Chapter 96 18

Chapter 96: 18

It was a rare weekend, free from work or cases.

The group chatted as they ate.

Receiving no response, He Lin finally dropped the topic and casually remarked, "By the way, Liu Fengsheng..." As soon as he uttered the name, He Lin seemed to recall something, and his expression shifted. "He hasn't gotten into trouble, has he?"

Only then did He Lin realize it had been a long time since he'd heard any news about Liu Fengsheng. And during the meal, the others hadn’t brought up anything related to him either.

He Yuan was startled: "You—don’t say such things. Isn’t Old Liu based long-term in Southeast Asia?"

Zhu Xiaonian added, "Yeah, last I heard he was doing just fine."

He Lin breathed a sigh of relief. "That’s good. Earlier this year, I got a really strange call. I thought it might have something to do with him."

Zhu Xiaonian asked, "What kind of call?"

He Lin thought back: "A critical condition notification from a hospital, saying I was the emergency contact. But I definitely never left my number with that hospital. The line was full of static, and no one said anything. Then they hung up."

Zhu Xiaonian said, "How could they mess up something that serious?" The moment he said it, his expression suddenly changed.

He Yuan quickly jumped in to cover for him: "Must be some new kind of scam. You know, like those calls where they pretend a family member’s been in a car accident and need money for hospital fees."

Zhu Xiaonian caught on fast too, hastily shoveling food into his mouth while mumbling, "Right, right. They were definitely trying to get you to transfer money. What kind of scammer would be dumb enough to try that on a police officer?"

After lying, Zhu Xiaonian realized his palms were damp with sweat. Thankfully, he and He Yuan were professionals and seamlessly steered the conversation back on track.

The other two at the table knew exactly who would have listed He Lin as an emergency contact.

They also knew exactly how dangerous the situation had been back then, and why the hospital had called He Lin.

They had watched Rong Qing go from being full of ambition to where he was now.

Only He Lin was unaware. He let out a sigh of relief: "Looking back, I was afraid Liu Fengsheng had listed me and I’d forgotten, causing some delay. I’m glad he’s okay."

Li Shang sat to the side, pale but composed.

While He Lin wasn’t looking, he raised his glass and downed his beer in one go. The beer was cold and bitter.

Then, as the lazy Susan turned, he grabbed another bottle.

Zhu Xiaonian saw this and reached out to stop him.

But He Yuan grabbed his arm under the table, shooting Zhu Xiaonian a look that said, Let him drink. Not drinking would be worse.

With the alcohol buzzing in his system, Li Shang’s memories flashed back two years, to when it had just happened…

.

After the joint operation, as the Lily Compound crumbled, nearly a thousand people boarded planes and were repatriated. The criminals received their due punishment, and the displaced were reunited with their families.

Everything was condensed into a news report, just a hundred words or so. But only those who had been through it knew how much blood had been shed and how many sacrifices had been made.

Identification, interrogations, document sorting—Rong Qing threw himself into the work almost without rest, barely taking a break.

At the same time, he kept a close watch on He Lin’s condition.

On the day the compound was breached, He Lin was airlifted by helicopter to a renowned domestic hospital. Multiple specialists consulted on his case, and he underwent two surgeries. His mother stayed by his side, caring for him.

Good news trickled in steadily. Thanks to timely treatment, He Lin was soon out of critical condition. He woke up three days later, but inevitably, the bullet grazing his brain left some minor aftereffects—his memory of certain events was fuzzy.

But all things considered, it was a good outcome.

Later, when things had calmed down a bit, Rong Qing hurried to see He Lin, only to be met with He Lin’s confused eyes and the question: "Who are you?"

That meeting then triggered He Lin’s first postoperative hemorrhage.

Watching He Lin bleed from his nose and mouth and collapse, Rong Qing froze for a second before rushing forward to catch him. But He Lin’s mother got there first, supporting her son.

All Rong Qing could do was press the call button.

The room descended into chaos as doctors and nurses rushed in, wheeling He Lin back to the ICU.

