Chapter 113 15

Chapter 113: 15

That night, in his Tianning Base apartment, Li Shang struggled to reach for his phone. His vision blurred and swam; it took him a moment to discern the time—already 2 a.m.

He knew he couldn’t go on like this. Mustering his strength, he pushed himself up to find water and take his medicine.

As he swung his legs out of bed, his vision momentarily blackened, his limbs felt like jelly, and he stumbled to the floor. He quickly grabbed the nightstand; had he not reacted fast enough, he would have landed face-first. After a moment, he managed to pull himself upright.

Li Shang switched on the light, but his eyes were still filled with shimmering spots. The moment he emerged from under the covers, a shiver ran through him, and every joint in his body ached.

The distance between the living room and kitchen, usually just a few steps, now felt like an insurmountable chasm. Li Shang lacked the strength and the will to walk over and boil water.

He spotted a bottle of a beverage in the living room. His fever had muddled his mind, making him feel like an overheated processor struggling to function. He couldn't quite recall where the drink had come from, only that it was recent and likely not expired.

Driven by instinct, Li Shang twisted open the bottle and swallowed his fever medicine with the cold drink.

He knew the water was too cold and he shouldn't drink too much, but he was parched. The dry, painful sensation in his throat was unbearable, and his body craved sugar, so he couldn't resist gulping down a few more mouthfuls.

Only after finishing did Li Shang realize he was merely drinking poison to quench his thirst. He hadn't eaten dinner, leaving his stomach empty. Now, jolted by the cold water, it felt as if he harbored a block of ice in his chest—cold and numb, causing a sharp pain in his heart.

Even though his sense of taste was dulled by the high fever, the overly sweet drink still made his stomach churn with acidity.

Dizzy, his legs felt like lead. He had to stop and rest every few steps, leaning on furniture to make his way back to the bedroom, where he collapsed onto the bed, afraid to move.

He dreaded the resurgence of his old injuries, but, as fate would have it, his worst fears materialized.

Before 3 a.m., he was jolted awake by pain—his stomach was the first to protest.

As the stomach pain intensified, Li Shang gritted his teeth, curling his slender body into a ball under the blankets. Dazed and semi-conscious, he still had a flicker of strength, relying on instinct to shift positions and try to alleviate the agony.

But no matter what he did, it was futile.

When the pain truly seized him, his body tensed, and he held his breath. Only when the agony momentarily receded could he gasp for air. Soon, he was drenched in sweat, yet an increasing coldness enveloped him, a chill that clung to him like a relentless disease.

As time wore on, Li Shang no longer registered the discomfort of the cold.

The spasms spread, upward and downward; his chest felt tight and constricted, and his old abdominal injury joined the torment, causing excruciating, twisting pain as if his internal organs were simultaneously contracting, knotting, and spasming, tearing apart.

In the dark room, he lay alone on the bed, eyes closed, enduring the torment.

The pain did not spare Li Shang simply because he was alone; instead, it intensified. He pressed one hand hard against his abdomen, fingers digging in, pushing relentlessly into the soft mass of organs, trying to make them stop moving. But he couldn't stop the internal spasms.

His already slender waist was pressed into a thin line.

Li Shang’s other hand gripped the bedsheet tightly, fingers straining as if trying to tear holes in the fabric.

Even so, there was no way to ease the pain.

Unable to keep his eyes open, he struggled on the bed, eyes shut. Sweat from his forehead streamed down his temples, soaking into the pillow, vanishing from sight—much like his suffering, unknown and isolated, with no one to turn to.

All was silent, no sound, no light.

Li Shang, writhing in pain on the bed, lost all sense of time, only aware of one wave of pain after another.

The flare-up of his old injury made his body tremble; the internal pain felt even worse than when he was first injured.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, occasionally skipping a beat, sometimes racing uncontrollably, as if it might stop at any moment.

Finally, he couldn't hold back a low moan, muttering incoherently, his chapped lips letting out unconscious whimpers.

Driven by survival instinct, for a moment, Li Shang desperately wished someone would come help him. A cry for help escaped his lips.

"He Lin…"

His hoarse voice echoed in the empty, dark room, then reached his own ears. There was no response.

After years of injuries and illnesses, Li Shang thought he had grown accustomed to it. He believed he knew why he was hurt, understood what he was fighting for. His steadfast faith encouraged him to press forward bravely, but it couldn’t spare him from suffering when illness struck.

