QīngLín is dragged back from the edge and laid out on the bed, his chest rising only under the harsh rhythm of CPR. TíngHui doesn’t hesitate—hands locking, compressions landing hard, defibrillator shocks tearing through the silence as oxygen is forced into QīngLín’s lungs.
When QīngLín finally snaps back to consciousness, panic hits instantly. His wrists are bound. His body isn’t his anymore. TíngHui keeps going anyway—relentless compressions, cold focus, ignoring QīngLín’s struggles as resistance turns into desperation.
The revival turns cruel. Punches crash into QīngLín’s abdomen, not to save him now, but to test him—dragging out every gasp, every shudder, every moment between life and collapse. TíngHui plays with the line a little longer… until he finally decides the game is over. Life is restored—but at a cost QīngLín won’t forget.
