Adrian looked at the scratch on his arm. It hurt, yes—but the anger rising in his throat wasn't visceral. It was cold. Calculated. He lifted his gaze to Li Shen, who still had his hand suspended in the air, wearing that I'm a genius and you're a mortal pose that irritated him so deeply.
"What do you think you're doing?" Adrian said, barely above a whisper—yet it froze the air.
Li Shen blinked, confused. No one had ever looked at a hero like that before."I was just checking his neural reflexes, Mr. Valmont… a standard procedure to—"
"'Standard'…" Su Meilan cut in, stepping forward. She was pale, but her expression carried the bureaucratic fury of someone who knew exactly how hospitals functioned. "Report to the head nurse. There is no order for a 'puncture-based reflex test' in his file. And you…" She glanced at Li Shen's badge. "You're not even permanent staff. External consultant. Thoracic surgery."
Astrid Roche crossed her arms. For a brief instant, her eyes shone with genuine admiration—the kind reserved for the medical hero every cultivation novel worshipped. But her smile retained its edge."The Valmont family owns sixty percent of this hospital's shares."
"Perfect." Adrian gestured toward Margaret, the doctor accompanying Li Shen, who now looked like she wanted to melt into the wall. "You're the director's daughter, right? Call him. Now."
At that moment, Li Shen's fantasy of being an all-powerful hero began to deflate like a punctured balloon. Minutes later, the door burst open. The Director—gray-haired, impeccably dressed, and sweating cold panic mixed with prestige—rushed in.
"Mr. Valmont! Miss Roche!" he stammered. "I deeply apologize… I've been informed there was an… incident."
Adrian tilted his chin toward Li Shen."This man assaulted me with medical equipment without consent, without protocol, and without being my attending physician. Your daughter witnessed everything."
Margaret wanted to explain—justify, invent any excuse—but it all collapsed under the weight of evidence. Her confusion was absolute.
"Director," Adrian said, sitting down with the calm of someone who didn't need to raise his voice to assert authority. "This hospital needs a reminder: even miracle heroes are useless without documentation. And apparently, you're hiring unqualified personnel."
Li Shen swallowed. His aura of invincible prodigy melted away. Since coming down from the mountain, everything had gone wrong—but this… this was a new level of failure.
"You don't have a medical degree or certification, do you?" Adrian asked. "Talented. Gifted. Admired by all—yes. But here, without credentials, you cannot touch a patient in this unit. And certainly not perform 'miracle tests.' This has legal, professional, and reputational consequences."
The Director paled."Mr. Valmont, we can resolve this internally—"
"No," Adrian said, his voice carrying the cold authority of someone fully backed by the law. "Convene the hospital's board. We're restoring order. Some people seem to think 'talent' makes them immune to laws. It doesn't. There is no qi here. No miracles. Only contracts, paperwork, and consequences."
Margaret still had that light in her eyes—the awe of someone who had once seen a hero save lives in another story. But now she lowered her gaze, understanding that even the brightest prodigies are helpless before bureaucracy.
"Director," Adrian said with the icy smile of a villain protected by the law, "you have ten minutes to escort this 'so-called doctor' out of my sight and deliver his termination letter. Otherwise, tomorrow's consequences—for you and your daughter—will be far worse."
Li Shen clenched his fists. No qi. No miraculous powers. No admiring applause. Just raw reality: contracts, paperwork, and legal repercussions.
Adrian glanced down at the scratch on his arm. It hurt, yes—but it also served as a reminder: in this world, genius is not enough. Even the brightest novel heroes collapse in the face of bureaucracy.
Astrid sighed, anger and fascination mixing in her chest."I'm sorry…" she murmured, almost to herself, watching the man who would have been worshipped in another story reduced to a dismissed consultant.
Astrid left the room, her voice echoing down the corridor as she issued legal orders over the phone—firm, precise. Inside, Adrian and Meilan were left in a heavy silence, broken only by the steady hum of the monitors.
Meilan pressed gauze against Adrian's arm. Her fingers trembled, though she didn't want to admit it.
"Mr. Valmont… let go," she whispered, even though he hadn't touched her yet. It was more a warning to herself than to him.
Adrian didn't answer with words. With a slowness that was both predatory and gentle, he sat up in bed. Before she could retreat, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, burying his face in the hollow of her neck.
"Don't call me 'Mr. Valmont,'" he murmured, his voice low and steady. "Call me by my name. Or my love… whichever you prefer."
