Zhang Bing had a girlfriend—one he had been willing to sacrifice everything for.
He gave her the world. Every desire she uttered, he fulfilled. And though their relationship wasn't splashed across the headlines, it wasn't exactly a secret either. To the public, he was still the popular Zhang, a man adored and admired. But behind closed doors, he was simply hers. Hopelessly, foolishly in love.
Or so he believed.
No one would have imagined that just months later, that same man would be lying unconscious on an operating table—fighting for his life.
It had started like any other day. Just like always, Zhang Bing carved time out of his packed schedule to be with Miara.
They had met a year ago during his vacation in Milan. A spark, a pull—he'd chased it. From casual outings to late-night phone calls, it didn't take long for the attraction to bloom into something more. When they officially started dating, Zhang had felt as though he'd won the lottery.
Months passed. Love deepened.
Then why?
Why was the same woman, who once clung to his arm and swore he was her entire world, now laughing—openly, cruelly—with another man?
He wasn't sure where the footage came from. A hidden camera? A leaked video? But there it was—on a screen he never wished to see.
Two wine glasses clinked. Joy danced in their eyes. Smirks curled their lips.
They were celebrating. His downfall.
And he, helpless in a hospital bed, was the guest of honor they toasted to.
Zhang Bing wasn't naïve. He knew exactly what they were so delighted about.
She had played him.
It was never love. It was never even close. Just a well-orchestrated performance—a cruel script he hadn't realized he was cast in.
He had been the fool.
Miara's voice rang in his memory, sharp and venomous:
"You were too proud. I hated your guts. If it weren't for the fact that my boyfriend and I needed something from you, I never would've agreed to even speak to you—let alone date you. You're nothing but a pretty face with deep pockets. Nothing more."
Then, in front of the man who had given her everything, she kissed the true object of her affection. Boldly. Passionately. Without remorse.
Zhang wanted to scream. To fight back. To make them both pay for what they'd done to him.
But his body betrayed him.
He had given so much—his love, his trust, his money—and in return, all he got was heartbreak. And now, utter silence.
As the final strings of hope frayed within him, everything faded.
He couldn't recall what happened next. One moment, he was drifting in that cold void. The next, he was... watching.
A hospital room. Sterile, quiet. His mother sat beside him. His elder sister stood near the foot of the bed, her hand clenched. And the doctor's voice was low—heavy with resignation.
"He's brain-dead. We don't know if he'll ever regain consciousness. The hit-and-run was... unusually clean, like someone who's done this before. Frankly, it would take a miracle for him to wake up. But…" The doctor exhaled. "We'll do everything we can."
Then he left.
Zhang Bing felt no pain. No warmth. No breath.
Until something strange pulled at his senses.
A shift. A blur.
Suddenly, he wasn't in a hospital room anymore. He was on the street. Dazed. Dressed in unfamiliar clothes. His face bruised, like he'd been in a fight—or worse.
Around him bustled a chaotic energy. Horns blared in the distance. The scent of dust and fried food clung to the air.
And then he saw it.
A street sign.
A country he didn't expect.
Nigeria.