A while later, the attending physician called them into his office: "Did you do something to agitate the patient? He just had brain surgery not long ago. Hemorrhaging and infection could happen at any time. This bleed wasn’t too severe, and we’ve stopped it, but next time we might not be so lucky."

Rong Qing asked, "What counts as agitation?"

"Arguing, overexertion, staying up late, even pushing him to remember—all of it. Don’t bring up anything that could upset him emotionally, and don’t let him see people," the doctor said impatiently. "He’s in recovery right now. The priority is keeping him alive, isn’t it?"

Frowning, Rong Qing asked, "When will he be back to normal?"

The doctor said, "It’s hard to say. Could be a few months, but to be safe, at least a year or two. We’ll need to run more tests later."

He Lin’s mother, more familiar with the doctor, lowered her head. "We’ll be more careful from now on."

The two of them left the doctor’s office.

The woman stood across from him, apologetic. "Captain Rong, you’ve seen how things are. I’ve discussed it with him—his health isn’t suitable for staying on the team anymore. I live in Yuncheng, and I’ve heard it’s easier to transfer there. Could you help arrange for him to work there later?"

He paused, then said, "Okay. I’ll handle the paperwork."

Not long after came He Lin’s second postoperative hemorrhage. That time, Rong Qing deleted all related information from his phone.

He realized they couldn’t be together like before.

Even if they met again, He Lin wouldn’t know him.

In the end, he would become just a passerby in He Lin’s life.

After that day, he never saw He Lin again.

He deliberately didn’t pick him up when he was discharged.

But there was still much to do. He handled all the procedures for He Lin, signing page after page. He also planned out He Lin’s future, pulling strings everywhere, even though that future no longer included him.

Housing in Yuncheng wasn’t cheap. He Lin wasn’t young anymore—he ought to buy a place, and he should have a car too.

He Lin’s bank card was with him, and he knew the PIN. There wasn’t enough money in it.

He went to a nearby bank to withdraw money from his own account, then to an ATM at the base to deposit it bit by bit into He Lin’s card.

As the ATM counted the money, he stood there waiting slowly. The night was cold and long. Feeling unwell, he leaned against the ATM booth glass to rest awhile before continuing. He watched the balance on He Lin’s card gradually increase.

He spent the whole night transferring money, then had He Yuan deliver the card to He Lin.

When friends went to see He Lin off, and later at his discharge ceremony, Rong Qing made excuses not to attend.

He tried to erase He Lin from his life—deleting him as a friend, giving away his things, avoiding the foods He Lin had made for him. Only those fridge magnets remained.

He poured his energy into other areas, pushing himself harder in rehab and training.

Due to his injuries, he could no longer return to his previous peak condition, but he remained a top-tier operative in special forces.

Drawing on years of accumulated experience, he continued to run missions, often heading into the most dangerous zones.

He had grown accustomed to the pain; when it flared up, he merely got a little pale, no longer letting others detect any signs. Even when he wasn’t feeling well, he was more than capable of taking down targets.

Time passed swiftly, seasons flew by from spring to winter in the blink of an eye. He spent his birthday alone.

In the two years since He Lin left, most missions had gone smoothly. The A Team members slowly rotated out—some transferred to local police forces, others retired—and were replaced by newcomers from Team B.

Tianning Base never lacked eager, dedicated young operatives.

As new recruits joined, he remained the hardass, unapproachable captain in their eyes.

He immersed himself in work, though forgetting proved painful and slow.

He declined promotions offered by leadership, stubbornly digging in his heels at Dragon Flame, as if waiting for someone who would never return.

It seemed as though nothing had changed, yet everything felt different.

He Yuan occasionally brought up He Lin; he appeared indifferent but never interrupted.

He knew He Lin had recovered and returned to duty, assigned to some small, backwater department—the Missing Persons Investigation Unit. He'd had no idea such a team existed within the Yuncheng Public Security Bureau.

He heard He Lin was damn good, solving many cases.

