---
The first thing Fang Gongzha heard when consciousness returned was beeping.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Steady. Rhythmic. Annoying.
The second thing was the smell. Antiseptic. Sterile. That distinct hospital smell that clung to everything — the sheets, the air, even his own skin.
He opened his eyes.
White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. An IV drip beside his bed, the liquid falling drop by drop into a tube that disappeared into his right arm.
Where am I?
He turned his head. Pain shot through his neck. Not sharp — more like the dull ache of overused muscles.
The room was small. Pale green walls. A window covered by thin curtains. A plastic chair in the corner. On the chair sat a young woman, slumped forward, her face buried in her hands.
She was crying.
Or had been crying. Her shoulders still trembled slightly.
Gongzha stared at her. Short hair. Glasses. Black leather jacket.
That woman... the one who hit me.
"Hey," he croaked. His throat was dry. His voice came out like sandpaper.
The woman jerked upright. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her mascara had smudged into dark circles under her eyes — not that different from his, he thought absentmindedly.
"YOU'RE AWAKE!" she practically screamed. Then she lowered her voice, remembering they were in a hospital. "You're awake. Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I'm SO sorry. I didn't see you. I swear I didn't see you. The light was bad and you came out of nowhere and—"
"How long?" Gongzha interrupted.
She blinked. "What?"
"How long was I out?"
She bit her lower lip. "Two... two days."
Gongzha's heart stopped.
Two days.
Two days of not going to the hospital. Two days of not seeing Ranlian. Two days of her lying in that bed alone, with no one to hold her hand, no one to tell her that everything would be okay.
He sat up.
Pain flared in his ribs, but he ignored it.
"I need to go," he said.
"WHAT? NO! The doctor said you need to rest. You were in a coma. A COMA. You can't just—"
"I need to go," Gongzha repeated. His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that comes before something breaks.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the cold floor. He was wearing hospital-issued pajamas — thin, pale blue, open at the back. He didn't care.
"Where are your shoes?" the woman asked, panicked. "You don't have shoes. You can't walk without shoes—"
Gongzha didn't answer. He stood up. The floor was cold against his bare feet. He didn't feel it.
He walked toward the door.
"Wait! WAIT! You don't even know where you're going—"
"My sister," Gongzha said without turning around. "Room 307. Third floor."
He opened the door and walked out.
---
The hallway was empty.
Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. The floors were linoleum, scuffed and worn. The walls were the same pale green as his room. Somewhere in the distance, a phone rang.
Gongzha walked.
His legs felt strange. Light. Too light. Like he was walking on clouds instead of cold hospital floors. His body felt... different. Stronger. But also foreign. Like someone had replaced his bones with something lighter while he was unconscious.
He pushed the thought aside.
Ranlian. Focus on Ranlian.
The elevator took too long. He took the stairs. Two steps at a time. His bare feet slapped against the concrete steps, but he didn't feel cold. He didn't feel anything except the growing knot of anxiety in his chest.
Two days. She was alone for two days.
Did anyone check on her? Did the nurses notice she didn't have visitors? Did she think I abandoned her?
She can't think. She's in a coma. She doesn't know anything.
But what if she does?
Third floor.
He pushed open the stairwell door and stepped into another hallway. Same pale green walls. Same humming lights. Same antiseptic smell.
Room 307.
At the end of the hall.
Gongzha walked faster.
His bare feet made soft sounds against the linoleum. Pat. Pat. Pat.
Halfway there.
A nurse walked past him, did a double-take, and opened her mouth to say something. Gongzha didn't stop. He didn't look at her.
Three-quarters of the way.
His heart was pounding. His breath was coming faster. Not from exertion — from fear.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.
He reached the door.
Room 307.
He didn't knock.
He didn't slide it open gently.
He pushed.
---
BAM!
The door didn't just open.
It flew.
Off its hinges. Like it had been hit by a car — which was ironic, considering how Gongzha had ended up in the hospital in the first place.
The heavy wooden door — reinforced with metal plates, bolted to the frame with thick steel hinges — tore free from its moorings and sailed through the air.
One meter.
Two meters.
It landed on the floor with a deafening CRASH that echoed through the entire hallway.
Inside the room, a nurse screamed.
She had been standing beside Ranlian's bed, checking the IV drip. When the door flew past her, missing her by inches, she stumbled backward, clutching her clipboard to her chest like a shield.
"What the— HOW DID YOU— THAT DOOR—"
Gongzha didn't hear her.
He was standing in the doorway. His hand was still extended, frozen in the position of pushing. His mouth was slightly open. His eyes were wide.
He stared at his hand.
His own hand.
The same hand that had struggled to lift tires at the repair shop.
The same hand that had trembled from exhaustion just two days ago.
That hand had just ripped a steel-reinforced door off its hinges.
With one push.
What the hell?
"YOU!" The nurse found her voice. "YOU CAN'T JUST— DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT DOOR COSTS? SECURITY! SOMEONE CALL SECURITY!"
Gongzha lowered his hand.
He didn't look at the nurse.
He looked past her.
At the bed.
At the small figure lying motionless under a thin white sheet.
---
Fang Ranlian.
Fifteen years old. Long black hair spread across the pillow like ink on silk. Pale skin. Too pale. Her lips were tinged with blue — the same blue he had noticed three years ago, when she first fell into this endless sleep.
Her eyes were closed.
Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
She's alive.
Gongzha's knees nearly buckled with relief.
She's still alive.
He walked toward the bed. His bare feet made no sound on the floor. The nurse was still yelling behind him, but her voice faded into background noise.
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
He took Ranlian's hand.
Cold.
Always cold.
Even in summer, even under thick blankets, her hand was always cold. The doctors said it was because of her condition — reduced blood flow, something about her nervous system. They said it was normal.
Gongzha had never believed them.
But he had never known what else to believe.
"Hey," he said softly. His voice was hoarse. "I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday. Or the day before. I got... into an accident."
He laughed bitterly. "Yeah. Two accidents, actually. One after the other. Can you believe that?"
Ranlian didn't respond.
She never did.
"I'm okay, though," he continued. "I don't know how, but I'm okay. No broken bones. No cuts. The doctors said I should be dead, but..."
He looked at his hand. The hand that had just ripped off a door.
"But something's different."
---
Behind him, the commotion was growing.
More nurses had arrived. Someone was calling security. Someone else was examining the broken door, muttering about how impossible it was.
And in the doorway, the young woman who had hit Gongzha with her car stood frozen, her eyes wide.
She had followed him from his room. She had watched him walk barefoot through the hospital. She had seen him push the door.
And she had seen it fly.
"Who... who are you?" she whispered.
Gongzha didn't answer.
He was still holding Ranlian's hand.
Still staring at his own.
Still trying to understand what had happened to his body — and what it meant for the sister he had spent three years trying to protect.
---