The first sensation when consciousness returned was not pain, but light.
White light passed through her eyelids, burning her retinas red. Ye Qingzhou tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt as if they had been welded shut, too heavy to lift. She could feel her body—lying on a soft bed, with clean sheets beneath her, the air mixed with the scent of disinfectant and some kind of herb.
It wasn't a hospital. Hospitals smelled colder; this smell carried a damp, tropical plant-like warmth.
She was still alive.
This realization did not bring relief, but a calm scrutiny. Being rescued from a sea three miles from the coast, water temperature below ten degrees, bleeding, hypothermia, infected wounds—her survival was itself a miracle.
Or rather, some abnormal resilience.
"Don't pretend to sleep now that you're awake." A voice came from above, in Chinese tinged with a Southeast Asian accent, hoarse like sandpaper rubbing, "You've been asleep for three days. If you keep sleeping, I'll have to charge extra for coma care."
Ye Qingzhou finally opened her eyes.
The ceiling was white, and a ceiling fan turned slowly, stirring the tropical air into a viscous whirlpool. She moved her eyes, scanning with peripheral vision—a modest room, walls with water stains, windows with heavy blackout curtains, a metal door with three locks.
A man sat on a chair beside the bed, legs crossed, holding a scalpel as he trimmed his nails. He appeared to be in his fifties, lean, skin darkened from years of sun exposure, deep-set eyes, reading glasses perched on his nose, like an ordinary old doctor in a small Southeast Asian clinic.
But Ye Qingzhou noticed his hands. Long fingers, prominent knuckles, calluses in the webbing—these weren't from handling scalpels, but from handling guns.
"Who are you?" Her voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, her throat feeling sanded raw.
"Me?" The man put down the scalpel and pushed up his reading glasses. "I'm the one who saved your life. And also the person you're about to owe a huge sum of money to."
He stood up, walked to the bedside, and examined her with a professional gaze that was almost cold. His eyes seemed like X-rays, able to see right through the skin to the bones.
"When Old Chen from the fishing boat brought you here, your body temperature was twenty-eight degrees, your blood pressure was too low to measure, and the wound on your back had already infected the muscle layer," he counted on his fingers. "Blood loss, hypothermia, infection, early signs of organ failure—you had four death notices hanging over you at the same time."
"But you saved me."
"Because I was bored," the man shrugged. "Also, Old Chen said you were pulled out of the sea, and I was curious how anyone could survive in that situation."
He pulled aside a corner of the blackout curtain, and sunlight suddenly poured in, making Ye Qingzhou squint. Through the gap, she saw palm trees and a blurry coastline in the distance.
"Thailand?" she guessed.
"Southern Thailand, near the Malaysian border," the man said. "A place so obscure that even Google Maps can't find it. I run a 'private clinic' here, specifically for people like you who can't conveniently go to a regular hospital."
Ye Qingzhou was silent for a few seconds. She needed time to sort out her thoughts. Three days ago—no, by his account, it should have been six days ago—she fell into the sea from Bin Hai Port, was rescued by a fishing boat, and then sent to this secret clinic on the Thai-Myanmar border.
She survived. But "Dad" didn't know. A-Gui didn't know. Everyone in the organization thought Jingzhe had died in the East China Sea.
That was her greatest advantage.
"I need your help," she said.
"You're already in my bed, Miss." The man laughed, revealing a set of yellowed teeth stained from years of chewing betel nut. "What else do you need?"
"A new face."
The room fell silent. The ceiling fan kept turning, creaking as it went. The man looked at her, and the playful glint in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by a complex scrutiny.
"Do you know what you're saying?" His voice turned serious. "Face changing isn't makeup, it's not putting on a mask. It's surgery. Cutting open your face, peeling off the skin, reshaping the bones, and re-stitching. You'll lie on the operating table for more than ten hours, and the recovery period lasts at least three months. During that time, you can't laugh, you can't cry, you can't sneeze—any facial expression might tear the stitches."
"I know."
"You don't." The man sneered. "You think plastic surgery is like the movies, wrapping a bandage and suddenly becoming a different person? Let me tell you, in the first month after surgery, your face will swell like a pig's head, your eyes full of bloodshot veins, and you'll have to eat through a straw. By the second month, the wounds start to heal, but you'll itch—from the bones, itching so badly you'll wish you could peel off your own skin. The third month—"
"Enough." Ye Qingzhou interrupted him, her voice calm as if discussing the weather. "I know it will hurt. But I need to disappear. Ye Qingzhou is dead."