When others praised He Lin’s excellence, he would say flatly, "Of course, after all, he was trained by me."

Yet, deep down, it felt as though his dog had happily run off, too far to see, leaving him behind.

Later, He Yuan went abroad for studies, and Liu Fengsheng was stationed overseas long-term. Of their recruitment class, only Zhu Xiaonian remained. As those who knew He Lin scattered, no one mentioned that name in his life anymore.

He had finally wiped him completely from his life.

.

Two years after He Lin left, in the spring of this year, the Changting Mountain incident occurred. Police tracked down a group of gunrunners smuggling arms into the country and discovered their ammunition warehouse in a three-story building at the mountain’s base.

Dragon Flame took on the arrest mission. During the raid, Rong Qing realized the actual explosives stockpile there was more than double the intelligence estimate.

At the critical moment, the criminals, desperate to escape, ignited the warehouse to destroy evidence. Rong Qing caught on to what they were planning early and ordered both squads to retreat from the most dangerous zone, but he still got caught in the blast.

At the time, he was providing rear guard on the periphery of the explosion’s core.

Retreat was no longer possible. A series of deafening blasts erupted beside him, the violent blast echoing in his ears.

Half the building was destroyed by the intense explosion.

He had been holding a ballistic shield, but the thick shield was torn apart like paper, split right down the middle. His tactical vest was pierced instantly by something, and chunks of debris came down on him. It felt as though his body was being torn apart from within, then buried under rubble.

He briefly lost consciousness before being dragged from the wreckage.

"Rong Qing!" When his name was called, he was out of it for a second.

Just waking from unconsciousness, he instinctively murmured, "He Lin…"

It took a moment before he recognized the caller as Zhu Xiaonian.

Gasping for air, Rong Qing tried to figure out where he was hurt but couldn’t discern anything. The shattered ballistic shield had only protected his head and legs. Every breath sent stabbing pains through his chest and gut. Something felt lodged inside him, and a fragment had embedded itself near his waist—for a moment, he thought his back might be broken.

"Captain Rong, I've got you." Zhu Xiaonian’s eyes were red, his voice choked up as he struggled to support him. Rong Qing’s dead weight hung on Zhu Xiaonian.

Zhu Xiaonian got an arm around his waist from behind. With every step, Rong Qing’s body shook uncontrollably, leaving a trail of blood that was scary to look at.

Over those few dozen meters, he couldn’t speak, clenching his teeth through the pain.

Once they reached the command truck, Zhu Xiaonian helped him into the back seat near the door, trembling as he said, "We need to stem the bleeding, stem the bleeding first…"

Frantic, Zhu Xiaonian tried to check the wound, reaching to tear open his clothes.

Rong Qing felt the wound near his heart strain. Summoning his strength, he pushed Zhu Xiaonian’s hand away. "Don’t…" He meant it was pointless—better to leave it to the medics.

But Zhu Xiaonian misunderstood, snapping urgently, "With this much blood loss, you might not hold on until the ambulance gets here. Do you want to die?"

He knew Zhu Xiaonian meant well and was right, but he felt nauseous and couldn’t speak, too wiped to explain his injuries.

As Zhu Xiaonian tried to rip the combat gear, Rong Qing pressed a hand over his chest. Unable to rip it open, Zhu Xiaonian was getting desperate. Meeting Rong Qing’s pale face, he shot back, "Is it because I’m not He Lin?"

Hearing that, Rong Qing knew Zhu Xiaonian had overheard him earlier.

Rong Qing jerked violently, biting back excruciating pain as he bit out two words: "Shut up!"

But Zhu Xiaonian persisted, "Does it have to be He Lin who undresses you? He’s long gone!"

The words hit like a knife to the heart, freezing Rong Qing in place.

Zhu Xiaonian peeled back Rong Qing’s clenched hand from his chest and looked down, his eyes widening in disbelief.

A hollow steel pipe, about the thickness of a finger, was embedded just below Rong Qing’s ribs, right near his heart. It was impossible to tell how deep it had penetrated, nailing the combat gear right into his body, blood still oozing from the wound.

