The scent of antiseptic clung to Lin Wanwan like a second skin, a constant, unwelcome reminder of where she spent most of her waking hours—and her rapidly dwindling savings. The fluorescent lights of Mingde Hospital's corridor hummed a monotonous dirge, reflecting off the polished linoleum floor, a surface too clean, too sterile for the messy, heartbreaking reality it witnessed daily. She sat on a hard plastic chair, her fingers knotted so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. Across from her, Dr. Chen, a man whose kind eyes were currently clouded with a gravity that made Wanwan's stomach clench, shuffled through a file.
"Miss Lin," he began, his voice gentle but firm, the professional calm a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her. "We've reviewed Xiaoyu's latest tests. The aplastic anemia, severe variant… it's progressing more aggressively than we'd hoped. The current transfusions are merely palliative, a stopgap. He needs a bone marrow transplant, and soon. But even before we can seriously consider listing him, his current maintenance therapy… it's costly."
Wanwan nodded, a numb, jerky movement. She knew this. She'd known it for months, ever since her bright, vivacious seventeen-year-old brother, Lin Xiaoyu, had collapsed during a basketball game. The initial diagnosis had been a punch to the gut; the subsequent decline, a slow, agonizing twist of the knife. "How much?" she whispered, the words barely audible even to her own ears. Her throat felt like sandpaper.
Dr. Chen sighed, a sound heavy with unspoken sympathy. He named a figure for the immediate, critical phase of treatment, a sum so astronomical it made the air leave Wanwan's lungs in a silent whoosh. It was a mountain, impossibly high, and she was at its base with nothing but her bare hands. And that didn't even include the eventual transplant, the search for a donor, or the post-operative care. Each word was another spadeful of earth, burying her deeper.
"We've already… You've already accrued a significant outstanding balance, Miss Lin," Dr. Chen continued, his gaze softening with pity, which Wanwan found almost harder to bear than clinical detachment. "The hospital administration… they are understanding, but there are limits. We need a substantial deposit to continue this level of intensive care beyond the next seventy-two hours."
Seventy-two hours. Three days. The words echoed in the sterile silence, a death knell for her hope. Her parents had passed away in a car accident five years ago, leaving her, then barely nineteen, as Xiaoyu's sole guardian. She'd dropped out of university, taking on multiple menial jobs to keep them afloat, to ensure Xiaoyu could continue his studies, dream his dreams. He was her everything, the only family she had left, the anchor in her turbulent world. The thought of failing him was a physical ache, a crushing weight on her chest.
"I understand, Doctor," she managed, her voice betraying none of the seismic terror shaking her core. "I'll… I'll find a way."
He offered a wan smile. "He's a strong boy, Miss Lin. And you're a devoted sister. We'll do everything we can, within our means."
Wanwan thanked him, her legs feeling like lead as she pushed herself up from the chair. Walking out of his office and back down the corridor towards Xiaoyu's ward felt like wading through quicksand. Each step was an effort. She paused outside his room, composing her face into a semblance of cheerfulness she was far from feeling. Plastering on a bright smile, she pushed open the door.
Xiaoyu was awake, his face pale against the stark white pillows, but his eyes, usually so full of life, lit up when he saw her. "Jie," he croaked, his voice weak. A book lay open on his lap, unread.
"Hey, sleepyhead," she said, her voice artificially bright as she bustled over to his bedside, fluffing his pillows and checking his IV drip. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," he admitted, a small frown creasing his brow. "And bored. Did Dr. Chen say when I can get out of this prison?"
Wanwan's smile faltered for a nanosecond before she reinforced it. "Soon, Xiaoyu. Very soon. You just need to rest and get your strength back." She picked up the water pitcher. "Thirsty?"
He nodded, watching her with an intensity that made her uneasy. He was too perceptive for his own good. "Jie, are you okay? You look… stressed."
"Stressed? Me?" She feigned surprise, pouring him a glass of water. "Just a bit tired from work. You know how Mr. Henderson is at the cafe, always wanting everything yesterday." She handed him the glass, her hand steady despite the tremors running through her.
He took a small sip. "You're not eating enough, are you? You're thinner."
"Nonsense, I'm eating like a horse," she lied, patting her stomach. In reality, her last proper meal was a distant memory. Every penny went towards Xiaoyu, towards the black hole of medical expenses. Their small, rented apartment was cold, the heating turned down to the bare minimum. The eviction notice tucked under her mattress was a constant, gnawing worry.
She stayed with him for another hour, reading aloud from his favorite adventure novel, her voice even and soothing, a stark contrast to the frantic calculations whirring in her brain. Where could she get that kind of money? She'd already sold her mother's jewelry, the last tangible link to her past. Her own meager savings were long gone. Loans? The banks wouldn't look at her twice with her sporadic employment and lack of collateral. Loan sharks? The thought sent a shiver of pure ice down her spine. She'd heard horror stories.
When Xiaoyu finally drifted off to sleep, his breathing shallow but regular, Wanwan quietly slipped out of the room. The forced optimism drained away, leaving her features etched with a bone-deep weariness and a burgeoning desperation.
Back in their tiny, two-room apartment later that evening, the chill seemed to seep into her bones. She mechanically prepared a simple broth for herself, her mind racing. She had called everyone she knew, every distant relative, every former classmate whose number she still possessed. The responses ranged from polite refusals to outright hang-ups. Shame burned her cheeks, but Xiaoyu's pale face in the hospital bed spurred her on.
The bills were piled on the rickety kitchen table: electricity, water, rent, and the ever-present, terrifyingly red-stamped envelopes from the hospital's billing department. Each one was a testament to her failure. She picked up the latest, her heart sinking further as she saw the overdue amount.
