Doctor Zhao quietly packed the last of his instruments.
The thermometer had been wiped clean. The syringes had been capped. The medical case clicked shut with a soft, final sound. Lin Chuan's fever had dropped slightly after the medication, but he remained asleep, his breathing uneven. The flush on his cheeks had faded to a pale pink, but his lips were still cracked. His fingers still twitched against the sheets.
"He'll recover physically."
The doctor closed his medical case and straightened his coat. He looked at the two men waiting beside the bed.
Chairman Ling stood with his cane resting against the floor. His white hair was disheveled. His robe was hastily tied. He'd come straight from his bedroom, slippers still on his feet. His eyes were fixed on his grandson's face.
Ling Xu had not moved from the bedside since arriving home. His jacket was still draped over the chair. His sleeves were still rolled up. His tie hung loose around his neck. His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd run his fingers through it one too many times.
Doctor Zhao hesitated before continuing. He'd been the family physician for twenty years. He'd seen Ling Xu cold, distant, unapproachable. He'd never seen him like this. Sitting by a bedside. Holding a hand. Refusing to leave.
"The fever wasn't caused by his injuries."
"I know."
Ling Xu's voice was calm. Flat. The same voice he used in boardrooms, in negotiations, in moments when others broke.
"It was psychological."
Doctor Zhao nodded slowly.
"His body reacted to an extreme emotional shock. He experienced severe fear. The kind of fear that doesn't come from physical danger alone. It comes from the mind. From memory. From things that have been buried too long." He glanced at the sleeping young man. "Combined with the suicide attempt a few days ago, his mind hasn't had a chance to recover. The wounds on his wrists were healing. But the wounds inside..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
"Nightmares, panic attacks, sudden crying. They're all possible. The fever was his body's way of forcing a shutdown. It's a survival mechanism, but it's not a healthy one." He turned back toward the two men. "I recommend finding him a psychologist. The sooner the better. Someone who specializes in trauma. Someone who can help him process what he's been through."
Neither man spoke immediately.
Chairman Ling's grip on his cane tightened. His knuckles were white. He'd watched his grandson fade over the years. Watched him become quieter, smaller, more withdrawn. He'd told himself it was just a phase. That the boy would grow out of it. That money and opportunities were enough.
He'd been wrong.
Doctor Zhao sighed softly. His voice was gentle.
"Young Master Ling has always carried everything alone. His parents' death. His position in the family. The expectations. The pressure. He never learned to ask for help. He never learned to trust anyone with his pain." He looked at the sleeping young man. "Please don't let him do that again."
With a respectful nod, he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him.
The bedroom fell quiet once more. The fire had died to embers. The only light came from a single lamp on the bedside table, casting long shadows across the walls.
Chairman Ling looked at his grandson for a long time. The boy's face was slack in sleep. Young. Vulnerable. So different from the composed mask he wore during the day.
"I'll contact someone in the morning."
Ling Xu gave a small nod. His eyes never left Lin Chuan's face.
"I'll handle it."
The old man rested a hand on Ling Xu's shoulder. The grip was firm. A gesture of support. Of gratitude. Of shared worry.
"You should get some rest too."
"I will."
Chairman Ling knew it was a lie. But he didn't argue. He simply squeezed once, then released.
He left without saying another word. The door closed gently behind him.
---
The room was lit only by the bedside lamp.
Ling Xu adjusted the blanket over Lin Chuan's shoulder. The fabric was smooth. Expensive. It had been folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and he'd unfolded it with careful precision, tucking the edges around the young man's thin frame.
The fever had left his face flushed, but the color was fading. His skin was damp with sweat. His hair clung to his forehead in dark strands.
Even asleep, his brows remained tightly knitted. His lips were pressed together. His fingers still twitched, reaching for something that wasn't there.
Ling Xu sat back in the chair. His legs were stiff. His back ached. He'd been sitting in this position for hours. He didn't move.
A faint vibration broke the silence.
Buzz.
Lin Chuan's phone lit up on the bedside table. The screen glowed in the dim room, casting a pale rectangle of light across the wooden surface.
Ling Xu glanced at the screen.
'Xu Jian'
A preview of the message appeared.
> You didn't come? I waited for you. Are you okay?
Ling Xu looked at the sleeping figure. At the peaceful expression that had finally settled on his face. At the way his breathing had evened out.
He reached for the phone.
The device unlocked with facial recognition the moment he held it toward Lin Chuan. The camera caught the slack features, the closed eyes, the parted lips. The screen opened to the messages.
Ling Xu opened the conversation.
His thumb scrolled upward.
The further he read, the colder his expression became.
Run away.
Your family doesn't understand you.
They only care about business.
You're just a pawn to them.
Don't trust them.
I'll help you leave.
Message after message. Encouragement after encouragement. A steady stream of words designed to isolate. To undermine. To make Ling Mu feel like he had nowhere else to go.
Every conversation pulled Mu'er a little farther from home. A little farther from the people who actually cared about him. A little farther from safety.
Ling Xu's grip on the phone tightened. The screen creaked under the pressure. He forced himself to relax. The phone was not the enemy. The person on the other end was the enemy.
He continued reading until he reached the most recent messages.
