Even carrying a full-grown adult, Doug Feng was still faster than the hotel security by a long shot. His body enhancements were no joke—two quick turns, one sharp pivot, and he disappeared into a side hallway, slipping silently into a dark, cramped supply room.
Panting lightly, he closed the metal door behind him and slid the latch into place.
"Okay, think… Think!"
There was no way out through the front door anymore. He'd already been spotted. And carrying Ms. Fang? That just made everything ten times harder.
Doug gently set her down on a stack of cardboard boxes, taking extra care not to bump her head. Her face was flushed, her body unnaturally warm to the touch.
"Ms. Fang, can you hear me?" he whispered urgently, tapping her cheek. "It's me—Doug Feng. You have to wake up!"
She shifted slightly and let out a soft groan, but her eyes remained shut.
Doug's brow furrowed. He touched her forehead again—burning hot.
"Damn, this isn't normal. Is she… running a fever? Like, a serious one?"
Her body twisted uncomfortably, as if she were trying to escape the heat radiating from within. Beads of sweat gathered on her temples.
"No time to think. I have to get her out of here—now."
Doug took a deep breath, hoisted her into his arms again, and barreled out of the supply room.
His plan was simple: straight through the lobby, full speed, bust through the security perimeter, and vanish into the night.
But the universe had other ideas.
Just as Doug stepped into the lobby, a shrill wail split the air. Police sirens—five of them, at least—followed by the rumble of heavy vehicles outside.
What now?!
Seconds later, four military trucks screeched to a stop outside Golden Sun Hotel. Dozens of armed officers—fully geared paramilitary units—poured out and rushed toward the building like an avalanche of black uniforms.
"FREEZE!"
"EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!"
Their voices boomed like thunder, echoing off the marble walls. The hotel security team scattered in panic, dropping their batons and kneeling with hands on their heads, too terrified to resist.
Doug was frozen in place, caught halfway between escape and total disbelief.
What the hell is going on?! I didn't even call the cops!
Then it clicked.
The woman he saved earlier—the one in the hallway, with the two creeps—she must've been the one who called them in.
Well damn. Doing the right thing really pays off sometimes.
He backed into a corner, following the officers' instructions, keeping Ms. Fang cradled protectively against his chest.
Within minutes, the task force swept through the upper floors. When they returned, they had six men in cuffs, including two limp bodies—bald-headed goons who Doug instantly recognized as the guys he'd knocked out: the infamous "Fourth Brother" and "Number Eight."
Doug exhaled, his pulse slowing just a little.
At least they wouldn't be getting up for revenge any time soon.
Ms. Fang stirred again in his arms. Her skin was hotter than before, her breath shallow and irregular. She whimpered softly.
"Crap. This fever's getting worse."
Doug stepped toward the nearest officer. "Sir, I need to get her to a hospital. She's really sick—burning up. Can I leave now?"
The soldier didn't budge. "Sorry, sir. Orders are clear. No one leaves until everyone's cleared of involvement."
Doug clenched his jaw. Seriously? She could be dying here and you're quoting protocol?
But just as he was about to argue, a soft voice rang out from behind.
"He's not involved. He saved me. Please let him go."
Doug turned and blinked.
It was her. The woman from earlier—the one he'd rescued. Her hair was a mess, but her voice was firm, calm, commanding even.
"Thank you," he whispered, offering her a grateful nod.
The officer saluted her and stepped aside. "You're free to go."
Doug didn't waste a second. Still carrying Ms. Fang, he ran out the main doors and onto the street. The cool night air hit him like a wall.
"Taxi!" he shouted.
A red Volkswagen pulled up a second later. Doug opened the back door and gently laid Ms. Fang inside before jumping in after her.
"To the city hospital. Step on it!"
The driver nodded and hit the gas—but before they could get far, a faint voice came from Doug's shoulder.
"No… don't take me to the hospital. Take me home…"
Doug leaned down. "Ms. Fang? Can you hear me?"
Her voice was slurred, barely audible. "I'm… fine. Just… not the hospital…"
Doug's heart clenched. "You're not fine! You're practically boiling. This could be dangerous!"
But Ms. Fang stirred, eyes fluttering open just a crack, and whispered: "Take me to Yuhua Complex… please…"
Doug hesitated. She looked weak, yes—but not unconscious. And oddly enough, her skin wasn't just hot—it almost radiated warmth, as if something inside her was… changing?
Is this even a fever?
"Yuhua Complex," she repeated, more firmly this time.
Doug glanced at the driver. "Wait—no, take us to—"
"Yuhua Complex, got it," the driver said, annoyed. "You two figure it out back there. I'm not arguing."
With an angry huff, he jerked the wheel and took a hard left, speeding toward the residential district.
Doug slumped in his seat, frustrated.
"Ms. Fang, this really isn't safe…"
She gave him a tired smile. "Doug… thank you for saving me. But I promise, I'm not sick."
She shifted uncomfortably, crossing her legs and looking away, her face redder than ever.
Doug stared.
Wait a minute…
A glowing number hovered faintly above her head—Affection Level: 1 (Gray).
He blinked.
Then the number flickered—2 (Red).
3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10!
What the hell?! It's spiking!
The sudden jump in her affection score left him dumbfounded. Whatever was happening to her wasn't just biological. Something… supernatural was going on.
The taxi came to a screeching halt outside Yuhua Complex. It was past 10 p.m., and the quiet residential neighborhood was deserted except for a few stragglers walking home from the night markets.
"That'll be thirteen yuan," the driver said gruffly.
Doug instinctively reached into his pocket—only to pull out a handful of lottery tickets and a single rusty coin.
Right.
He'd spent his last dime on a hopeless gamble earlier that day.
"Here," Ms. Fang said, pulling out her wallet and handing the driver a twenty.
Doug could've sworn she winked at him.
They stepped out of the taxi.
The night air was cool and quiet, the city's chaos far behind them now.
Doug scratched the back of his head, suddenly awkward. "Uh… which building do you live in? I'll walk you to your door. It's not safe out here."
She smiled—an expression that somehow sent a chill and a tingle down his spine at the same time.
"You're such a gentleman, Doug. Alright then… I live in Building 3. Top floor."
Doug nodded.
But his mind was spinning.
Affection level 10?
Burning-hot skin?
Glowing aura?
Something strange was happening to Ms. Fang—and it had nothing to do with any normal fever.
And he had a feeling this was only the beginning.