Ghostly Yunfeng stood frozen beside the stretcher, staring blankly at the frail body before him.
The boy—the real Lin Yunfeng—lay there, his thin chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow. His skin had turned an alarming shade of pale, a faint sheen of sweat gathering at his forehead.
Behind him, the machines began to beep erratically.
Sharp, jarring noises filled the sterile room.
The heart monitor displayed rising numbers—spiking heart rate, unstable blood pressure—until it dipped, then rose again frantically.
The boy gasped for breath, each intake more desperate, more painful than the last.
His restrained limbs jerked weakly, wrists straining against the cold leather straps pinning him down.
Ghostly Yunfeng stumbled closer, helpless panic welling inside him.
I have to help—!
Please... someone, help him!
But no one came.
No one cared.
Yunfeng turned to the machine, feeling useless, furious at his own powerlessness.
