After tidying up her tools, Sheng Sheng was about to return to her room and continue playing the game.
At that moment, knocking sounded behind her…
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Surprisingly rhythmic.
Sheng Sheng: "…"
Without checking the peephole, Sheng Sheng opened the door just a crack.
Sheng Sheng: observing in secret.
As expected, the one knocking was the man from earlier.
He was clutching his waist, weakly leaning against the wall, his face pale as he met Sheng Sheng's gaze.
Sheng Sheng probed, "What is it?" She could faintly smell blood in the air.
The man pressed his lips together, as if the words were hard to say.
After a moment's thought, Sheng Sheng hesitated. "Should I get you some newspapers to lie on?"
He looked badly injured, and the cement floor would be cold in autumn. Laying down some newspapers should be more comfortable.
Sheng Sheng pondered seriously.
Man: "…"
The man took a deep breath and finally forced the words out. "If possible, could you let me come in and rest for the night?"
Sheng Sheng stiffened, growing more certain that this man's background was anything but ordinary.
Sometimes, just the way a person spoke revealed their status.
Like this man—despite asking for help, his tone still carried an unmistakable distance, the kind that came from being accustomed to authority.
So Sheng Sheng cheerfully… rejected him.
"I'm sorry, but it's late at night. I'm a weak, pitiful, and helpless girl—I can't just let strangers into my home." Sheng Sheng said with fake politeness.
Man: "…I'm seriously injured."
In other words, if he really wanted to fight her, it wasn't clear who would end up on the ground.
He didn't just say it—he removed the hand covering his wound.
Sheng Sheng glanced calmly and saw that the injury appeared to be caused by a sharp weapon.
To put it bluntly—he'd been stabbed.
Though the fabric obscured the details, the wound was clearly severe.
The white shirt was soaked through with blood, dark red liquid seeping between his fingers. At this rate, without treatment, he likely wouldn't survive the night.
Sheng Sheng thought for a moment, then said sincerely, "How about I help you call the police?"
The man: "…"
After a long silence, he said in a low voice, "I can't."
Sheng Sheng raised an eyebrow. She caught the difference—he said "can't," not "won't." Combined with his condition, countless melodramatic scenarios flashed through her mind.
After all, this was a novel world. Nothing would surprise her.
The man didn't urge her, simply standing there. Despite his deep gaze, handsome features, and noble bearing, he now looked oddly pitiful—like a golden retriever forbidden from entering its owner's house.
Sheng Sheng scratched her head, thought for a long while, then finally opened the door fully.
"Come in."
She didn't help him, and he didn't ask. He supported himself along the wall and slowly made his way inside.
While he entered, Sheng Sheng quickly scanned the corridor. Seeing no obvious blood or other traces, she closed the door.
Fortunately, the man didn't reveal any predatory intentions after entering. He also didn't immediately sit down, instead lingering silently.
He looked around the simple yet cozy apartment, seeming hesitant.
"You can sit on the sofa," Sheng Sheng reminded him.
Man: "…It'll get dirty."
Sheng Sheng glanced at him. "It's fine. At most, it'll get a little blood on it."
Judging by the original owner's sense for luxury goods, this man's shirt alone probably cost more than her sofa.
Seeing she truly didn't mind, the man finally half-reclined on the sofa.
Sheng Sheng said, "Do you need help treating the wound?"
He hesitated. "…I'd appreciate it."
Sheng Sheng brought out gauze, alcohol, and a packet of anti-inflammatory medicine.
She'd just bought these earlier. The fact that the original owner had lived alone without even basic medical supplies baffled her.
Sheng Sheng: Must be the novel world.
"These are all new. Don't worry," she said casually while opening the packages. "You take the medicine yourself. I'll handle the wound."
His expression didn't change much, but Sheng Sheng sensed a subtle easing when he saw the sealed packaging.
She pretended not to notice. After disinfecting the scissors with alcohol, she cut open the fabric around the wound.
Blood had soaked the cloth into the skin; cutting inevitably tugged at the injury.
The man couldn't help letting out a muffled groan.
Sheng Sheng glanced at him, offered no comfort, and continued ruthlessly.
Man: "…"
After inspecting the wound, Sheng Sheng relaxed. "Good. It's not too deep."
The bleeding looked alarming, but the wound itself wasn't large—likely no organ damage. Otherwise, she'd have to send him to the hospital, and she didn't want her home turning into a crime scene.
She disinfected it simply with alcohol and bandaged it with gauze, barely stopping the bleeding.
"You need to go to the hospital first thing tomorrow," Sheng Sheng said firmly.
Without proper equipment, infection would be dangerous.
The man lowered his lashes and stayed silent, neither agreeing nor refusing.
The once-talkative man had turned into a mute gourd again.
Sheng Sheng raised an eyebrow.
The atmosphere stiffened.
"Do whatever you want. Just don't die in my house," Sheng Sheng said at last, pushing the medicine toward him. "Take it."
Perhaps chastened, the man obediently swallowed the medicine.
There was water on the table—poured earlier.
He looked reluctant to drink it.
Sheng Sheng frowned. "Drink the water too."
He glanced at her, eyes deep.
"So what if your eyes are pretty," Sheng Sheng snapped impatiently. "You lost that much blood. I can't give you a transfusion. There's salt and sugar in the water—it'll help replenish electrolytes and blood sugar."
He tested a sip. The taste was indescribable.
Salty-sweet.
He drank slowly, elegantly, in small sips.
"I'm going to sleep. You rest here," Sheng Sheng said flatly, standing up and heading to the bedroom.
To emphasize her displeasure, the door slammed shut.
…
An hour later.
The tightly closed bedroom door slowly opened a crack.
A pair of clear, dark eyes cautiously peered out.
Their owner was none other than Sheng Sheng, who had supposedly gone to sleep.
The living room light cast a soft glow. The man on the sofa seemed asleep, lying quietly.
Sheng Sheng observed for another five minutes, then tiptoed over and pulled her hand from her pocket.
In her pale palm was—
A stun baton.
A lone girl's best friend.
Sheng Sheng narrowed her eyes at the sleeping man.
Taking in a stranger overnight without precautions?
As if.
She switched on the baton and jabbed it into his arm without mercy.
Even at the lowest setting, the muscle twitched several times. The man showed no reaction, not even a frown.
"Looks like that shopkeeper didn't lie—the sedative really is strong," Sheng Sheng muttered, finally relaxing.
She'd been on guard the entire time.
One hand in her pocket was gripping the baton. That strange-tasting water contained not only salt and sugar, but also a powerful sleeping pill. The flavors masked the bitterness perfectly—and the man hadn't noticed.
According to the pharmacist, one pill was stronger than six, enough to knock even chronic insomniacs out till morning.
Sheltering a stranger overnight was dangerous.
But sheltering an unconscious stranger was much safer.
"Being injured means you should rest properly. I'm doing this for your own good," Sheng Sheng sighed hypocritically, draping a thick blanket over him.