Tòumíng's hands were shaking as he pushed himself up from the bed, the butter knife still clutched in his grip for a moment longer before he set it down with deliberate care. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached, and every muscle in his body screamed at him to drive his fist through Jin Chan's smug, smiling face. But the image of Měi Nán sitting at that dinner table, laughing, completely unaware of the sniper's crosshairs trained on his head, burned in his mind like a brand.
"I need clothes," he said, his voice flat and cold, stripped of all emotion. "Now."
One of the nurses, a young woman with wide, frightened eyes, nodded quickly and scurried out of the room. Tòumíng stood there, his hospital gown hanging loosely around his frame, his bare feet cold against the tile, and stared at Jin Chan with the kind of murderous intensity that made the Black Hawk agents shift nervously.
Jin Chan, utterly unbothered, checked his watch with exaggerated casualness. "Chop chop, Tòumíng. Tick tock. I'm only making that phone call when we sit in the car. And we're not sitting in the car yet, are we?"
Tòumíng's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He could feel Cupid's presence in his chest, a steady, grounding weight, and he could hear the ancient entity's voice in his mind, calm and measured. *Don't let him get to you. He's trying to provoke you. Stay focused. Stay in control.*
I want to punch the absolute shit out of him, Tòumíng thought back, his mental voice raw with rage.
I know. But if you do, Měi Nán dies. Is that what you want? Cupid said, being the voice of reason
Tòumíng took a deep breath, forced his fists to unclench, and let the anger settle into something colder, more controlled. The nurse returned, carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms, her face still pale with nervousness.
"One of the staff donated these," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I hope they fit."
Tòumíng took the clothes and pulled them on without ceremonya simple gray sweater that was slightly too large, and black sweatpants that hung loosely around his waist. The fabric was soft, comfortable, and completely ordinary, a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few minutes.
He turned to the nurse, forcing a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."
She nodded quickly and backed away, clearly eager to put as much distance between herself and the tension in the room as possible.
Tòumíng stepped past Jin Chan, his shoulder brushing against the man's suit, and strode toward the door. "Hurry the fuck up," he said, his voice flat. "I don't have all day."
Jin Chan chuckled and followed, his footsteps unhurried, his expression still carrying that infuriating smile.
They reached the bottom floor, the grand lobby with its marble floors and massive chandelier, and the Ice Queen was already waiting. She stood in the center of the space, her arms crossed, her pale blue eyes fixed on Tòumíng with an intensity that made his skin prickle.
"Where," she said, her voice cold and commanding, "do you think you're going?"
Tòumíng forced a confident smile onto his face, the kind of smile that said I have everything under control, don't worry about me. "I'm gonna be fine," he said, his voice carrying a lightness he didn't feel. "Just a quick chat. Nothing to worry about."
The Ice Queen's eyes narrowed. She didn't believe him. He could see it in the way her jaw tightened, the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides. But she didn't argue. Instead, she crossed the distance between them in three swift strides and pulled him into a hug.
It was a full-body embrace, her arms wrapping around him, her body pressing against his with an intensity that made his breath catch. Her chest was soft and warm against his face, the fabric of her gown doing nothing to hide the generous curves beneath. Tòumíng's mind, which had been focused entirely on murder and rage and the desperate need to save Měi Nán, suddenly went blank.
Boobs, his brain supplied helpfully. Really, really nice boobs. Soft boobs. Boobs that are currently suffocating you.
He could feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of his sweater, could smell the faint, floral scent of her perfume, could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his cheek. His hands, which had been hanging uselessly at his sides, came up to rest on her waist, and for a moment, he forgot about everything else. The anger. The fear. The sniper. The threats.
It was Tòumíng who broke the hug first, his face flushed, his breathing slightly uneven. He stepped back, putting a few inches of distance between them, and cleared his throat.
"I'll be back," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "Promise."
The Ice Queen's eyes softened. She reached out and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing across his skin. "If he kills you," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "you start a war."
Jin Chan, who had been watching the entire exchange with an expression of amused detachment, raised his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. "Yikes," he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He ushered Tòumíng toward the car, his hand resting lightly on the small of his back. As they walked, he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't think this brat can die anyway," he muttered, his lips curling into a sneer. "But we'll see."
They entered the limousine, the doors closing behind them with a heavy, muffled thud. The interior was spacious, all leather and polished wood, with a small bar and a television screen embedded in the back of the front seats. Jin Chan settled into his seat with the ease of a man who was used to luxury, crossing his legs and checking his watch with theatrical precision.
Tòumíng sat across from him, his hands clenched into fists on his knees, his eyes locked onto Jin Chan's face with the kind of intensity that made the air in the limousine feel thick and heavy.
Jin Chan checked his watch, let out a low chuckle, and shook his head. "Oops," he said, his voice carrying a note of mock regret. "I have twenty seconds left. Phew! Any longer and your little friend would've been dead."
Tòumíng's jaw tightened. His hands shook with the effort of not lunging across the car and wrapping them around Jin Chan's throat. "You son of a bitch."
"Lighten up!" Jin Chan said, his tone almost cheerful. He pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and held it to his ear. "Hold off for another thirty," he said into the receiver. "Follow him if he leaves his house. Kill him if he goes to an airport."
Tòumíng lunged.
His hands shot out, wrapping around Jin Chan's throat, his fingers digging into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. The phone clattered to the floor, and Jin Chan's eyes went wide with surprise, but his smile never faltered. The guards in the front of the limousine spun around, their weapons raised, their fingers hovering over their triggers.
"THAT WASN'T PART OF THE DEAL!" Tòumíng yelled, his voice raw with fury. His grip tightened, cutting off Jin Chan's air, his vision going red with rage.
Jin Chan, even while choking, managed to smirk. His voice came out in a strained, rasping whisper. "Chilax," he said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "The airport order was a... contingency plan. Plus, I don't think you're stupid enough to send your friend a secret message... right?"
Tòumíng's grip tightened further. He could feel Jin Chan's pulse fluttering beneath his fingers, could feel the fragile bones of his trachea pressing against his palms. He wanted to squeeze. He wanted to crush. He wanted to watch the light fade from those cold, calculating eyes.
Then Cupid's voice cut through the red haze. Stop. Let him go. If you kill him now, Měi Nán dies. You know that. He's not bluffing.
Tòumíng's grip faltered. His hands loosened, then fell away. He slumped back into his seat, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn't look at Jin Chan. Couldn't look at the smug, infuriating smile on his face.
Jin Chan straightened his tie, his voice still slightly hoarse but carrying the same unbothered confidence. "Good boy."