“The circus troupe’s tiger cage broke. One of the tigers escaped.” Shi Ting was scanning the distance — the lantern-lit fairgrounds in the distance, searching for something amid the chaos of overturned stalls and scattered debris.

Circus tigers, however well-trained, still retained their primal instincts. A loose tiger in the middle of a festival crowd would inevitably cause pandemonium.

“Cover your ears.” Shi Ting’s sudden instruction left Yan Qing momentarily frozen — yet it held some inexplicable pull, and she found her hands rising involuntarily to press over her ears.

She had seen it too, just now — the panicking tiger, not far away, its savage nature being further provoked by the stampeding crowd all around it.

A small girl, separated from her family in the chaos, sat in the middle of the road weeping, completely unaware of the danger closing in on her.

Yan Qing watched as Shi Ting drew the pistol from his holster. His arm extended level, taking aim toward the crowd ahead.

From the stage to where the tiger stood was at least forty meters. A handgun’s effective range was only fifty meters — long-distance shooting at that range risked insufficient stopping power. And with the tiger surrounded on all sides by running people, firing now meant the probability of actually hitting the animal was almost…

She was still caught up in her concerns when two shots rang out close to her ear. She looked — the tiger, mid-lunge, slammed heavily to the ground directly in front of the little girl. Instantly stripped of any capacity to resist, only its four limbs still twitched and shuddered.

Those two shots had hit the tiger squarely in the head with flawless precision. Yan Qing made no attempt to hide her shock and disbelief. Marksmanship like that could only be described as supernatural. This man…

Shi Ting holstered his pistol and turned to look back at her.

Yan Qing was sitting at the edge of the stage, her two legs dangling over the side. Her small face was tilted upward, and those bright, clear eyes were staring fixedly at him — like a small animal that had just had a terrible fright, equal parts amusing and endearing.

She was wearing a cream-colored velour plaid trouser today, its fabric wrapping her two slender legs. His gaze dropped for an instant before he strode over toward her.

“You’re injured?”

Yan Qing assumed he meant her hands and lifted them up, giving them a small wave. “Just a scrape — I’m fine.”

“Your leg.” He pointed to her lower leg. “It’s bleeding quite a lot.”

Only then did Yan Qing notice that her right trouser leg was already soaked through with blood. She must have struck it when she fell from the wheelchair, yet she had felt nothing at all.

“I’ll take you to the hospital first.” Shi Ting crouched down. “Forgive me again.”

Before she could say a word, he had already lifted her up in his arms. With his height, holding her was like carrying a child — entirely effortless.

But Yan Qing became flustered, not knowing where to put her hands, and could only tuck them neatly against her own chest.

“Hold on.” His voice was low. “There are a lot of people in the street.”

Yan Qing saw that his expression was completely composed — not a trace of any romantic intention in it at all. She told herself: if a man could be so natural and straightforward about it, then being coy on her part would only make her look small-minded. So, after he had taken a few steps, she slowly stretched out both hands and gripped the front of his leather jacket.

The moment he felt a pair of soft hands take hold of him, his footsteps seemed to falter for just an instant — but he recovered at once and walked on as before.

“Is it really alright for you to just leave like this? My injury isn’t serious.” Though the tiger was dead, the festival grounds were still in a state of chaos.

“The precinct has already sent people over. Jian Chuan is there too — it’s fine.” Shi Ting paused briefly, then added, “You’re well-versed in medicine. You should know — losing too much blood can kill a person.”

—