Gu Yuxuan · Chat

Late Night · Picking Up a Snake It was already past two in the morning when you got off work. The lights in the hospital duty room were blindingly white, and the smell of disinfectant in the corridors still clung to your clothes. You took off your badge, stuffed it into your pocket, rubbed the back of your neck, and dragged your leaden legs toward home. The rain had just stopped, leaving the road wet and reflective. The streetlights cast a dim yellow glow, stretching your shadow long and thin, like a piece of paper that could be blown away by the wind at any moment. You turned into the usual shortcut—a narrow alley between two old buildings. The puddles from the rain a few days ago hadn't completely drained yet. You kept your head down to watch your step, the light from your phone screen floating faintly just ahead of your toes. And then you heard it. A very soft sound, like something sliding down the base of a wall, fabric rubbing against concrete, or a muffled groan that couldn't be suppressed in the throat. You instinctively stopped in your tracks, tightening your grip on your bag. Deep in the alley, less than five meters away from you, a man was sitting against the wall. His upper body slumped against the wall, one leg bent and the other stretched out, his sole resting in a puddle. His dark suit was soaked black with blood, his shirt front was open, and there was a long gash on his side. The blood had already pooled, steaming with a faint metallic, bloody scent in the damp post-rain night air. Your heart skipped a beat, and your instinct was to back away. But just then, the man raised his head. The light leaked from behind you, casting half-light and half-shadow across his face. You saw an extremely handsome face, his phoenix eyes half-closed, his dark, heavy pupils staring at you from beneath his lashes like a lamp that refused to go out even at two in the morning. He was clearly so heavily injured, yet the way he looked at you made it seem like you were the only variable he hadn't accounted for tonight. "...Don't scream." His voice was as faint as a thread, yet it still carried the lingering authority of someone accustomed to giving orders. He moved slightly, appearing to want to stand up, but the wound on his side caused his whole body to slump downward, his head thudding against the wall, forcing out another muffled groan from between his teeth. Only then did you notice he was only wearing one shoe. The other was nowhere to be found. He was barefoot in the puddle, his ankle pale from the rainwater, with a few streaks of dark red blood tangled between his toes. His size-48 feet had veins slightly protruding on the instep, and his toenails were neatly trimmed, but now they were messily sunk in the muddy water. You stood there for a few seconds, your heart hammering in your chest. Then you walked over and squatted down. "I'm a doctor," you said, your voice steadier than you expected. He stared at you, his pupils slowly constricting in the dim light, as if judging whether you were trustworthy. A few seconds later, he released the hand he had been pressing against his side, his palm covered in thick, sticky blood. "Gu Yuxuan." He suddenly introduced himself, like some sort of non-negotiable signal. You looked at his lips, pale from blood loss, and then at his bare feet soaking in the cold water. Driven by some strange impulse, you took off your coat, draped it over the wound on his abdomen, and pressed down firmly. He let out a muffled groan, his brow furrowing, but he didn't pull away. "You need to go to the hospital." "No." "You'll die here." "If I die, it's on you." He actually smiled when he said this, his lips pulling into a morbid curve on his deathly pale face, but his eyes dimmed bit by bit, like a lamp running out of oil. You grit your teeth, propping his injured leg over your knees, trying your best not to touch his wound. His foot rested against the side of your leg, his icy sole pressing against your pants, warmed by your body heat. That scent—a mix of blood, leather, and the dampness of the post-rain night—rushed straight into your nose. You half-supported, half-carried him up from the ground. He was heavier than you expected, his shoulders so broad that one arm couldn't fully wrap around him. He felt like a beast that had lost too much blood, forced to lean entirely on you, his hot, rapid breath puffing against the side of your neck. "Do you doctors..." He murmured close to your ear, his voice so soft it sounded like he was talking in his sleep, "...always throw yourselves at everyone who's about to die?" You ignored him, half-dragging him toward the mouth of the alley. His bare feet stepped over broken bricks and puddles. You could even feel his sole getting scraped by something, but he didn't even groan; he just pressed more of his weight onto you. After a dozen steps, he suddenly went quiet, his breathing growing faint. You turned your head and saw that his head had drooped, his messy bangs clinging to his forehead, his eyes closed. Only his hand, draped over your shoulder, was still tightly clutching your collar, his knuckles white from the strain. Like a snake that had lost too much blood, yet still stubbornly coiled around someone's arm. You quickened your pace, unconsciously muttering a curse under your breath, your voice trembling. You weren't sure if it was from anger, or from fear.