Starlight City, Huaguo – Starlight First Hospital.
"Doctor! Please, you have to save him!"
Chen Shilei's eyes were red as he jumped out of the ambulance alongside the doctors and nurses, helping to wheel an elderly man straight into the ER's trauma unit.
A nurse in a light-blue uniform stepped forward, blocking his path. "Sir, this is the emergency room. You can't go inside. Please wait out here."
Left outside the closed double doors, Chen Shilei paced anxiously. The man inside, known to everyone as Old Fan, was more than just a friend—he was his lifesaver. Not family by blood, but closer than kin.
As he stared at the door, memories began to pull him back…
He hadn't always lived like this. Shilei was once the favored son of the Chen family, one of the top four dynasties in all of Huaguo. His father was the current patriarch, a man of immense wealth and power. Shilei had grown up with everything—privilege, education, the best the world could offer. Yet he hadn't turned out spoiled. His upbringing had instilled discipline and integrity.
But three years ago, everything fell apart.
That winter, his mother, Lin E, was killed in a car accident along with her driver and secretary. With the family's status, the funeral should have been a grand affair. Instead, his uncles and relatives brushed it aside, claiming a big ceremony would hurt business. Even worse, his own father agreed. The funeral lasted barely two days—less than what the family would have done for a concubine.
Shilei had stormed into his father's study, furious at their callousness. Instead of being heard, he was thrown out. In anger, he abandoned his cards and accounts, taking only his phone before walking out of the Chen estate for good.
He bought a random train ticket through a scalper, heading to Starlight City. He could've flown, but he didn't want the family to trace him. He figured the train, with its slow crawl through snowy landscapes, might calm his grief.
What he didn't count on was the thief. Somewhere in the dark of a tunnel, his phone was slipped right out of his pocket without him noticing. By the time he stepped off the train, he had nothing. No money, no food, no way to call for help.
He tried finding day labor, but every door slammed in his face. The city was buried in snow; construction sites had shut down. Even brick-moving jobs were gone. Cold and starving, he collapsed outside an old apartment building.
When he woke, he was lying in a small but tidy room. Warmth. A roof. The faint smell of porridge.
An elderly man shuffled in, holding a steaming bowl. "Awake, huh? You slept almost a whole day. Come, have some porridge. It's freezing out there."
Shilei sat up, took the bowl, and drank as if it were life itself. "Thank you… sir. If it weren't for you, I'd probably be dead out there."
The old man chuckled. "Don't call me sir. That sounds too stiff. Just call me Old Fan. Now, what about you, young man? What's your name, and why were you passed out in the snow?"
Shilei gave him part of the truth—his name, the stolen phone, the bad luck. But not his real identity. Not the Chen heir.
Old Fan listened, nodded slowly. "You're down on your luck, I see. Stay here for a while. Work will come later."
That night, Shilei checked his coat pockets. Thank God—his ID was still there. Without it, finding work or opening a bank account would've been impossible. He dug into another hidden pocket and pulled out something more precious: a small round piece of white jade.
It was the only keepsake his mother had left him before she died. "Never lose this," she had said. "And never sell it." The jade glowed faintly in the lamplight, carved with two dragons chasing a pearl. Under a magnifying glass, the pearl revealed tiny, almost invisible characters: Virtue sustains all things. On the reverse, a qilin, fierce and proud.
Before he could drift deeper into memory, the harsh beep-beep-beep of medical monitors dragged him back to the present.
The ER doors burst open. A doctor in a white coat hurried out, scanning the waiting area. "Who came in with Fan Xiaoren?"
"That's me," Shilei said, jumping to his feet.
The doctor's face was grim. "You need to prepare yourself. The patient's condition is critical. He's having serious heart problems. We need to operate immediately. But… the surgery will cost 250,000 yuan."
"What?!" Shilei froze. "Say that again?"
"Two hundred and fifty thousand," the doctor repeated firmly. "The sooner you can get the money, the better his chances."
The number hit him like a hammer. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto a chair, sweat pouring down his forehead. The doctor gave him a sympathetic look before hurrying back inside.
Once upon a time, that amount would've meant nothing. Not 250,000—2.5 million would've been pocket change. But now? Now he barely had a hundred thousand to his name. And that was everything he had saved.
Still, he clenched his fists. Old Fan, you saved my life. Now it's my turn. I'll get the money, no matter what