Meilin stood at the mouth of the alley, her shadow stretching toward the figure by the back door of the night club.
He looked nothing like the "King" who had died for her. He wore a faded black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to reveal corded muscles and veins standing out in sharp relief. His face was gaunt, his jawline like a jagged blade, and his skin had a sickly, translucent pallor. But it was his eyes—sunk in deep shadows and burning with a mix of agony and stubborn pride—that hit her with a crushing wave of nostalgia.
He was leaning against the brick wall, his left arm shaking so violently it looked like it would shatter.
"You," he gasped, his head snapping up as he noticed her presence. His gaze was sharp, wary, and completely void of recognition. This was the first time his eyes had ever landed on her in this life. "Who are you?"
Meilin didn't answer immediately. She stepped forward, her heart thumping against her ribs. "Someone who can stop the pain. Let me help you."
"Get away," he hissed, his voice a rasping friction of vocal cords. He tried to push himself off the wall to leave, but a sudden spasm racked his body. His nervous system was misfiring; the toxin was winning. He stumbled, his knees buckling.
Meilin moved with clinical precision. From a hidden pocket in her sleeve, she pulled a small leather roll. Clink. A row of slender, shimmering silver needles caught the dim light.
"I said—" Zihan started, but his breath hitched as she grabbed his wrist with a grip that was surprisingly firm.
"Be quiet," Meilin commanded.
With a flick of her wrist, she drove a needle into a specific pressure point on his wrist and another into the base of his neck. Zihan's eyes widened. He felt a sudden wave of warmth spread from the needle sites, dulling the electrical fire in his nerves. The confusion in his eyes intensified—how did this stranger know exactly where to strike?
The violent tremors slowed, his rigid muscles went limp, and as the sudden relief washed over him, his exhaustion finally won. With a soft groan, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted. Meilin caught him, his weight leaning against her shoulder.
"Commander Yan! Get the car!"
Two hours later, the sterile white walls of a private VIP suite at the general hospital hummed quietly.
Zihan's eyes fluttered open. The room was empty. The air was too clean, the sheets too soft. He felt an unusual lightness in his limbs—the constant, grinding ache in his nerves had been silenced for the first time in years.
He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing.
He remembered the girl. He remembered the terrifyingly focused look in her eyes. None of this makes sense. In his world, nobody offered a hand unless they wanted to pull you into a deeper hole.
The door clicked open. Meilin walked in, carrying a thermal bag.
"You're awake," she said.
Zihan sat up abruptly, his face hardening into a mask of suspicion. "Why did you do it?" He stared at her, his voice cold. "Why are you helping me? None of this is free. What do you want?" why Vip suite?" as he was about tell he doesnt have money he stopped at midway...
Meilin sat on the edge of the chair, keeping her expression calm to hide the storm of emotions inside. "I saw you on the road," she lied easily. "You were clearly in pain and about to collapse. I have some medical training, so I helped. That's all. understanding his worry in his eyes she said'"i cleared medical fee no need to worry , doctor said u need to rest for a day "
Zihan narrowed his eyes, his voice dripping with doubt. "You took a 'beggar' to a VIP suite because you saw him on the road? People in the Capital don't even look at someone like me, let alone pay for a hospital bed."
"Maybe you should start meeting better people," Meilin replied, setting a bowl of porridge on the table. "Let's just be friends, . Consider it a lucky day."
My name is Meilin, you are?
he slowly repleied "Zihan".
Zihan fell silent. Friends?
The word felt foreign, like a language he hadn't spoken in a lifetime. He looked at the porridge, then back at the girl who sat there with the poise of a queen and the eyes of a protector. He didn't say yes, but he didn't push the food away. He remained silent, his mind a chaotic blur of logic trying to solve the puzzle of her kindness.
They had dinner in that heavy silence. When she finished, she stood to leave.
"I have to go. I'll come back tomorrow to handle your discharge."
"I don't need a you to handle," he muttered, though he didn't look away from her.
"I'll be there" she replied.
As she reached the hallway, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, sealed glass vial containing a dark crimson liquid. While he was unconscious, she had drawn his blood.
"Commander Yan, take me to the Aetheria labs," she ordered, her voice turning to ice. "I need to know exactly what is killing him before the sun comes up."