> Don't marry into that family.
> Meet me. There are things you need to know.
His thumb hovered over the screen for only a second.
Block Contact.
Delete Conversation.
The messages disappeared. The name vanished from the contact list. The thread closed.
He placed the phone back exactly where it had been. On the bedside table. Screen down. Silent.
His gaze returned to the young man sleeping beneath the blankets.
Mu'er's breathing had become uneven again. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow gasps. His fingers twitched. His lips parted.
Another nightmare.
Ling Xu reached out almost instinctively. His palm rested lightly against Lin Chuan's forehead. The skin was warm, but no longer burning. He let his hand slide gently through the damp hair, smoothing it back from the flushed forehead.
An almost imperceptible scent drifted into the room. Fresh cedar after rain. Warm. Grounding. The faint trace of an alpha's pheromones, deliberately controlled, deliberately gentle.
Not enough to overwhelm. Only enough to reassure. To soothe. To tell the frightened creature beneath his hand that he was safe.
Lin Chuan's tightly furrowed brows gradually relaxed. His clenched fingers loosened. The restless movements ceased. A long, slow breath escaped him, the exhale of someone finally letting go of tension they'd been holding for years.
Only then did Ling Xu withdraw his hand. He sat back in the chair. His eyes remained fixed on the young man's face.
---
His phone vibrated.
One message. No name. Only a location.
Ling Xu stood. He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged it on. His movements were precise. Controlled. He adjusted his collar. Smoothed his sleeves.
He took one last look at the sleeping young man.
"I'll be back before you wake."
The words were spoken softly enough that even he wasn't sure why he said them. They were unnecessary. Lin Chuan couldn't hear him. He was lost in the depths of fever sleep.
But Ling Xu said them anyway.
He turned off the bedside lamp and left the room.
---
The city looked different after midnight.
Nearly empty. The streets were slick with recent rain. The streetlights reflected across the harbor like broken glass, fractured and shimmering. The wind carried the smell of salt and diesel and wet concrete.
Ling Xu parked beside an abandoned warehouse overlooking the docks. The building was rusted. Dilapidated. The windows were boarded up. The loading bays were empty.
Several men in black suits were already waiting. They stood in a loose semicircle, their faces expressionless. One stepped forward.
"Master. He survived. The doctor patched him up enough to question."
Ling Xu nodded once.
"Where?"
The man pointed toward a shipping container. It sat at the edge of the lot, isolated from the others. The doors were sealed with a heavy padlock.
The lock was removed. The heavy steel doors creaked open.
The smell of rust and blood drifted into the night air. It was thick. Coppery. The smell of someone who had been hurt badly and hadn't been cleaned up.
A man lay on the concrete floor. He was bruised. Bloodied. Barely conscious. His face was swollen, one eye closed, his lip split. His arms were twisted at an unnatural angle. His legs were bound at the ankles.
He looked up the moment he heard footsteps. His good eye widened. His face went pale. The color drained from his already bruised skin.
"P... please..."
Ling Xu stepped inside. The container door closed behind him.
Silence.
He looked down at the man for several seconds. His face was calm. Unreadable. The same face he wore in boardrooms, in negotiations, in moments when others broke.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't warm. It wasn't kind. It was the smile of someone who had finally found somewhere to place his anger. Somewhere it could do some good.
"You made him sick."
The man began shaking. His whole body trembled against the concrete floor. His bound legs scrabbled uselessly.
"I didn't know... I swear. I was just drunk. He was there. He was alone. I didn't know he was anyone important. I swear."
"You made him sick," Ling Xu repeated. His voice was flat. Without inflection. "You cornered him in a bathroom. You locked him in. You made him afraid. You made him cry. And then you made him sick."
The man's breath came in ragged gasps.
"I'm sorry. I'll do anything. Please. I have money. I can pay."
Ling Xu reached toward the wall. A wooden bat rested against a stack of crates. It was old. Scuffed. It had been used before.
He lifted it with one hand. The weight settled comfortably in his grip. He tested it. Balanced it. Found the center of gravity.
"Money...how fascinating, no one has ever offered me what I have."
He took a step forward.
The man screamed.
---
Outside the container, the guards remained motionless. None of them spoke. None of them looked toward the closed doors. They had been instructed not to listen.
Inside, only one sentence broke the silence.
"I have a great deal of frustration to work through."
The bat swung.
The sound that followed was wet. Sharp. The sound of something breaking that wasn't meant to break.
The man's scream cut off.
Another swing.
Another.
The container muffled the sounds. The guards heard nothing. They stared straight ahead at the empty dock.
The bat rose. Fell. Rose again.
Each impact was measured. Deliberate. Ling Xu's face remained calm. His breathing remained steady. His movements were precise.
He worked through his frustration.
When he was done, the bat was slick. The man was silent.
Ling Xu set the bat down. He straightened his jacket. He smoothed his hair.
He walked out of the container without looking back.
The guards closed the doors behind him. They didn't ask what had happened inside. They didn't want to know.
Ling Xu walked to his car. He opened the door. He sat down. He started the engine.
His hands were steady. His breathing was even.
He drove back toward the Ling estate.
The sun was just beginning to rise.