated muscle memory. Her dark, perceptive eyes instantly fixed on the young man appearing at the doorway.
With a quick, cold glance, Jessica made an initial judgment: a young, incredibly handsome Oriental man, dressed in smart casual clothes—a man who looked completely out of place in the misery of a hospital ward.
However, Jessica was utterly disheartened at this moment and had no interest in surface details or flirtation.
"Hello, Jessica. I'm Christine's friend, Su Yi. You can call me Mr. Su, or just Su," Su Yi introduced himself, walking into the room with an unhurried, grounded stride that spoke of confidence and control.
Jessica was indifferent, offering a polite, distant greeting born of social training rather than sincerity. "Hello, Mr. Su."
"I heard you wanted to see me," Su Yi continued, pulling a chair away from the wall and placing it several feet from the bed. He sat, adopting an open, non-judgmental posture. "Is there something specific I can help you with?"
Jessica did not mince words. The new, fortified mind was focused on raw data and answers.
"Last night, you were here, just before Dr. Palmer," she stated, her voice flat, devoid of thanks or malice. "You cured me, didn't you? Not Dr. Palmer, not the machines. You."
Su Yi allowed a slight, knowing smile. "You were already slowly recovering and regaining consciousness, Jessica. Full recovery was only a matter of time. The tools I used merely helped you recover faster—perhaps saving you a month or two of further physical decay." He offered a partial truth, allowing her to save face.
Jessica ignored the diplomatic answer. Her chest felt tight, not from pain, but from the immense, suffocating pressure of survival.
"I didn't ask for recovery," she challenged, her voice beginning to crack. "Why did you save me?"
Her emotional dam began to crumble as she delivered the true core of her trauma. "Also, my strength is greater than that of ordinary people now. Did you do that too? Do you know? My family all died in that accident. I was the reason my father was distracted. I am the cause. Why did you make me wake up and face all of this?"
The sheer injustice of her survival overwhelmed her.
"I didn't give you permission to treat me. I should have been with them. I could have just… gone." Her voice rose to a strangled cry. "Why interfere? I could have had peace!"
Jessica wasn't trying to blame Su Yi; she just needed a target to vent the crushing, paralyzing guilt that had replaced the radioactive toxins in her system. After a few sentences, she was already hunched over, sobbing with the raw, ragged anguish of a young girl whose entire world had been annihilated.
It was understandable. She wasn't even twenty. Having experienced such a major upheaval and bearing the weight of responsibility for the loss, it was difficult for her to accept that she was the recipient of an impossible gift. She was trapped in a cycle of self-punishment, mirroring the deep, personal guilt that Peter Parker still suffered over the death of Uncle Ben.
Su Yi did not rise to anger or defensiveness. He walked up to the bedside table, pulled out a tissue box, and handed it to her without a word.
"If resenting me can alleviate your guilt and pain, Jessica, I don't mind," he said quietly, looking not at her, but at the empty chair where her brother should have been sitting. "You can blame me for taking away your easy out. I am strong enough to carry that for you."
Jessica froze, stunned by the unexpected answer. He wasn't arguing. He wasn't deflecting. He was offering himself as a silent scapegoat. Faced with Su Yi's immense, unwavering kindness, Jessica reflexively chose to refuse, pushing the offered tissue away. Her grief was too precious, too necessary to be wiped away by a stranger's pity.
Su Yi was not in a hurry. Psychological problems cannot be cured with injections or medicine. They require self-realization. He simply set the box down and returned to his chair.
"Jessica, let's sit down and chat for a while. I'll tell you a story."
Jessica remained silent, still slumped on the edge of the bed, her refusal to verbally engage her only defense.
Su Yi ignored her lack of reply. He didn't intend to move Jessica with his own history just yet. Instead, he chose a cinematic analogy: a film he knew well, "Léon: The Professional."
Su Yi began to tell the story—not as a simple crime thriller, but as a parable about two lost souls finding a fragile, temporary redemption in a merciless world. He described Léon, the stoic, emotionally stunted killer, and Mathilda, the furious, orphaned girl whose family was brutally murdered by corrupt cops.
Su Yi's storytelling ability was decent; he infused the narrative with palpable tension and moral ambiguity, enough to slowly drag Jessica out of her inner void. She hadn't been listening very carefully at first, but with only two people in the ward, and one voice weaving a mesmerizing tale, it was hard for her not to hear.
Jessica sat mesmerized, gradually becoming engrossed. What attracted her was not the love story, but Mathilda's relentless drive for revenge and the overwhelming trauma of sudden loss. Mathilda was a mirror: a child who survived when everyone else died, left with nothing but an empty slate and a burning need for purpose.
