The north wind was bitterly cold, and when Xiaxia ran into the hospital, she was almost soaked through by the knife-like frigid wind.

She grabbed a passing nurse: “Where are the people brought in from the Nanjing Road accident?”

The shop belonging to Chen Lan’s mentioned mistress was right on Nanjing Road. In the taxi, Xiaxia had heard the driver and his friend talking about the accident there the whole way.

According to reports, the police were pursuing a suspect on Nanjing Road this morning. The suspect resisted arrest and ran straight from the sidewalk into the middle of the road trying to escape. Along with two other pedestrians crossing at the crosswalk, he was struck by a speeding car and thrown into the path of a truck in the opposite lane. The wheels rolled over them, leaving one dead and two injured.

The bloodiness of the scene terrified everyone who happened to witness it.

The hospital’s phone call instructing her to bring documents had ended quickly. Xiaxia’s mind was in chaos, knowing nothing except what she’d heard the drivers discussing in the car.

—The deceased was a man.

Whenever Xiaxia thought about the Nanjing Road accident and that hospital call, her heart felt like it was being slaughtered on a dulled knife blade, throbbing with pain that nearly suffocated her.

The nurse asked: “Are you the family of one of the Nanjing Road accident victims?”

Xiaxia’s lips trembled constantly as she wearily nodded. The nurse looked at her sympathetically: “Come with me to identify them.”

Xiaxia’s mind went blank as she stammered: “I-identify… what?”

She was led into a room that felt cold at first entry, her palms sweating. Then she smelled the heavy scent of blood and saw two beds in the middle of the room covered with white sheets. Every nerve in her body went rigid.

Her legs went weak, refusing to take another step inside.

The nurse gently lifted the white sheet, and Xiaxia’s tears instantly poured out.

“One died in the ambulance, one passed away just now after failed resuscitation. Please identify them.”

Xiaxia didn’t dare look closely, only catching a glimpse from the corner of her eye.

The people on the beds were covered in blood. The man on the left had yellow hair—it wasn’t Xie Huai. The other bed held a woman.

Xiaxia’s tense body relaxed, leaving her completely drained of strength. She collapsed to her knees by the doorframe.

“It’s not them,” she choked out.

The nurse helped her up: “Neither of them? But these are the only victims brought in from Nanjing Road.”

Xiaxia’s emotions settled as she wiped away her tears, rationality gradually returning.

The earlier phone call had only asked her to bring Xie Huai’s ID and medical insurance to the hospital. They hadn’t said why he was admitted. After hearing about the Nanjing Road accident in the taxi, she’d instinctively thought Xie Huai had gone to find Hu Shurong. Now thinking calmly, she realized Xie Huai wouldn’t be so rash.

He had promised they would stay together, and once he made a promise, he would surely keep it.

Having had a false alarm, Xiaxia sat on the hospital corridor bench covered in cold sweat.

She started redialing the number and had just pressed the first key when several medical staff pushed two stretchers through the entrance.

As the stretchers passed by her, she looked up and saw Xie Huai’s white shirt stained red with blood.

“Xie Huai!” She rushed forward but was immediately held back by the medical staff.

“Are you Xie Huai’s family?” the doctor said, “Xie Huai left your contact information before losing consciousness from blood loss. We need to perform emergency treatment now. Please go handle the admission procedures.”

Xiaxia’s voice trembled as she asked: “Will he die?”

“It’s hard to say.” The doctor replied before hurriedly pushing past her.

Qiao Ru on the second stretcher was even more severely injured—her home clothes showed no color other than blood.

Xiaxia stood there in a daze, her vision blurring. The hospital’s white corridors swayed violently before her eyes, and she had to reach out to steady herself against the wall to avoid falling.

The emergency room’s red light came on.

A police officer followed them in. Xiaxia, her eyes red and wet, grabbed his sleeve: “Why was Xie Huai injured?”

The officer was startled at first, then asked: “Are you Xiaxia?”