Without a doctor, that suit couldn’t be removed.

Zhu Xiaonian’s eyes welled up; he immediately regretted his words.

Seeing Zhu Xiaonian’s shocked, guilt-ridden expression, Rong Qing didn’t need to scold him. Pale-faced, he gave a weak laugh, then coughed up a mouthful of blood.

The warm blood splattered onto Zhu Xiaonian’s face. He slapped himself twice, stammering an apology, "Rong… Captain Rong, I’m worthless… Yell at me… hit me if you want…"

Rong Qing didn’t blame him. After spitting blood and getting his breath back, he felt able to speak again.

Blinking slowly, he said softly to Zhu Xiaonian, "Sorry you had to see me like this. Can you lend me a cigarette?"

Zhu Xiaonian was the only one in the team who smoked, though Rong Qing had confiscated countless packs from him before.

Zhu Xiaonian never expected Rong Qing to ask for a cigarette now. Trembling, he handed him one. Seeing Rong Qing couldn’t move easily, Zhu Xiaonian placed the cigarette between his bloodless lips and lit it with a lighter.

Rong Qing flinched in pain, his forehead damp with cold sweat, body shaking lightly.

He took a deep drag, using the tobacco’s sharp sting in his throat to numb some of the agony.

He hated cigarettes—as a child, the mahjong players at his aunt’s house would fill the room with smoke, and his father would chain-smoke when stuck on a case.

Though he disliked it, those days steeped in secondhand smoke had conditioned him to calm down at the smell of tobacco.

He knew nicotine could numb nerves and ease pain.

Sporadic gunfire still echoed from the half-collapsed building.

Rong Qing knew clearly: the fight wasn’t over yet, and he couldn’t afford to collapse. Stopping now could trap both squads.

But if he didn’t light up now, he feared he’d pass out from the pain.

Rong Qing’s eyes were half-closed as he smoked the cigarette, using the faint wisps of smoke to steady himself.

He picked up the radio earpiece and reinserted it into his ear. Fortunately, the line was still open.

His voice was weak but firm: "All teams, report your positions, casualties, and status of your surroundings..."

Rong Qing endured the excruciating pain, completely ignoring his wounds, holding the cigarette between his fingers as smoke curled around his face.

"If the lower passage has collapsed, they should exit through Exit 4."

"Team One, continue forward... um... cough... Team Two, set up intercept."

He leaned weakly against the back of the command vehicle's seat, tilting his chin up slightly to exhale a puff of white smoke.

Besides the steel pipe piercing his chest, his ribs were likely broken too. His severely injured chest rose and fell weakly with his shallow breaths, each movement tugging at endless agony.

"Only three left? They might be southwest of your position."

"Don't enter the eastern rooms—there could be danger."

He strained to endure, large beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. His mind remained clear, each word spoken through trembling lips as he struggled to speak clearly, though occasional groans escaped when the pain became unbearable.

Blood occasionally trickled from the corner of his mouth, and bright red blood flowed down his leg dangling by the car door, forming a frightening puddle on the ground.

Zhu Xiaonian, watching nearby, was going crazy, completely falling apart.

One moment he was crying on the phone: "Dad... do you know the best doctors at the hospitals here..."

The next he was cursing furiously: "Where's the ambulance? How much longer?"

Then he'd rush back to Rong Qing's side, pleading: "Captain Rong, you gotta hold on."

Rong Qing lacked the energy to respond until he heard through the earpiece: "Primary suspect has been located. Apprehension mission complete."

"Coordinate with weapons management and bomb disposal teams... clear the area..." After saying this, everything went black for Rong Qing, the bloodstained cigarette butt falling from his hand.

At that moment, his life seemed as faint and fragile as that dying cigarette.

Afterwards, his consciousness flickered intermittently like a flickering candle, wavering between light and darkness, with vague shadows gradually appearing before his eyes.