Su Yi reached the climax, describing the confrontation. Then he delivered the line that he knew would land: the classic, painful dialogue between the two protagonists.
"Mathilda, the little sprout in the planter box," Su Yi said, embodying the young girl's plaintive tone. "She asks the killer, 'Is life always this painful?'"
Su Yi paused, then adopted the deep, world-weary voice of Léon, delivering the devastating truth.
"Always!"
The word hung in the air, heavy and absolute. Always. It was the acknowledgement Jessica desperately needed: the truth that life does not get easier, but you learn how to live with the pain.
At the end of the story, Léon saved Mathilda through his ultimate sacrifice, and the female lead, taking Léon's money and his philosophy, went to a boarding school, replanted her sprout, and began to find a new, complicated life.
Jessica remained profoundly silent, the only sound the mechanical hiss of the oxygen dispenser by the wall. Su Yi could sense the profound shift in her perspective.
Striking while the iron was hot, Su Yi leaned forward, allowing his tone to soften into genuine intimacy.
"That story, Jessica, is about the only thing you have left: choice."
He then decided to use "himself" as an example, laying bare a curated version of his own painful journey.
"Actually, I'm pretty similar to you. I've had a similar, sharp experience of loss. I originally lived in the East. There was a catastrophic event that took my parents. I was completely alone—a boy in a strange, silent reality."
He paused, gathering conviction. "Out of necessity, I eventually came here and lived with my grandfather, who I barely knew. Then, not long after I started getting used to that small comfort, he passed away too. In the span of a year, I was orphaned twice."
Su Yi looked directly at the young woman. "But I realized one thing: the pain is a monument to them, but my life is a tribute to them. Even though I'm alone, life still has to go on. It doesn't stop because you're hurting."
"I will always miss my family, but I will also strive to live a better life. For myself, yes, but more importantly, for them."
"I think my parents must hope that I can be happy and live a good life. If your mother and father knew you were so miserable, that you wished for death, they would also be heartbroken."
"So, the best way to honor them, Jessica, the only way to prove their sacrifice wasn't meaningless, is to live well."
This sentence broke through Jessica's final defenses precisely. She recalled her past life—her mother's gentle comfort when she was in a bad mood, her father's booming, infectious laughter. She didn't want to cause them sadness, even in memory.
Jessica began to cry again, but this time, it was different. It was a cleansing sadness, a letting go of self-blame, ready to embrace the punishing reality of a new life. When she looked up at Su Yi, she was surprised to find him so positive and optimistic. From his appearance alone, it was impossible to tell that he had experienced such devastating pain.
Su Yi saw Jessica's tears but recognized the shift in her energy. He offered the tissue box again.
"You've lost your family, but you still have friends who remember you. You are still young, and you still have a future. Although the present is painful, and you will encounter much pain in the future—always—you will also encounter happiness."
"Just like Mathilda met Léon, that was a moment of true happiness in a painful life. You will also find yours."
This time, Jessica did not refuse. She took the tissue, nodding silently as she wiped her eyes.
Su Yi breathed an internal sigh of relief. Psychological counseling successful, mission accomplished!
"Thank you," Jessica managed, her voice steadier now.
"You're welcome. You should rest well and recuperate. After you recover, go commemorate your family, and go see your old friends. But then, you must start building a new life."
Jessica nodded. "Good advice."
The conversation pivoted sharply back to the reason she had summoned him.
Jessica suddenly remembered the impossible strength thrumming beneath her skin. "Are my powers something you did? The feeling… it's intense, like a coil of steel in my stomach."
"No," Su Yi stated firmly, standing up to project authority. "Your powers originated from that accident—a rare, chaotic genetic response to the toxins. While I possess unique abilities, they do not include bestowing powers upon others. I merely stabilized and perfected the raw gift the accident left you."
He briefly demonstrated a subtle surge of Iron Celestial energy in his palm—a flicker of blue-white light that vanished instantly. "This is my ability. You, however, possess immense physical strength and durability. For now, you must hide your powers. Finish your treatment, get discharged, and spend the next few weeks observing the outside world. Learn. Watch. Listen."
Su Yi walked over to the door, his hand on the knob. He gave her one final, critical piece of advice, laying the foundation for her future career path.
"Jessica, when you are strong enough, don't look for enemies. Look for answers. Use your unique perspective—and your power—to uncover the secrets the world hides. You don't need to be a hero; you need to be a truth-seeker. Start there."
With that, Su Yi left, closing the door on the newly awakened, newly burdened, and newly powerful Jessica Jones.