"Stop!" Meilan tried, pushing him lightly—but instead of forming fists, her hands settled delicately on Adrian's shoulders. Her mind screamed: harassment, unprofessional behavior, insanity. But her body… her body responded differently. At last, she felt something she had been searching for without knowing it for years.
"We'll get to know each other very well," Adrian continued, tightening the embrace. "You'll come with me and take care of me from now on. I need a personal nurse."
"It's… it's just shock," she sobbed. Tears slid down her cheeks uncontrollably, betraying the cold mask she had worked so hard to build. "Delusions. You're a patient and I—"
"Believe me," he interrupted, pulling back just enough to hold her gaze. "This isn't a delusion. It's destiny. And now that we've found each other… there's no turning back."
Then he kissed her.
Not timidly.Not carefully.
As if every second of waiting had been part of a secret plan she had always known would come true. Meilan responded with her entire being, as if she had been waiting for him across a thousand lifetimes.
A sharp pain tore through her chest, like a rusted lock breaking open in her memory. A voice—her own, younger, more desperate—echoed in her mind:
I'll find you in the next life… I don't care if you're a beggar or a king. I'll stand by your side.
"No…" She covered her mouth, collapsing against the edge of the bed as tears overwhelmed her. "It can't be… I always thought it was a childish dream. A man dying in my arms…"
Adrian cupped her face with both hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs—gentle, firm."Tell me," he said softly. "What did you dream?"
For a moment, Nurse Su disappeared. Only Meilan remained—those deep brown eyes blazing with the same spark as a legendary heroine: fury, loyalty, and an impossible, possessive love.
"I hate you," she whispered, hugging him back with a strength that nearly crushed him. "I hate you for making me wait so long. I hate you for dying like that."
At that instant, the door handle turned. Astrid was returning.
Meilan sprang away, wiping her face frantically with her sleeve, snapping back into rigid posture just as the door opened. Her face was flushed, but her eyes shone brighter than ever.
"Everything alright here?" Astrid asked, eyebrow raised, balancing authority and curiosity.
"Perfectly," Adrian replied, reclining against the pillow with a satisfied smile. "The head nurse has… miraculous hands."
The door burst open again.
A figure entered first: Élise Valmont—Adrian's mother. Her presence filled the room before she even spoke. Hair flawless despite days without sleep, eyes fierce, bearing the air of someone who had led armies in dreams and corporations in real life.
"Where is my son?!" Her voice thundered, immovable.
Behind her came nearly fifty doctors of different nationalities—white coats immaculate, eyes exhausted but resolute—carrying tablets, IV bags, monitoring equipment, emergency protocols straight out of a futuristic film. They had crossed borders, lost sleep, abandoned everything, all for one man who was more myth than patient.
Adrian watched them from the bed with the calm of someone who knew reality would always be more absurd than fantasy: fifty heroes, all experts, all desperate… and him—a simple man with a scratch on his arm.
Meilan stood at his side, gauze in hand, stunned by the scene. Her heart raced, as if trying to match the speed of the needle that had threatened him minutes earlier.
"Mother…" Adrian murmured, hoarse, almost amused. "All these… heroes. Is this really necessary?"
"Yes!" Élise shouted, advancing toward him. "I will not sleep. I will not eat. I will not rest until you are fully awake, Adrian. I brought the best doctors in the world. All of them."
One by one, the doctors began checking monitors, adjusting IVs, analyzing data. Every movement seemed choreographed, as if desperation were a universal dance. Watching them, Adrian couldn't help but notice the absurd theatricality: an army of medical prodigies trying to save him from a "destiny" he knew he could handle perfectly well… if this were a novel.
Meilan squeezed his hand, aware she was witnessing something impossible—the collision between a miracle that felt real and the harsh logic of life.
"Mother…" Adrian repeated, this time smiling with a mix of irony and affection. "I suppose now we understand why novel heroes are always surrounded by chaos. But in the real world… genius alone isn't enough."
Élise didn't hear the irony. Her gaze said only one thing: It doesn't matter what you say, my son—I will fight the entire world before I let anything happen to you.
And so the room became a scene no one could have planned: Adrian in the bed, Meilan at his side, Élise commanding an army of exhausted yet determined doctors—all moving like pieces on an absurd board where the magic of the miracle hero collided head-on with the logic of the real world.
Every movement, every gesture, every calculation shared the same goal: to keep young Valmont alive.
But the true power wasn't in them.
It was in the patient—and in the patience of those who chose to stay.