“A few days ago, Xie Huai reported that Hu Shurong might be hiding on Nanjing Road. We had plainclothes officers investigate for several days and finally confirmed his location this morning. Hu Shurong resisted arrest and died at the scene of the traffic accident,” the officer said. “But before his arrest, he sent a message to his accomplices who had been watching outside Xie Huai’s building. They broke into the house when they received the message…”

Xiaxia gasped sharply.

“When it happened, Xie Huai was on Nanjing Road assisting us. By the time we received the message and returned, Ms. Qiao was already severely injured,” the officer said. “These people were desperate criminals. After Hu Shurong’s arrest, his accomplices weren’t planning to escape—they intended to trade lives for lives.”

“Later during the arrest, one suspect escaped from the residential building. Xie Huai chased after him and was stabbed twice in the struggle…”

He paused: “But all the suspects have been apprehended now.”

“Who cares if they’ve been caught?” Xiaxia gritted out, her voice compressed to a line of anger through her teeth. “Aren’t you the police? The police must catch criminals, but Xie Huai is just an ordinary citizen—why did you need his help?”

She knew her words contained anger displaced by Xie Huai’s injury, but she couldn’t think clearly, her mind in complete chaos.

The officer said: “Hu Shurong was very cautious. He was hiding in the red-light district where there’s heavy foot traffic. If the arrest plan wasn’t perfectly executed, it could have caused collateral damage. Xie Huai had dealt with Hu Shurong for many years and understood the criminal better than we did. He volunteered to assist our operation.”

“Hu Shurong did resist arrest, but his death was an accident. The pedestrian light was green at the time—the accident was caused by a drunk driver.”

“As for what happened at the Steel Factory District…” he said apologetically, “…that was our oversight.”

Xiaxia wearily held her head in her hands, sitting silently in the chair.

She heard the officer apologize a few more times, but she had no strength left to speak.

Her entire being was wrapped in suffocating despair as if she were becoming an airless cocoon.

She turned her head to watch the emergency room’s red light flashing.

The officer tried to comfort her: “The doctors have assessed his injuries. Xie Huai only lost a lot of blood—his life shouldn’t be in danger…”

“…Ms. Qiao’s injuries are more severe.”

“Please let me be quiet for a while,” Xiaxia said in a tiny, weak voice.

The officer apologized once more, hesitated for a moment, then turned and left.

Xiaxia’s tears fell like broken strings of beads. With both Xie Huai and Qiao Ru in critical condition, she dared not imagine what she would do if Xie Huai didn’t survive, nor could she bear to think what impact Qiao Ru’s death would have on Xie Huai if she didn’t make it.

Her heart felt like it had been punctured, the pain driving her mad.

But she couldn’t faint, nor could she remain dejected for too long.

After crying for a while, Xiaxia wiped away her tears and gathered her strength to go to the service desk to inquire about surgery and hospitalization procedures.

Xie Huai had been stabbed twice in the lower abdomen. Though the wounds weren’t deep, he remained unconscious due to blood loss.

When he was wheeled out of emergency, his face was as white as paper. The blood had been cleaned from his body, no longer showing the horrifying bloodied state from before.

Qiao Ru’s surgery ended in the afternoon, and she was moved to the ICU afterward.

Her injuries were more severe than Xie Huai’s—her body had been cut more than twenty times, though each cut deliberately avoided vital areas.

This was a common torture method used by criminal gangs.

—One cut for ten thousand; when debtors couldn’t pay, this was how they would “settle the debt.” In reality, it was just a means of forcing payment—usually after enduring all the cuts, the money still had to be paid.

If the police hadn’t arrived in time, Hu Shurong’s accomplices would have bled Qiao Ru dry one cut at a time.

Blood loss was secondary; Qiao Ru’s most serious injury was to the back of her head where she’d been struck with a hard object. This was the main reason she remained unconscious in the ICU.

Xiaxia kept vigil by Xie Huai’s hospital bed, watching his unconscious profile in silence.

He rarely had such quiet moments. Usually, he was restless in his sleep, talking and grinding his teeth, especially fond of rolling over to hold her tightly in his arms.

Now he lay pale and unnaturally still, showing no signs of waking.

