Here is the corrected and polished version of your text:
Zhao Wei's legs would not move.
He lay at the bottom of the stairwell with his cheek pressed against the cold concrete and slapped the side of his thigh with his palm—once, twice—hard enough to sting. Nothing. Below the hips, there was only silence. Not pain, not numbness exactly, just absence, as if the connection had been unplugged.
"Why? Why won't my legs move?!"
He hit them again. "Damn it. I need to run away." Another hit. "They're numb… they're completely…"
Above him, he heard the villain's footsteps on the stairs. Slow. Deliberate. The sound of someone who had stopped being in a hurry because the thing she was chasing was no longer going anywhere.
"How dare that rodent!!"
She came around the landing and stopped.
Zhao Wei looked up at her. She looked down at him—battered, hair wild, the red mark from the monitor still livid across her cheekbone. Then her eyes moved past him, and something changed in her expression. The fury downshifted into something more careful.
"So," she said. "You've been waiting here."
Zhao Wei turned his head.
Xue Lian stood at the foot of the stairs.
She had not been there a moment ago. She was there now—black uniform, dark hair, completely still—with a glowing disc balanced between the fingers of her right hand, held with the casual ease of someone holding a pen. Her eyes were fixed on the villain above. Her expression was the same as it always was.
Zhao Wei stared at her.
Then he looked back at the villain.
The villain stepped down one stair, then stopped again. She seemed to be running her own calculations, the way Zhao Wei ran his—reading distance, angle, and the quality of attention in Xue Lian's eyes.
"Why are you just sitting here, I wonder," she said to Zhao Wei instead, with a lightness that did not reach her eyes. "After running away like that."
"Who the hell are you?!" Zhao Wei pushed himself up on his arms. His legs were still useless, but anger apparently did not require legs. "Why are you doing this to me?! What did I ever do to you?!"
"Who knows?" The villain smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "How about you go ask your amazing master?"
She turned back to Xue Lian. Something moved across her face—spite, calculation, the particular expression of someone who had decided that if she was going to lose this exchange, she would at least take something with her on the way out.
"And by the way..." Her eyes cut back to Zhao Wei. "I should get back at you for ruining my face."
She came down the last three stairs fast.
Zhao Wei threw his arms up, but with no legs under him, there was nothing to push against and nowhere to go. Her hair caught him the same way it had upstairs—wrapping, pinning, immovable. The impacts that followed were not measured or strategic. They were simply pain, delivered systematically, the way someone settles a personal account.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
He stopped counting after the fourth.
She stepped back eventually, panting, and crouched beside him with the delighted expression of someone examining something they had thoroughly ruined.
"AHAHAHA! Look at this red blood!" Her voice had gone strange and hungry. She leaned closer. "Oh my… such fragrant blood…"
He felt the edge of something sharp against his arm and understood she was about to take what she had come for—his blood, laced with Xue Lian's power, useful for drawing Semani out of hiding. He had no legs. His arms were still partially pinned. He had approximately one thing left.
He grabbed her wrist.
Both hands, with all the grip he had left, closed around her wrist before the blade could do what it intended.
"AAAAHHH! MY WRIST!!"
She reeled back. He held on. Her hair convulsed, striking him again, but she was off-balance now, shrieking, and her aim was wrong.
"WHAT PUNK—?!"
A sound came from the top of the stairwell. Both of them looked up.
Xue Lian stood at the head of the stairs with a glowing disc in her hand and her eyes fixed on the villain with the focused calm of someone who had finished deciding what to do and was now simply doing it. The light from the disc cast sharp shadows down the stairwell.
The villain went still.
"Xe—Xue Lian?" Her voice had changed entirely. The hunger and spite were gone, replaced by something that was not quite fear but lay adjacent to it.
Xue Lian descended two steps. "How did you—"
She moved.
GRAB. Her hand closed around the villain's collar with a speed that did not match the measured pace of her descent. One motion, no wasted movement, carrying the full weight of everything she was.
THROW.
The villain left the stairwell the way Zhao Wei's coins left a pencil case—fast and certain, and at exactly the right angle. She hit the wall across the landing with a sound that the building probably registered three floors up and slid down it in a heap of tangled dark hair and torn white fabric.
The stairwell went quiet.
Zhao Wei lay on the floor, stared at the ceiling, and took breaths that did not seem to matter. In two weeks, he had been killed, resurrected, declared undead, identified as a target, beaten twice by a woman whose hair was a weapon, and had his legs stop working at the worst possible moment. He was genuinely beginning to feel that the universe had selected him for something specific.
Above him, Xue Lian stood and looked at the villain without saying a word.
The villain, from the floor, looked back up at her and said nothing either.