Suddenly, a name, a whisper of immense power and wealth, flitted through her mind—Ye Tingjue. The emperor of the city's business world. A man whose name was synonymous with ruthless efficiency and unfathomable riches. His company, the Night Imperial Group, had its fingers in every lucrative pie, from technology to real estate to entertainment. Figures like Ye Tingjue lived in a different stratosphere, their wealth capable of swallowing her debts whole and still leaving universes of change. But they were constellations, distant and untouchable, not lifelines for ordinary drowning souls like her. The idea was ludicrous, a fleeting fantasy born of sheer desperation. He wouldn't even know she existed. And even if he did, why would he help? The tabloids painted him as a cold, aloof predator, a man who collected companies and beautiful women with equal detachment. 'Strangers, do not approach' was his unofficial motto.
Her phone buzzed, startling her. It was Meili, a former colleague from a short-lived waitressing job. Meili was bubbly, a little flighty, and always seemed to know the city's gossip.
"Wanwan! You won't believe the shift I just had at 'The Crimson Pavilion'!" Meili's voice was breathless with excitement. The Crimson Pavilion was one of the most exclusive, decadent nightclubs in the city, a playground for the rich and powerful. Wanwan had only ever seen its opulent, guarded entrance from afar.
"Oh?" Wanwan tried to inject some interest into her voice.
"Yeah! So, you know how I'm always telling you about the bigwigs who go there? Tonight, one of the senior hostesses, a friend of a friend, told me something interesting. There's this… Well, not a regular, but a very influential figure who sometimes shows up. Apparently, he's known to be… eccentric. Sometimes, if he's in the right mood and if someone catches his eye or tells him a particularly compelling story, he's been known to be… 'generous.' Like, life-changingly generous."
Wanwan's heart gave a strange flutter. "Generous? What do you mean?"
"Like, he helped this one girl pay off her family's debts, and another he funded her art studio. It's all hush-hush, of course. He doesn't like attention. He's not looking for a girlfriend or anything sordid, not in that way. It's more like… he gets a kick out of playing fate, or something. A patron of lost causes, if they're pretty enough and desperate enough, I guess." Meili giggled. "She said he prefers them… innocent-looking but with a fire in their eyes. And he's usually in the most secluded VIP booth, the one overlooking the main floor, number 8. Very low-key, doesn't like to be bothered unless someone is truly… bold."
A dangerous, reckless idea began to form in Wanwan's exhausted mind. It was insane. It was degrading. It was everything she wasn't. But then she saw Xiaoyu's face and heard Dr. Chen's seventy-two-hour ultimatum.
"Meili," Wanwan said, her voice barely a whisper, "this man… do you know his name? What does he look like?"
"No name, super mysterious! That's part of his allure, I guess. As for looks, my friend was vague. Tall, imposing, always impeccably dressed in dark suits. Probably handsome in that severe, scary way, you know? The kind that makes you shiver but also… curious." Meili paused. "Why? Don't tell me you're thinking of trying your luck?"
Wanwan's silence was answer enough.
"Wanwan, be careful," Meili said, her tone suddenly serious. "That place, those people… they're not from our world. It could be dangerous. What if this guy is just a creep?"
"What other choice do I have, Meili?" Wanwan's voice cracked. "Xiaoyu… he doesn't have much time." She quickly recounted Dr. Chen's words.
A sympathetic silence hung on the line. "Oh, Wanwan… I'm so sorry. I… I didn't mean to sound flippant. I just… if you really think… maybe he is your only chance. My friend said he sometimes wears a distinctive tie pin, something with a dark gemstone, like a black diamond or onyx. It's subtle, but it's his tell."
A tie pin with a dark gemstone. Booth number 8. The Crimson Pavilion. The details seared themselves into her brain. It was a flimsy thread of hope, a wild gamble based on third-hand gossip, but it was something. In a sea of closed doors, this felt like the only one that might, just might, creak open.
"Thank you, Meili," Wanwan said, her voice firming with a desperate resolve. "Thank you for telling me."
"Just… please be safe, Wanwan. Promise me you'll be careful."
"I will," she lied, because she knew 'careful' wasn't an option anymore. She was about to walk into the lion's den.
After hanging up, Wanwan walked over to her small, chipped wardrobe. Tucked away at the back was a dress she'd bought for her university entrance celebration, a simple, elegant black sheath. She hadn't worn it since. It was a relic from a life that felt like it belonged to someone else, a life before illness and debt had consumed her world.
She pulled it out. It still fit, though it hung a little looser on her now. Holding it against herself, she looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror. The girl staring back was pale, with dark circles under her eyes, but there was a new, hard glint in their depths. A glint of determination, or perhaps, pure, unadulterated desperation.
The Crimson Pavilion. The name itself sounded like a gateway to another realm. A realm of power, of money, of men who could solve problems like hers with a flick of their wrist. Men like… the one Meili described. Or, her mind whispered again, men like the almost mythical Ye Tingjue, though the chances of encountering him in such a manner were infinitesimal, and the man Meili described sounded like an eccentric philanthropist, not a cold-blooded tycoon. Still, the very air in that club would be thick with the scent of wealth she so desperately needed.
She had to try. For Xiaoyu. She would swallow her pride, her fear, and her self-respect. She would walk into that den of opulence and hunt for this mysterious benefactor, this man in booth number 8 with a dark gemstone tie pin. She would tell him her story, lay bare her soul, and her desperation. She would do whatever it took.
The hospital's seventy-two-hour deadline felt like a ticking bomb strapped to her chest. Borrowed time was running out. And Lin Wanwan was about to take the most desperate measure of her life.