If she didn’t occasionally place her fingers under his nose to feel his breath, Xiaxia would almost think his heart had stopped beating.

She hadn’t had even a sip of water since morning. Hu Shurong’s death, the police arrest, Xie Huai’s injury… everything had come like a sudden storm, too fast for her to prepare herself.

Xiaxia got up to go to the bathroom to change her sanitary pad, her legs were so weak from the pain she could barely walk.

Her face was transparently pale, her blood vessels visible, cold sweat seeping from her temples.

Seeing her swaying unsteadily, family members of other patients in the ward hurried over to support her: “Are you alright?”

Xiaxia shook her head and quietly thanked them.

The doctor pushed open the door and asked softly: “Who is Qiao Ru’s family?”

Xiaxia walked up to him, and the doctor said: “The ICU requires advance payment for hospitalization, refundable for any excess. Including surgery fees, it comes to eighty thousand yuan…”

Xiaxia took the invoice from his hand, covered in equipment and medication charges she couldn’t understand, and asked: “Right now?”

“Yes,” the doctor said, “Payment is at the first-floor lobby.”

Xiaxia said: “Could you give us a few days? Right now I…”

“ICU costs are very high, and we can’t cover them. If payment isn’t made on time, the hospital will suspend treatment,” the doctor sighed. “The patient hasn’t regained consciousness. If we stop the equipment and medication, the situation will be very dangerous.”

“I understand,” Xiaxia said. “I’ll go pay.”

After the doctor left, Xiaxia returned to Xie Huai’s bedside.

The hospital bed was near the window, blue curtains covering half the glass, casting a soft blue light on Xie Huai’s face.

She watched him for a while, then reached out to touch his cheek.

—Cold, rigid, lifeless.

“Did you hear what the police said?” Xiaxia said softly. “Hu Shurong is dead, and the people who hurt Auntie have been caught. We don’t have to be afraid of anything anymore.”

“When will you wake up? Don’t you want to see me?”

As Xiaxia spoke, her voice grew wet, unable to suppress her sobs: “Brother Huai, please wake up soon. Auntie is in the ICU, and I don’t know what to do.”

The ICU costs were very high per day, and worried about difficult patients refusing to pay, the hospital took no chances—someone came to collect payment three times that afternoon.

Xiaxia’s four years of college savings only amounted to a little over ten thousand yuan, a drop in the bucket compared to Qiao Ru’s hospital expenses.

She tried calling Xie Huai’s uncle, but a woman answered. As soon as Xiaxia explained why she was calling, the woman berated her with sarcasm.

“When Xie Huai came to borrow money last time, he promised his uncle that his family matters would have nothing to do with us from now on,” the woman sneered. “It’s only been a few days and he’s already forgotten what he said?”

Xiaxia said quietly: “Auntie Qiao is in critical condition…”

The woman hung up.

Xiaxia remained silent for a moment before making the next call.

After five calls without borrowing a single yuan, she suddenly realized something—on the day Hu Shurong kidnapped her, Xie Huai had already borrowed from everyone he could think of. Though he had many social connections, most weren’t close enough to borrow money from, and those he was close enough to ask had already lent what they could.

The sunset climbed the clouds, then hid among mountain shadows, its remaining light illuminating the hospital room’s white walls.

The hospital came to collect payment for the fourth time, their expression now clearly impatient.

Xiaxia flipped through her phone contacts and called Zhu Ziyu.

Zhu Ziyu responded readily: “I’ll ask Zhiming to borrow from me. Don’t worry, Xiaxia, we’ll definitely find a way.”

She consoled: “Try asking Shanqi too. Her pocket money for one semester is more than this amount. If we pool together, eighty thousand isn’t much…”

Hearing her weak voice, Zhu Ziyu asked: “Are you okay? You sound very tired.”

Xiaxia said softly: “I’m fine.”

She crouched in a corner of the corridor, her stomach aching from not eating all day, combined with menstrual cramps in her lower abdomen—she could barely stand straight.

The patients in the ward retired early, so she couldn’t make calls inside the room.

Night light spilled through the window at the corridor’s end, casting blurry moonlight on her face.