The man stared at her for a long time. Then he sighed, sat back in his chair, and picked up the surgical knife again.
"I used to be a military doctor in the Golden Triangle," he said, his tone becoming distant, "operating on drug lords, warlords, and international fugitives. You know what they fear the most? Not death—being recognized. So among the people who came to me, eight out of ten wanted a new face."
He looked up, and a faint glint appeared in his murky eyes.
"Of those eight people, four died on the operating table. Not because of my skills—it was their bodies that couldn't handle it. Face-changing surgery takes more toll on the body than when you nearly drowned in the sea. Your body has just gone through a near-death experience, your immune system is already ruined. Doing this surgery now, the success rate is less than fifty percent."
"Fifty percent is enough."
"You're insane."
"Maybe." Ye Qingzhou closed his eyes, "But crazy people are more useful than dead people." "
The man was silent for a long time. The ceiling fan creaked and turned overhead, and the calls of tropical birds came from outside the window, distant and vague.
"What's your name?" He asked suddenly.
"Ye Qingzhou."
"Real name?"
"The code name is called Jingzhi."
"Awakening... the man chewed on the word, "Chunlei." Good name. But what you want is not to wake up all things, but to put some people to sleep forever, right? "
Ye Qingzhou did not answer.
The man stood up, walked to the door, and opened it. Sunlight pours in from the hallway, casting a bright rectangle on the floor.
"My name is Songpa," he said, "I used to be a military doctor, but now I am a black market doctor who only recognizes money and not people. My rule is simple - the operation costs $500,000, pay first and do it later. Don't retreat when you die, and don't increase the price when you live. "
"I have no money."
"I know." Songpa looked back at her, "So you can owe it first." But I remind you that those who owe me money end up paying more than money. "
"For example?"
Songpa smiled, and that smile looked eerie and unpredictable in the backlight.
"For example, a favor that can never be repaid."
He walked out the door, paused in the hallway, and dropped the last word: "Think about it." Tell me after thinking about it. But I warn you - it's easy to change your face, but it's hard to change your life. What you replace is not a face, but all your past identities, all relationships, and all the people who knew you. You will become a person without a past. A person who does not exist. "
The door is closed. The room fell silent again.
Ye Qingzhou lay on the bed, watching the ceiling fan spin on the ceiling. Faces appeared in her mind - the loving and cold eyes of "Daddy", the flickering eyes of Ah Gui who did not dare to meet her, the faceless men who shot at her on the dock.
She remembered the last moment before falling into the sea. The feeling of suffocation with seawater pouring into the lungs. The moon above the water is twisted.
And the oath she made in the dark.
I'll be back.
I will find each of you.
I will let you know that the awakening is not the beginning of spring. It is the countdown to your end.
She opened her eyes. In those dark eyes, there was something colder than revenge and heavier than death.
She didn't need to go over. She doesn't need an identity. She didn't need anyone who knew her.
She just needed a new face, a new name, and a reason to live.
And that reason is called - make them pay.
Three days later, Ye Qingzhou lay on the operating table, watching Songpa put on rubber gloves and pick up the scalpel.
"Last chance," Songpa said, "is too late to regret now." "
"Do it."
Songpa nodded and winked at the nurse next to him. The anesthetic is injected intravenously into the blood vessels, and the cold sensation spreads from the arm to the body.
Ye Qingzhou heard Songpa's last words in the last second of his confusion -
"Remember, from today onwards, Ye Qingzhou is dead. You are no longer anyone. You are a ghost. A person who does not exist. "
Then, darkness descended.
The operation lasted fourteen hours.
Songpa cut the skin of her face, reshaped the height of her cheekbones, angled her jaw, and changed the shape of her nose bridge and the thickness of her lips. He grinded off part of the bone with a miniature chainsaw, fixed the new structure with titanium nails, and reattached the skin with the thinnest sutures.
When the last stitch was finished, Songpa took off his blood-stained gloves, looked at the unrecognizable face in front of him, and was silent for a long time.
"Does it look like it?" The nurse asked in a low voice.