In his blurred consciousness, Li Shang even felt a trace of absurdity in his years of perseverance. If what he lost outweighed what he gained, what was the point of holding on?

Until he murmured He Lin’s name.

It brought a moment of clarity to his muddled mind.

Li Shang lay on the bed, eyes open but unfocused. He strained to look into the darkness, trying to picture that person’s face in his mind.

Remembering He Lin’s constant gentleness toward him, Li Shang’s heart gradually calmed.

In this world, there are always people worth fighting for, time and time again.

Li Shang thought, at least he was lucky to have met He Lin. Even if he had once lost him, he had finally found him again now.

With great effort, Li Shang turned over and reached for the nightstand. In the bottom drawer lay a neatly folded white T-shirt—the one he had secretly brought home after staying overnight at He Lin’s place last time.

When he came to the base this time, he had inexplicably packed this shirt and brought it along. Originally, it was just to soothe his unspoken longing, but he never expected it would become his only comfort tonight.

At least things between him and He Lin were moving in a positive direction.

Calmed down, Li Shang finally regained his rationality and reached a temporary truce with his body. Adjusting his breathing, he remembered He Lin was still hospitalized and didn’t want to worry him.

He also refused to let others see him in such a sorry state, trying to maintain what little dignity he had left.

Li Shang thought, even if he called an ambulance, he might not have the strength to open the door. It would probably end with half the base’s apartments watching the scene—he’d rather just die from the pain.

Holding He Lin’s shirt, Li Shang even joked with himself in his mind.

Perhaps because he was too weak, or maybe the fever medicine had some pain-relieving effect, he eventually drifted back into a hazy sleep.

When he woke again, his stomach was only slightly uncomfortable, and his fever had subsided considerably. His consciousness finally regained control of his body.

Dragging his exhausted body to the bathroom, he saw in the mirror a pale face tinged with the faint blue of veins, slightly red eyes, and chapped lips. Only his delicate, calm brows remained composed, giving no hint of the loneliness, helplessness, and extreme pain he had endured the night before.

In the depths of the unknown night, he had fought another battle alone—and won.

His temperature was around 37°C; the fever hadn’t returned.

After washing up, Li Shang wiped himself down with warm water, changed into clean clothes, made some porridge, and drank warm water.

After taking his medicine, his body slowly began to recover.

In the group chat, Lin Hui had already started working: "The issue is a bit tricky. I’ll do my best to fix it. If you have time, it’s best to come over and discuss it together."

He Lin replied: "Okay, I’ll come over after my IV."

Li Shang rested his head on the desk for a moment, steadying himself, then typed: "I’ll come later in the morning."

.

In the conference room at Ningcheng Municipal Bureau, Lin Hui and Cheng Xiaoyi faced two computers. Fang Jue and Jin Tingrui sat nearby.

The room was quiet, with only the clacking of keyboards breaking the silence.

The screen displayed complex lines of code, with programs running and lines of text scrolling continuously.

Cheng Xiaoyi had managed to doze off intermittently in the backseat next to the server yesterday, but Jin Tingrui hadn’t slept at all, having pulled an all-nighter.

Now, his eyelids kept drooping, and he kept slumping in his chair.

Detachment Commander Jin, standing at 190 cm tall and muscular, was too heavy for the small stool beneath him. It creaked and groaned under his weight, on the verge of breaking at any moment. Suddenly, he jerked awake, straightened up, and let out a yawn.

But within five minutes, he was sliding down again.

There was a long sofa on the side of the conference room, but Detachment Commander Jin insisted on staying put on the small stool instead of lying down. Cheng Xiaoyi watched him, worried he might eventually slide right onto the floor or completely crush the stool.

After all, this wasn’t their home turf—if anything got damaged, they might have to compensate the Ningcheng Municipal Bureau.

She thought about suggesting Jin Tingrui go get some sleep, but she didn’t feel comfortable enough with him to say it.

Just as Detachment Commander Jin jerked upright again, forcing his eyes open, Lin Hui spoke up coldly, "If people who aren’t helping can’t help, maybe they should leave?"

Fang Jue, sitting nearby, shrank back nervously and murmured, "Ah..."

Cheng Xiaoyi quickly tapped a few keys on her keyboard to show she wasn’t just idling.

Seeing that the main subject of the comment remained oblivious, Lin Hui’s fox-like eyes slid over, and he drawled, "Detachment Commander Jin."