Later, his awareness slowly returned—blurry figures in white moved around him, and the beeping of medical equipment sounded in his ears.

"Wake up... emergency contact..." Distant voices seemed to drift from somewhere far away.

Rong Qing mustered all his strength, clinging desperately to that wisp of fading consciousness.

In his final moments, it was almost instinctual—his pale lips parted slightly, trembling as he laboriously uttered numbers burned into his memory: "137...74..."

After struggling to voice those digits, Rong Qing finally emerged from the deep darkness.

He forced his eyes open, finding himself in a pre-operative room. Perhaps because doctors weren't yet ready, the surgery hadn't begun, and anesthesia hadn't been administered.

His blood-soaked tactical gloves had been removed by nurses, an IV needle inserted at his wrist. Several openings had been carefully cut in his chest clothing, revealing the bloody wound. A doctor was performing basic bleeding control procedures while nurses connected him to a vital signs monitor.

A doctor verified nearby: "The phone number matches the documents. Make the call."

A nurse pressed the phone buttons, dialing until the busy signal sounded. Only then did Rong Qing suddenly realize—

That number belonged to He Lin...

Realizing this, Rong Qing's heart clenched.

He instinctively wanted to prevent the call, desperately trying to rise from the surgical bed, but all strength seemed drained through his wounds. The slightest movement brought sharp pain to his chest and waist. He gasped, throat tight, rendering him temporarily speechless.

A nurse turned nearby, softly saying: "No one's answering."

Rong Qing was pressed back onto the bed. Hearing this news, he felt mixed emotions—perhaps tinged with regret.

He suddenly realized this injury differed from previous ones.

If he truly didn't make it, he wouldn't even hear He Lin's voice again.

In the preparation room, the anesthesiologist delayed finalizing the anesthesia assessment plan.

Rong Qing's body grew increasingly weak. He began coughing up blood violently—warm blood continuously gushing from his mouth. To prevent choking, doctors raised the head of the bed, instructing him to turn sideways to spit.

Doctors continuously coordinated surgical preparations over the radio.

"It's not possible—the surgery's too difficult. The patient might not make it."

"Get Director Pang for consultation..."

"Someone contacted Dr. Song—they're already on the way."

Some doctors rushed to summon hospital specialists while other nurses hurriedly prepared surgical equipment.

Amidst tormenting pain, Rong Qing's consciousness blurred until he suddenly heard the phone ring again.

The same nurse who'd placed the call answered: "Hello, is this He Lin? This is Ningcheng First People's Hospital. We've admitted a critical patient in grave condition. You're listed as emergency contact..."

"Who is this?" The voice on the other end suddenly spoke unexpectedly, clearly transmitting through the receiver into Rong Qing's ears. "I don't think I've registered any contacts there."

He heard it—He Lin's voice.

That familiar tone, which had whispered in his ear countless times, now felt like an icy blade piercing his body.

"His name is..." The nurse looked down to check the form.

Rong Qing's heart pounded violently, his face pale as paper. He weakly shook his head in protest: "No... don't..."

The nurse paused in astonishment, her eyes full of confusion.

Rong Qing opened his mouth, laboriously uttering: "He doesn't know me... tell him it's a wrong number..."

The nurse clearly didn't understand his intention, attempting to protest: "But..."

Rong Qing used his final strength to raise his hand, trying to grasp the nurse's sleeve. His trembling hand traced a feeble arc through the air, practically begging: "Don't let him... know I'm like this..."

His chest ached unbearably, not just from that damned steel pipe.

It felt like a scalpel had sliced open his thorax, wringing his heart in a merciless grip.

The nurse held the receiver, momentarily bewildered—torn between a severely injured, delirious patient desperately pleading for secrecy, and an officially registered contact requiring truthful notification.

Her instincts leaned toward... telling the truth to the person on the phone.

Rong Qing sharply noticed the nurse's hesitation. Frantic, he gripped the bedrail tightly, mustering his last strength despite grave injuries to desperately pull at the nurse's hand. Somehow, sudden strength surged through him, lifting his upper body. His sideways position lost balance, the bedrail tilted, and he plummeted straight from the medical bed.