"Not like." Songpa said, "Not at all." "
He turned and walked out of the operating room, lit a cigarette in the hallway, and took a deep puff.
"It's good if it doesn't look like it." He muttered to himself into the smoke, "It's not like that, you can survive." "
The tropical sunlight outside the window streamed in, illuminating the cigarette in his hand, the water stains on the hallway walls, and this secret clinic hidden deep within the palm forest.
On the operating table, a woman named Ye Qingzhou was sleeping. When she wakes up, she will have a new face, a new identity, and a mission written in blood.
She will forget many things. Forget her former smile, forget the face in the mirror, forget all the memories carried by the name 'Ye Qingzhou'.
But she will not forget that oath.
Never.
Three months later.
Song Pa removed the last layer of gauze from her face and handed her a mirror.
Ye Qingzhou—no, now she should be called something else—took the mirror and looked at the face inside.
It was a strange face. Thinner, colder, with higher cheekbones and deeper eye sockets. No longer the slightly heroic, round face of Ye Qingzhou, but a sharp face like a blade.
"How does it feel?" Song Pa asked.
She stared for a long time. Then she put down the mirror and spoke her first words—
"My name is Lin Xi."
Song Pa was momentarily stunned, then he laughed.
"Lin Xi," he repeated, "nice name. The tide in the forest. Sounds like a girl who writes poetry, not a killer who kills."
Lin Xi sat up on the bed. Three months of bedridden rest had atrophied her muscles a lot, but her gaze was sharper than ever.
"I should go," she said.
"What about the money you owe me?"
"I will pay it back."
"I knew you would." Sompa took a slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. "This is your new ID card, passport, and credit card. The name is Lin Xi, nationality Chinese, birthdate altered, everything else is real—at least, it's real in the database."
Lin Xi took the slip, glanced at it, and stuffed it into her pocket.
"There's one more thing," Sompa's voice turned serious. "Although the wound on your back has healed, the bullet damaged nerves near your spine. From now on, your right arm might occasionally go numb, and in severe cases, temporarily lose strength. It's not a big issue, but in your line of work, it could be a matter of life or death."
"I understand."
"Also," Sompa hesitated, "when you were pulled out of the sea, I did a full-body examination. There's a substance in your blood... something I've never seen before."
Lin Xi froze. "What do you mean?"
"It means you are not an ordinary person, Miss Lin Xi." Sompa's gaze sharpened. "Your cell regeneration rate is three times that of a normal person, and your wound healing speed is five times faster. I've been a doctor for thirty years and have never seen anything like this. Who exactly are you?"
Lin Xi was silent for a few seconds. Then she lifted her head, looked at Sompa, her eyes frighteningly calm.
"I am someone who should already be dead."
She picked up a plane ticket from the table and looked at the destination—China, Binhai City.
"You're going back?" Sompa frowned. "Since someone wants to kill you, are you going back to die?"
Lin Xi didn't answer. She walked to the window and drew the curtains. Tropical sunlight poured in, illuminating her reborn face.
In the distance, the sea and sky merged, endless.
But at the end in that direction, there was a city, a group of people, an unsettled score.
"The game isn't over yet," she said softly, as if speaking to Sompa, yet also to herself. "I've just changed my identity and started over."
She tucked the plane ticket into her pocket and turned toward the door.
"Dr. Songpa," she stopped at the doorway without turning around, "thank you for saving my life. But I need to warn you about something."
"What?"
"The person who leaves here today is called Lin Xi. Ye Qingzhou is already dead. If you tell anyone that she is still alive..."
She didn't finish the sentence. But Songpa understood.
He shivered, not because of the threat, but because of the aura emanating from that figure — it was not a human aura, it was the aura of a vengeful ghost.
The door closed. Lin Xi walked into the tropical sunlight.
Songpa stood there, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag.
"Changing your face is easy, changing your fate is hard," he murmured to the empty room, "But you... I'm afraid even the King of Hell wouldn't dare take you."
Outside the window, a taxi started its engine, kicking up a cloud of dust, and drove away.
Binhai City, three thousand kilometers away.
A storm is brewing.
And at the center of the storm is a woman who is already 'dead.'
Her name is Lin Xi.
But she prefers others to remember her by her former name —
Jingzhe.
When spring thunder begins, all things awaken.
It is also the beginning of nightmares for some people.