The Night of Fire and Cold
Yu Chen lowered his head slightly, his face sharp and elegant, with a defined jawline and piercing eyes—the cold aura that always carried its own gravity. His posture was straight, his hands steady on the steering wheel; every movement radiated control, though inside, his heart was in turmoil.
As the car sped forward, his mind suddenly echoed with Jiang Fan's old words:
"Go home, Xiao…"
That phrase now repeated like a mantra in his head. Yu Chen muttered under his breath, his tone low and resolute:
"Home… Xiao. I have to get there now."
He reached for his phone and made a call to Jiang Fan. The man's startled voice came through the speaker:
"Yu Chen… right now? What's—"
Yu Chen cut him off sharply, his tone dominant and chilling:
"Send me Xiaoxi's home address. Now."
The call ended before Jiang Fan could reply. Moments later, a notification appeared—a message from Jiang Fan with the map location attached, followed by a string of panicked questions. Yu Chen ignored them all, his eyes locked forward, both hands gripping the wheel. Calm on the surface, but inside him, a storm burned wild.
Streetlights and the shimmer of ocean waves below the coastal highway flashed across the windshield, blending into the silence of the night. The car's engine hummed; the wind lashed against his face; his heartbeat merged with the car's rhythm—all driving one clear intent: find Xiaoxi as fast as possible.
Moments later, Yu Chen's car came to a stop in front of a small apartment complex—an unassuming residence that stood in stark contrast to his own penthouse. The building was painted in faded pastel, with creaky iron stairs and narrow windows reflecting dim corridor lights. Street food stalls and tiny shops surrounded it, lively yet humble—worlds apart from the opulence that usually enveloped Yu Chen.
He took a deep breath, forcing composure, then grabbed his phone to call Xiaoxi.
The line rang—but no answer.
His face stayed stoic, but his eyes glimmered with urgency and fear. Without hesitation, he stepped out, phone in hand, and sprinted into the corridor of the apartment.
Corridor after corridor, floor after floor, Yu Chen moved quickly. He kept redialing her number, calling out between breaths:
"Xiao… Xiao! Answer me!"
The ringtone kept echoing until, on the second floor, Room 86, he finally heard it faintly from behind a door. Yu Chen paused only a second—then called again, listening closely for the sound's direction.
The building's thin walls made the ringtone faintly audible through the corridor, letting him focus and track it down. He ran, eyes darting, boots striking the floor in determined rhythm until he stood before Room 86. His breath hitched—the sound was coming from inside.
One hand on the doorknob, the other still clutching the phone, Yu Chen looked around the silent hallway. His usual perfect composure no longer mattered.
After ending the call briefly, he confirmed the phone's sound truly came from within. His voice dropped low, firm, cutting through the air:
"Xiao… Xiao!"
No answer.
Each second stretched painfully long. His breathing quickened, his pulse thundered, yet that aura of cold command still cloaked him like armor.
Yu Chen's gaze sharpened; one hand gripped the handle, the other still holding the phone. The cheap wooden door—its hinges loose and edges splintered—was clearly not strong enough to withstand force.
With one solid motion, Yu Chen knocked once, then shoved the door with full strength.
The wood cracked; the hinges squealed; the door burst open in a single, thunderous push.
His frame filled the doorway—broad shoulders pressing the door aside, feet planted firmly, the muscles in his arms and jaw flexing with restrained power. That strength, raw yet poised, radiated authority even in urgency.
The small, modest apartment instantly became witness to Yu Chen's emotional storm—cold, fierce, commanding, yet trembling with buried panic.
He stepped through the doorway, scanning the dim room as he called again:
"Xiao… where are you?"
Silence.
Only the sound of his heartbeat and breath filled the air.
His sharp eyes swept the room—and then, he saw her.
Xiaoxi, lying near the edge of the bed, motionless.
Without a second's hesitation, Yu Chen rushed to her side. Kneeling, he reached out, moving fast but controlled, turning her gently in his arms.
"Xiao… Xiao!"
His voice was low, echoing through the small room—but no response.
Then realization struck—her body was burning hot.
Panic surged through him, breaking the walls he had so carefully built, yet his posture remained firm, disciplined even under chaos.
The moment Xiaoxi stirred weakly, Yu Chen acted on instinct. He scooped her up, strong arms securing her close, his movements precise yet tender. Without delay, he strode out of the room, descending the stairs swiftly but steadily.
Within moments, he reached the car, placing Xiaoxi in the passenger seat, ensuring she was secure and supported. The engine roared to life, the vehicle speeding down the coastal road as the night wind whipped against his face.
He said nothing. There was only one destination—the hospital.
Every turn, every jolt of the suspension, amplified the pounding tension in his chest. But outwardly, he remained composed—elegant, commanding—while inside, his emotions raged uncontrolled.
The car cut through the darkness like a blade, carrying Yu Chen and Xiaoxi toward the one place that could keep her safe.
The hospital building appeared ahead.
Yu Chen hit the brakes, parking with precise control at the emergency entrance. Without wasting a heartbeat, he lifted Xiaoxi into his arms again, striding toward the glass doors, his breath unsteady but his stance unwavering.
At the ER entrance, a nurse spotted them and called out urgently:
"Patient incoming! Quickly—emergency!"
Yu Chen lowered his head slightly, his voice deep and firm:
"She's unconscious. High fever. Please, help her—now!"
Medical staff rushed forward with a wheelchair. Yu Chen gently set Xiaoxi down, his hand still on her shoulder, eyes sweeping across the bright ER room.
A young doctor approached, stethoscope hanging around his neck, face serious.
"Patient's name?"
Yu Chen answered curtly,
"Xiaoxi. She's burning up, unconscious."
The doctor nodded and turned to his team.
"Observation room. Check blood pressure and temperature immediately."
The nurses moved quickly, transferring Xiaoxi with practiced care. Yu Chen followed closely, every muscle in his body taut with concern.
On the monitor, Xiaoxi's blood pressure registered dangerously low, her temperature high. The doctor turned toward Yu Chen.
"Severe exhaustion, malnutrition, and hypotension. We'll stabilize her with IV fluids and oxygen first."
Yu Chen nodded, his voice calm but cutting with command:
> "Do whatever it takes. Don't make a single mistake."
The doctor met his eyes briefly, then gave orders to his staff.
> "IV line, oxygen, continuous monitoring—move fast."
Yu Chen stood by the bedside, his sharp eyes following every movement of the medical team. He looked composed, but each unsteady breath from Xiaoxi made his chest tighten.
The IV needle slipped into her arm; monitors began to steady. Numbers climbed slowly—vitals stabilizing. Yu Chen exhaled softly, barely audible, a breath half of relief, half of disbelief. He stayed beside her, his fist unclenching slightly. His cold, dominant aura still held—but in his eyes, emotion rippled deep and unguarded.
That night, the emergency room bore silent witness to Yu Chen's fear, his turmoil, and his unspoken protectiveness toward Xiaoxi—elegant, restrained, yet profoundly human.