The connected vital signs monitor jerked violently aside with him, and the IV was torn out completely.

Rong Qing felt the steel pipe inside his body seemed to jam deeper, his chest contracting violently as the veins on his forehead bulged. He retched violently, vomiting a large mouthful of blood.

The critically injured patient, who had been unable to move just moments before, suddenly rose and collapsed off the bed. This unexpected turn of events caught everyone off guard, and several gasps rang out through the preparation room.

The nurse on the phone was so frightened that she dropped the receiver and rushed over to help.

Doctors and nurses hurried to get Rong Qing back onto the bed.

Rong Qing’s face grew even paler. Ignoring the IV needle tearing through veins, he clutched the nurse’s hand, his voice shaking badly: "Don’t… don’t say anything… Tell him it was a wrong number."

His eyes were pleading, while several of his wounds continued to bleed.

He was like a fish out of water, struggling for every breath. The fall had clearly worsened his condition, and the vital signs monitor beside him was going wild.

The nurse hesitated, then picked up the phone again. She looked uneasily back at Rong Qing, meeting his despairing yet faintly hopeful gaze.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke with great difficulty, delivering the news: "They hung up."

Perhaps it was because the wait was too long, or perhaps due to some urgent matter. Maybe they genuinely thought it was a wrong number, or maybe they assumed the call would be returned.

But whatever the reason, the moment Rong Qing heard this news, the hope drained from his eyes, and his still-outstretched hand dropped silently.

He had thought this was what he wanted, but when it actually happened, he learned what true despair felt like.

In that moment, the strength Rong Qing had been holding onto crumbled.

He had been deceiving himself all along—he was not okay, he had not forgotten He Lin completely, and he ached to see him.

And he finally saw with brutal clarity that while he desperately wanted to hide the truth from He Lin, what he wanted even more was to see him, to tell him in person: I might be dying. My name is Rong Qing. I used to be your classmate, back when I was called Jiang Shangxue. I hope you remember me.

But he couldn’t. Even more cruel was the fact that the present-day He Lin wouldn't care if he lived or died.

The moment this thought crossed his mind, the heart that had been stubbornly beating quietly broke.

For a moment, Rong Qing even felt an impulse to get up, call He Lin himself, and tell him how much he missed him and how much he wanted to see him—that all the earlier resistance and refusal were merely his last bit of pride.

But now, he no longer cared about dignity. He only wanted He Lin.

But it was too late. Though his mind raced frantically, his body was gradually stiffening, and he could no longer move.

Rong Qing could feel his consciousness slowly slipping away from his body. He no longer had the strength to open his mouth to speak a single word or syllable.

His vision gradually darkened; he couldn't make out shapes or sounds, as if he were about to be completely shut out from the world.

What he wanted to keep, he couldn’t hold onto; whom he wanted to see, he couldn’t reach; what he wanted to say, he couldn’t utter in time.

Even with a thousand regrets in his heart, Rong Qing could do nothing more.

So, so be it.

His will to live instantly bottomed out.

Rong Qing had always been someone who never backed down. But in that moment, he gave up all struggle and resistance.

Lying on the hospital bed, his face was ashen, his eyes slowly closing as his body trembled uncontrollably. Warm blood welled from his mouth, staining the white pillow in bright, shocking red.

At the same time, two lines of tears slid from the corners of his eyes onto the pillow—his body's response to agony, impossible to suppress.

He knew he shouldn’t be crying now, but he couldn’t stop, as if he were repaying all the tears he'd been holding in for years, all at once.

His last connection to this world had finally been severed.

The machines connected to his body blared urgent alarms.

"Blood pressure dropping…"

"Irregular heart rate…"

"O2 stats crashing…"

"Get epi ready…"

The last sound he heard seemed to be, "Dr. Song is here…"

At that moment, his consciousness, like a shooting star, sank into an endless abyss.