Just when Zeng Rou had fallen into the abyss of despair, that man stood up again—it was Xia Tian. He had knocked the man in black unconscious the instant he attacked. Seeing that Xia Tian was still alive, Zeng Rou could no longer control her emotions.
She broke down in tears. At that moment, she had neither the composure of a lady nor the strength of a capable woman. She cried loudly. Her daughter beside her was crying too, though softly, because she had been given medicine earlier.
Zeng Rou threw herself into Xia Tian's arms. Right then, she felt there was no place safer than that embrace—warm, strong, and real. A fleeting thought came to her: she wanted to stay in this embrace for the rest of her life, never thinking about anything else again.
"Cough… cough…" Xia Tian coughed weakly. "Let's get out of here, quickly."
Although he had knocked those men unconscious, he hadn't killed them. They were, after all, living in a lawful society, and he had been taught from childhood never to take a life. Now that he had rescued Zeng Rou and her daughter, they needed to leave immediately—the police would arrive soon. If they found him here, bleeding from a gunshot wound, things would be difficult to explain.
"Okay." Zeng Rou wiped away her tears and lifted her daughter. Then she saw the blood on the ground—fresh, dark red. Xia Tian had been shot.
Blood was flowing from his left abdomen, and he was pressing on it with his hand.
"You've been shot! I'll call emergency services. You have to hold on!" Zeng Rou cried as she fumbled for her phone.
"No." Xia Tian grabbed her hand, stopping her. "What happened just now is too complicated. If I go to the hospital, the police will get involved. I don't want unnecessary trouble."
"But you've been shot!" Zeng Rou said anxiously.
"Come with me." Xia Tian's tone was calm. He knew that his body was far stronger than before. Otherwise, even a stab wound might have knocked him unconscious, let alone a bullet wound.
After switching off Zeng Rou's phone, Xia Tian led her out of the warehouse.
This place was less than a kilometer from his home. He had played here often as a child, so he knew the area well.
Enduring the pain, Xia Tian guided Zeng Rou and the child back to his house. The little girl, exhausted, had stopped crying and soon fell asleep in her mother's arms.
Xia Tian walked carefully, tearing his shirt into strips to bind the wound and prevent blood from leaving a trail.
His house wasn't large, but it was neat and clean, everything in order. He hadn't been back in a long time, but his aunt sent someone to clean regularly, so it still felt fresh and lived-in.
"You live here?" Zeng Rou asked softly, her heart stirring as she looked around. From the furnishings, it was clear that Xia Tian wasn't rich. So why had he refused to take her money? Was it pride? In this world, was pride really worth more than money?
She had always believed money was everything. Yet in that desperate moment, no amount of money could have saved her.
In the end, it was this man—who didn't want her money—who had saved her. And at that time, he had said she was his woman.
If anyone else had said that to her, she would've slapped him without hesitation. But hearing it from this younger man—more than ten years her junior—filled her heart with warmth. She didn't know whether it was gratitude or admiration for his courage.
Xia Tian found some matches and gauze—the only medical supplies he had.
"This used to be my old house. Now I live with my cousin," he said, gripping the table with one hand while reaching for his wound with the other, blood seeping through his fingers.
Zeng Rou stared at him in disbelief. "He's going to take the bullet out with his hands? That's insane—it'll get infected!"
Seeing her worried expression, Xia Tian smiled faintly. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."
"Um!!"
A muffled groan escaped his throat. His eyes reddened, sweat poured from his forehead. With a single hard pull, he extracted the bullet.
Zeng Rou knew he was suppressing his screams so as not to wake her daughter. She couldn't imagine the pain—pulling a bullet out barehanded, without anesthetic.
The pain was excruciating. Xia Tian nearly blacked out. He finally realized being a hero wasn't as glorious as it sounded. Blood gushed from the wound uncontrollably. He thought of using the bullet's gunpowder to disinfect it, but if he lit it now, it might burn his intestines.
"Am I really going to die here?" he thought bitterly, his body collapsing. Zeng Rou caught him in her arms, panicking. She wanted to call the police, to dial emergency services—but she remembered Xia Tian's warning.
Then, at the moment he fell, a faint yellow light glowed from his pocket. The light drifted into his wound. Zeng Rou froze, watching in disbelief as the yellow light moved beneath his skin, and the torn flesh began to close. Within ten seconds, the bleeding stopped. The wound knitted itself shut.
She had always been an atheist, but what she saw now defied everything she believed. What was that yellow light? Why had the wound healed so quickly? In less than a minute, Xia Tian's injury was completely gone—without even a scar.
Even though she couldn't explain it, Xia Tian remained unconscious. She gently lifted him onto the bed and laid her daughter beside him. The room grew quiet, and for the first time, her heart felt peaceful.
She had never experienced such calm before. Looking at the two figures—one large, one small—sleeping side by side, she felt a quiet happiness.
This was all she had ever wanted, but she had never met the right person. In her world, everything revolved around interests and profits; emotion had long been absent.
Gradually, she drifted into sleep. The three of them slept soundly on the same bed.
Xia Tian had a strange dream. A massive golden Buddha sat cross-legged over his dantian, mending his wounds. It felt so real—he could sense the statue's presence inside him.
When Zeng Rou awoke the next morning, she was greeted by the most heartwarming sight—she and Xia Tian were wrapped in each other's arms, her daughter nestled between them, gently touching Xia Tian's face.
That tender touch stirred Xia Tian awake, and Zeng Rou quickly pretended to still be asleep.
When he opened his eyes and saw them, Xia Tian smiled faintly, brushed Zeng Rou's cheek, and quietly climbed out of bed. He didn't notice that her face had turned bright red.
Walking into his small yard, Xia Tian felt overwhelmed by recent events.
"So much has happened," he murmured. "I thought life was simple—but it isn't."
He looked around at the familiar surroundings, feeling as if everything had changed. His father had been strict when he was young, always emphasizing study and knowledge. But now he realized—his father had never seemed to work. Where had their money come from? They weren't rich, but they had never gone hungry. And how could a simple man from the suburbs know so much?
"There was something strange about my father's death. And what exactly is the scroll that Liusha wants?" He had never heard of any such scroll, and his father had never mentioned it.
"It seems if I want answers, I'll have to find that scroll myself."
He began searching the house. It wasn't large, and there were few places to hide anything. Besides, Liusha's men must have searched already.
His father never smoked or drank; his only hobby had been gardening.
"There's no way he hid that scroll here." After searching thoroughly, Xia Tian found nothing. His phone battery was dead—it wasn't like his old Nokia brick, which could hold a charge for a week.
He knew his cousin and the others must be worried.
Then, suddenly, a chill ran down his spine.
"Xia Tian, are you trying to run from us?" Three figures appeared in the distance.
"You people just don't quit," Xia Tian muttered. "I thought I could buy some time, but you've found me already."
He knew the Liusha members would eventually track him down—but not this soon.
"Xia Tian, we originally gave you seven days," one of them said coldly. "Now it's been changed to two. One has already passed. That means you have today to find it."
"Just one day?" Xia Tian frowned. Things were going to end badly. He didn't even know where the scroll was—and even if he did, he'd never hand over his father's relic.
He clenched his fists. The three men from Liusha were powerful; even Ah San had been terrified of them. But he couldn't back down now. He had to fight.