Jin Tingrui snapped to attention. "Huh?"

Apparently, he’d been spacing out and hadn’t heard a thing.

Lin Hui said flatly, "You’re disturbing us."

Jin Tingrui: "?"

Lin Hui: "You were snoring."

Faced with the accusation, Jin Tingrui scratched his head guiltily. "...Was I?"

Lin Hui replied, "If you don’t believe me, ask them."

Jin Tingrui looked at Cheng Xiaoyi.

Cheng Xiaoyi stiffened, then nodded guiltily without meeting his eyes.

Fang Jue piped up too. "Ah, yeah... you were, just now. Pretty loud—it startled me..."

With two witnesses, Jin Tingrui had no choice but to believe it. He stood up. "I’ll go out for a smoke, then."

Lin Hui’s fingers never stopped typing. "Fang Jue, take Detachment Commander Jin to rest. Isn’t there a bed at the hotel? You’re not helping here anyway—no need to stay here."

Fang Jue stood up willingly. "Detachment Commander Jin, the hotel I booked is pretty close."

Jin Tingrui still seemed a bit reluctant, looking back over his shoulder as he left.

Just past 10 a.m., He Lin finally arrived. He pushed open the office door and greeted Lin Hui and Cheng Xiaoyi.

As soon as she saw him, Cheng Xiaoyi asked, "Captain He, how are you feeling?"

"I finished my IV today and signed out after being discharged." Without Li Shang by his side last night, He Lin had been restless and hadn’t slept well.

Early this morning, he went to see the doctor and insisted on being discharged. Fortunately, his test results were clear, so the doctor didn’t keep him.

He Lin’s eyes fell on the screen as he pulled up a chair and sat down. "How’s your progress?"

Lin Hui was organizing the data from the server. Under his manipulation, the incomprehensible characters in the program finally transformed into Chinese.

But the text was densely packed, and looking at it made He Lin's head spin.

Lin Hui said, "The good news is, we’ve finally completed the conversion. The records aren’t missing. But there’s some bad news too."

He Lin braced himself. "What is it?"

Lin Hui adjusted his glasses, organizing his thoughts as he tried to explain clearly to He Lin.

"Because their server has limited capacity, these group records are only stored for a month—they aren’t kept long-term. But the amount of information is still overwhelming."

He showed He Lin the specific numbers.

"Currently, this software has 420,000 registered users. 230,000 of them have spoken at least once. There are over 5,700 active daily users chatting recently, and the chat logs number in the millions."

"The main problem now is that the linked list was deleted by the other side. This is critical—deleting it causes messages to get mixed up."

"For example, suppose a hundred people are using an app to chat simultaneously. Their messages all enter the app at the same time. With a linked list, the conversations are displayed in their respective groups, sorted chronologically. But now that the linked list is gone, the records are a mess."

As he spoke, Lin Hui scrolled through the screen to show He Lin the jumbled chat history.

He Lin pressed his fingers to his temples. Just listening to this was giving him a headache.

"Another unfortunate piece of news: usually, the backend has a search function. For instance, admins can search by user ID or registration info. But now, the associated user database info has also been deleted. All usernames have turned into random character strings. The index is messed up, data pointers are abnormal, making it impossible to quickly locate or query anything. We can’t identify Queen of Hearts or that Mr. Diamond."

He Lin looked at the error log showing up on the side, thinking of solutions. "What about searching the chat content? Try some keywords, like 'suicide.'"

Lin Hui shook his head and sighed, but he typed it in anyway and showed He Lin the results—714 messages popped up on the screen.

Lin Hui said, "And that’s just from one day."

Seeing this, He Lin frowned, saying nothing.

Lin Hui continued, "This is an unmoderated app used by many users with depression. So you understand why the company was so reluctant to hand over their backend access and records when you asked? If you dig into the issues here, it could become a major issue. If we had time, we could go through it carefully, but I’m afraid we don’t have much time left."

Just as they reached this point in the discussion, a raspy, weak voice came from the doorway: "If we use other screening methods, we might miss information. In this situation, reading through everything manually might actually be the fastest way."

Everyone turned to look. Li Shang had arrived at some point, propped against the doorframe. It was unclear how long he’d been listening.

He Lin turned, his face lit up with joy, but when he saw Li Shang’s pale face, his heart lurched.