EWH 3

In the end, Yang Moshou really did get thrown out of the room.

His flatbread scattered all over the floor.

The floor had just been wiped, still wet and cold. Yang Moshou ended up soaked and covered in streaks of grime, looking completely miserable.

The door to Room 250 slammed shut behind him. Yang Moshou got up from the floor. He didn’t cause a scene. He just turned around and went to find Dr. Wang.

Dr. Wang looked at him, full of disbelief.
“Woke up? Seriously?”

Yang Moshou lowered his head and wiped his clothes with a tissue.

“Yeah. First thing he did was order someone to throw out the doctor who’s been massaging him for free. Please kindly treat him back into a coma.”

Dr. Wang saw the sour look on his face, gave his shoulder a couple of pats, said a few comforting words, then took a team over to run checks on the patient.

Over the next few days, Room 250 became the hottest topic in the hospital. Even the cleaning staff were gossiping about the miracle of the comatose guy waking up.

Yang Moshou didn’t go near that room again, nor did he ask around for gossip.

He kept doing his rounds with the doctors as usual. And when he had free time, he would stay tucked in behind his desk, eating and reading.

One day, Yang Moshou was standing by the window eating a piece of bread when he saw a group of more than ten men escorting a wheelchair out of the inpatient building. He couldn’t see the man’s face clearly, the hair had grown out, covering his ears.

But Yang Moshou could tell right away who it was.

The patient from Room 250 was being discharged.

Yang Moshou lowered the bread in his hand and stood at the window watching for a while, until he saw the man being lifted into the car by one of the gang guys. The door closed. The car pulled away.

His chest felt weirdly heavy, like a slab of granite pressing down on it.

He stood there quietly for a while, then suddenly turned and ran toward Room 250.

Someone was cleaning the room, stripping the bedding that man had used and carrying it out for washing. A few torn scraps of paper lay scattered on the floor, looking like pieces of a ripped-off bed tag.

Yang Moshou bent down and picked them up, carefully piecing them together.

He had spent a lot of time in this room, but never once had he been curious about the man’s name. Never bothered to check.

But now it was different.

Hot air rushed in through the window, lifting the his bangs and revealing his pale forehead.

Yang Moshou lowered his eyes and stared at the three characters on the paper.

Xu Wanhe.

After reading it, he squatted down and began picking up every last scrap, ignoring the confused stares from people around him. Once he had gathered all the pieces, he clutched them in his hand and ran back to the office, dug out a stick of glue, and under the sunlight, carefully pieced the bed tag back together. He let it dry, then tucked it into his wallet.

Then, worried someone might see it, he took it out of his wallet and tossed it into the drawer.

But the moment he did, another thought hit him. The office was usually crowded, and the drawer didn’t have a lock. It was mostly used for storing medical notes and random odds and ends. There was an even greater chance someone might find it there. So he put it back in his wallet.

He even slipped it into the photo slot.

Right next to his own ID photo.

—

Two years passed after that, and Yang Moshou never saw the man again.

Xu Wanhe never came back for follow-up treatment either.

Eventually, Yang Moshou started to forget him. That bed tag was moved from his wallet to the bottom of his drawer. It gathered a layer of dust, but he never threw it away.

Yang Moshou completed his internship. Because of his solid work ethic and excellent performance, he stayed on at the hospital as a full-time doctor.

Staying in this city wasn’t so bad. The weather felt like spring all year round, calm and comfortable.

But there was one downside. Its location was too close to the Myanmar–Laos border. Because of the drug trade, the local underworld was rampant. Security enforcement was weak, and seeing people fighting or stabbing each other in the streets during the day wasn’t unusual. At night, it got even worse.

That day around noon, Yang Moshou had to work overtime. After finishing up his tasks, he figured he’d go out and grab some lunch. But just as he turned onto the next street, a few cars pulled up and blocked the alleyway entrance.

Yang Moshou was not pleased.

The rice noodles from that shop were hands down the best in the city. That place was one of a kind, with no other branches anywhere. And now these idiots, who didn’t give a damn about traffic rules, had blocked the only path to it. For a devoted foodie like him, this was a personal tragedy.

Yang Moshou didn’t even hesitate. He rolled up his sleeves, ready to go beg the drivers to move just enough for him to squeeze through.

He had barely gotten his sleeves halfway up and hadn’t even opened his mouth when the car doors all swung open. Five or six people jumped out of each vehicle. In total, about twenty to thirty men came out swinging steel pipes and started brawling right in front of him.

The fight broke out so fast it felt like fate was forcing people to fight to the death.