Zhao Shanqi answered the phone, repeatedly confirming: “It’s Xie Huai’s mother?”

Xiaxia felt exhausted. The physical pain was bearable, but the feeling from deep in her heart—a complex mixture of emotions and unspeakable despair—was not.

Zhao Shanqi said: “Wait a moment, my New Year’s money is with my father. I’ll ask him for it.”

Zhao Shanqi put down the phone and hurried away, returning shortly: “Xiaxia, wait a moment, I need to talk to my father.”

“My father won’t let me lend the money but don’t worry. I’ll list some of my bags on Xianyu, and I’ll transfer you the money when they sell,” Zhao Shanqi sounded close to tears. “Can you wait a week? It’ll take some time.”

“It’s alright,” Xiaxia said quietly. “Don’t trouble yourself if it’s difficult.”

Zhao Jinsong’s voice came through the phone, followed by Zhao Shanqi’s voice suddenly cutting off—someone had hung up.

A payment notification popped up on her phone—Zhu Ziyu had transferred her five thousand yuan.

Zhu Ziyu: [Zhiming said he just invested his money a few days ago and doesn’t have any on hand. I’ve transferred all my money to you. Did Shanqi respond?]

Xiaxia didn’t reply.

The overhead lights finally came on in the dim corridor. She sat on the cold floor hugging her knees, staring blankly.

Though the light wasn’t bright, it seemed to sting her eyes, making her squint involuntarily.

She couldn’t help but wonder if during those twenty-four hours, Xie Huai had felt the same way she did now—being rejected again and again, constantly worried about her safety. Moreover, the pressure Xie Huai had endured was far greater than what she was bearing now. She suddenly understood the state of mind that had led to his emotional outburst that night when he suggested breaking up.

But I’m not Xie Huai, she thought desperately. In her heart, Xie Huai was omnipotent, strong, and resilient—nothing could defeat him.

Before today, Xiaxia hadn’t thought of herself as weak, but now she couldn’t help wishing she could be a little weaker.

—If being weak would help.

Xie Huai had given her contact information to the doctor before losing consciousness. If anything happened to Qiao Ru before he woke up, Xiaxia didn’t know how she would explain it to him.

She pressed her forehead against her raised knees, her pants growing damp from the tears streaming down her face.

She’d cried more in these two days than in her entire life combined.

Her phone rang—it was Zhao Jinsong’s number.

Xiaxia answered, but there was silence on the other end for a long time.

After quite a while, Zhao Jinsong’s distinctively deep voice spoke.

“Do you remember what you told me in the car that day when I drove you back to school?” His tone was flat, emotionless. “You said being poor wasn’t a big deal for twenty-year-olds. Do you still think that way?”

Xiaxia struggled to swallow her sobs as she stood up, gripping the phone: “Uncle Zhao, can you lend me the money? You can set whatever interest rate you want. I’ll repay it.”

Zhao Jinsong laughed: “When Shanqi asks me for pocket money, it’s in tens of thousands. Her cheapest coat costs four figures.”

“Do I seem like someone who cares about interest?”

Xiaxia said: “I know eighty thousand isn’t much to you…”

“Xiaxia,” Zhao Jinsong interrupted, “You haven’t answered my question. Before, you preferred a poor twenty-year-old boy over me. Do you still feel the same way?”

Xiaxia remained silent.

“I didn’t let Shanqi lend you money because what you said that night hurt me deeply,” Zhao Jinsong said mockingly. “I spent half my life building up my current business and social status. I was willing to humble myself to pursue you, but in your heart, I couldn’t even compare to some young boy.”

“Eighty thousand isn’t much to me—I wouldn’t even care if I threw it in the trash. Yet this same amount is what you desperately need but can’t get your hands on right now.”

Xiaxia’s cheeks bore traces of dried tears, her face ghastly pale in the light.

“I won’t lend you the money,” Zhao Jinsong said. “I’ll give it to you.”

“Whether to take it or not is your choice, but I’m not a philanthropist,” he asked. “I’m a businessman. Do you understand what I mean?”