Night draped the city in a glittering veil. Neon signs buzzed, car horns echoed, the pulse of modern China thrummed through the streets. Inside a high-rise penthouse, a group of actors laughed, glasses clinking.
"…Did you see last week's premiere? Absolute flop," one muttered.
"Ha! The new drama with Lin Fei? Overrated," another replied, swirling her wine.
"Honestly, Wei's performance in that indie film? Best of the season," a third said, raising a glass.
"Did you hear about the awards shortlist?" a fourth asked. "I'm telling you, this one's going to be brutal."
Wei's smile was polite but hollow. "Bathroom," he murmured, bowing slightly before slipping away. The chatter barely paused—life was louder than his absence.
The hallway stretched long and silent. Each step on the marble floor echoed softly, precise, deliberate. The scent of polished wood and faint perfume clung to him. His fingers brushed the railing, tapping lightly like a heartbeat he could not trust.
At the floor-to-ceiling window, he paused. The city lights sprawled below, fractured and gleaming. He lifted his gaze, shoulders settling into a careless poise, a subtle sway at the edge. The crystal wine glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor far below, catching the neon in shards.
Below, the streets moved in chaos: traffic, pedestrians, a city alive. Wangji walked home, freshly released from an overnight hospital shift. His uniform was wrinkled, his hair slightly damp with sweat, and exhaustion dragged at his every step.
His father's voice echoed in his memory—shaky breathing, trembling hands, the morning's panic attack that had ripped through their apartment like a storm. Wangji had spent an hour calming him, checking his pulse, coaxing him to breathe.
He rubbed at his temple, muttering under his breath, "I'll have to check on him again… make sure he takes the meds this time. Can't let it get worse."
The weight pressed down—patients at the hospital, his father at home, his own body screaming for rest. But still, he walked steadily, shoulders squared as if duty alone held him upright.
Then—
He looked up.
He sees someone i teetered at the edge of the window..in threatening way..he didn't knew who..but it was enough to scare a real doctor who cares for life..
Time fractured. Every second elongated, every motion sharp.
Wei stepped off...without thinking twice..like it was the easiest way to escape this crule world .
The screech of brakes, the slam of a horn, the yelp of engines—all collided.
" No ! Don't do this !
Wangji's voice came out too tight and low . His chest thumped in his ears. His mind had no time to form words; only instinct moved him forward.
A man falling. No hesitation, no thought, just move.
He sprinted. Heart pounding. Feet slamming against asphalt. Wei's body plummeted through air, light and deadly, toward the street below.
The world fractured into noise: tires skidding, car horns, neon reflections, chaos everywhere—but Wangji's eyes locked on the life that mattered.
He reached the curb as Wei's form collided with the street. The panic exploded in his chest. A doctor's instinct: one breath, one heartbeat, one chance to pull a life back from the edge.
He lunged forward, arms outstretched.
The city around him blurred. Cars honked, people shouted, the neon signs flickered—but the only thing real was the weight of a body falling, and the urgent, suffocating need to save it.