Yang Moshou froze. He stood there dumbfounded for a second or two, then quickly started rolling his sleeves back down, terrified they’d think he was one of the brawlers.

He had barely gotten one sleeve down when someone mistook him for an accomplice and knocked him flat with a pipe to the head.

When he came to, he was tied up with two other guys, both of them bruised and swollen.

The lighting in the basement was dim. Because of the moisture, moss grew thick along the crumbling walls. Dust floated down from above, spinning gently through the shafts of light.

Yang Moshou’s hands and feet were tightly bound. There was a dull ache at the back of his head. He tried to raise a hand to feel it, but couldn’t move at all, let alone reach for a phone to call for help.

About half an hour later, a few people came through the door. They moved in pairs, dragging the captives out one by one.

During all this, Yang Moshou kept trying to explain he was just there to eat, not fight, but his throat went dry from repeating himself and no one paid him any attention. Eventually, they hauled him upstairs to what looked like a large office.

Though they called it an office, it looked more like a study. The room was decorated to an absurd level of luxury. Behind the desk, a man sat sprawled on a leather sofa, legs lazily propped up on the edge of the desk, speaking into a phone.

The people brought in were forced to squat on the floor, waiting to be dealt with.

Yang Moshou wanted to speak up one last time to explain himself, but when he lifted his head and saw the room full of gangsters, the words got stuck in his throat and he swallowed them down.

Xu Wanhe’s voice was low, laced with a hint of mockery.

“What kind of game are you playing this time? Can’t you mess with someone else for once? Do I fucking owe you something?”

The voice on the other end of the call was calm, with a lazy smile behind it.

“Not this time. I’m just handing over a piece of the market to you. Didn’t I wait all this time for you to recover…”

Xu Wanhe let out a cold laugh.

“So now you’re waiting for me… How’s that feel? Tastes pretty damn good, doesn’t it?”

The voice on the phone kept that mild smile, answering with something that had nothing to do with the question.

“I’m tired of making money on the edge of a knife. There’s no one else suitable, and we’ve known each other for years. Both of us came up under Uncle Tang. Giving it to you is no different.”

“Thinking about quitting? What about that little boyfriend of yours? I remember he handled things pretty well back in Xinye and with Ju Jinhui. Real promising kid…”

“He’s not local.”

Xu Wanhe let out a soft scoff.
“And you still haven’t dumped him? If it were me, even if I couldn’t stay in the city, I’d carry you away with me.”

The voice on the other end just chuckled and said nothing.

Irritation flared in Xu Wanhe’s chest. He hung up on the spot.

Yang Moshou’s legs were numb from squatting for so long. Just as he thought the call was finally over, a loud crash rang out. The phone had slammed into the wall.

Everyone on the floor jumped in shock, but the gang members standing nearby didn’t even blink, as if they were used to it.

The room went terrifyingly silent.

Yang Moshou lifted his eyes slightly and saw the man stand up from the sofa and walk toward them.

Xu Wanhe frowned, staring at the only one among the three kneeling on the floor who dared to look back at him.

Pale and clean. There was something about him that felt a bit like Tang Ziyan, though their faces looked nothing alike.

Yang Moshou’s eyes widened.
“Xu Wanhe… it’s you!”

The underlings nearby all sucked in a breath at the way he called the boss by name.

Xu Wanhe stood in front of him, saying nothing, just staring.

Yang Moshou suddenly remembered those days at the hospital.

Back then, this man was frail and skinny, body burning hot, always lying under the blanket warming up sweet potatoes and dry flatbread. Weak beyond belief.

Nothing like now. Standing tall in front of him, built and solid, blocking out most of the light. His eyes were dark and deep, and up close, Yang Moshou could clearly smell the strong, masculine heat radiating off him.

Xu Wanhe crouched down. His rough fingers grabbed Yang Moshou by the chin.

The pain made Yang Moshou flinch and shiver.

“…You don’t remember me? I’m the one who… mm… never mind. It’s probably better if you don’t.”

Then, forcing himself to speak through the discomfort, he tried to explain.
“You’ve got the wrong guy. I was just passing by, trying to get lunch…”

“How could I not remember? “I may not have much else, but I’ve got a damn good memory.” Xu Wanhe raised a brow. “You’re that doctor from the hospital. I still remember you telling me every day you wanted me to be your wife.”

Everyone behind Xu Wanhe lifted their heads to stare at Yang Moshou. Their expressions were odd, with a subtle trace of sympathy in their eyes.

Yang Moshou trembled slightly. “…That… that never happened…”

Xu Wanhe stood up straight and raised his.
“Do what you want with the other two. This one stays.” Then he paused for a moment.

“Everyone out.”