Southwest border, edge of a humid primeval jungle.
Military field hospital. The fluorescent lights in the corridor emitted a buzzing electrical hum. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the scent of blood fermented in the stifling air.
On the bench outside the operating room, Political Commissar Zhao Guodong held an unlit cigarette between his fingers, staring at the red light glowing above the door. The two bars and two stars on his shoulder straps reflected under the light. Guard Xiao Zhang stood beside him, eyes rimmed red, his uniform splattered with mud and bloodstains.
The red light went out.
The door pushed open. Military doctor Old Chen pulled off his bloodied mask, removed his rubber gloves stained with blood, and tossed them into the medical waste bin.
Zhao Guodong stood up and walked over.
“His life is saved,” Old Chen spoke wearily. “He was shot in the left chest. The bullet grazed the edge of his heart. One centimeter off, and not even a god could have saved him. There’s also a penetrating wound on his thigh, and he lost too much blood. He’s been moved to the intensive care unit now. He won’t truly be out of danger until his high fever subsides.”
Zhao Guodong snapped the cigarette in half and threw it into the trash bin. “That group of enemy spies who crossed the border were all taken down at the border line. He Lin tore open a path for the assault team with his own life. That wolf fights like he doesn’t care about dying.”
Inside the ward.
Machines beeped rhythmically. He Lin lay on an iron-framed bed. His upper body was wrapped in white bandages, his bronze skin covered in old scars of varying sizes. An IV line was connected to his right arm, clear medicinal fluid dripping steadily into his vein.
His eyes were closed, his brows furrowed into a deep crease. Fine beads of sweat covered his forehead; the high fever made his body temperature alarmingly hot.
His dreams were bizarre and fragmented, finally settling on the deep mountains of the north.
It was a secret capture mission. He led his team into the mountains behind Hongqi Brigade to surround and eliminate a lurking spy leader. During the firefight, he inhaled a new type of hallucinogenic and aphrodisiac gas released by the enemy. To avoid burdening his comrades, he ordered the team to pursue while he retreated alone into a hidden cave to suppress the toxin.
The drug took effect rapidly. Rationality was devoured by primal instinct.
It was then that a girl who had gone up the mountain to gather firewood accidentally entered the cave.
The girl noticed his abnormal state and tried to run. He didn’t give her the chance. His burning arms clamped around her slender waist, pinning her against the cave wall.
The girl was crying, her voice thick with sobs and terror. She struggled, pounding on his chest. Her strength was nothing to him.
All he remembered was that fresh, sweet scent, like the cleanest spring water in the mountains. His rationality snapped completely, and he took her.
An absurd night.
At dawn, the drug’s effects faded. He regained clarity, looking at the girl who had cried herself unconscious in his arms and the glaring red stain on the ground. Tears streaked the corners of her eyes, her skin pale and dazzling, a small scratch on her jaw.
Gunfire and signal flares sounded in the distance. His comrades were calling for him; the enemy spies weren’t fully eliminated, and the military situation was urgent.
He couldn’t take her with him.
He took off his military jacket and draped it over her, then removed the Dragon-patterned Jade Pendant he had worn since childhood from his neck and pressed it into her hand.
“Wait for me,” he said the two words to the unconscious girl, then turned and rushed out of the cave.
The dream shattered.
He Lin’s fingers on the hospital bed suddenly twitched. His cracked lips parted slightly, and a hoarse syllable escaped his throat.
“Don’t be afraid…”
Old Chen, who was taking notes, turned around at the sound.
He Lin’s right hand was clenched into a tight fist, veins bulging on the back of his hand. His fingernails nearly dug into his palm. Struggling in extreme unease, the readings on the heart monitor began to fluctuate wildly.
“Hold him down!” Old Chen shouted. “He’s running a fever—the wound will tear open!”
The guard, Xiao Zhang, rushed forward, pressing both hands on He Lin’s shoulders.
“Captain! Captain, wake up!” Xiao Zhang yelled.
He Lin did not wake. His consciousness was trapped in that cave. He tried to see the girl’s face clearly, but the fog was too thick, leaving only a blurry outline. He remembered a plastic button on her clothes, torn off during the struggle.
That was his only clue.
“Button…” He Lin mumbled incoherently.
Old Chen grabbed a sedative and swiftly injected it into the IV line. As the medication took effect, He Lin’s body gradually relaxed, and his clenched fist loosened.
Xiao Zhang let out a sigh of relief, looking at He Lin’s palm. There was a deep imprint from his nails.
“Doctor Chen, what did the captain say just now?” Xiao Zhang asked.
“Couldn’t make it out clearly. Sounded like ‘button,'” Old Chen replied, slowing the IV drip and wiping sweat from his forehead. “This kid has incredible willpower. Most people would’ve gone into shock with such severe injuries. He has an obsession in his subconscious, and it’s keeping him alive.”
Zhao Guodong stood outside the door, hearing the commotion inside. He pushed the door open and walked in, looking at He Lin’s pale face on the hospital bed.
“Guodong, with these injuries, he’ll need at least three months to recover. He’s been unconscious for five days straight now—no telling when he’ll come around,” Old Chen said.
Zhao Guodong nodded. “When he wakes up, tell him the mission was successfully completed. Let him rest and recover without worry. If the sky falls, the military district will hold it up.”
Late at night.
Rain began to fall along the border, pattering noisily on the tin roof.
Miraculously, He Lin’s temperature dropped in the early hours of the morning. His breathing finally steadied. Old Chen checked the wound—no infection.
In this life-and-death tug-of-war, He Lin had won half the battle. The rest depended entirely on his own endurance.
The rain continued intermittently for over half a month.
Finally, just after dawn half a month later, the rain stopped. The air was thick with the earthy scent of mud.
The person on the hospital bed fluttered his eyelashes slightly.
He Lin finally opened his eyes. His gaze lingered on the white ceiling for two seconds. He shifted his eyes, taking in his surroundings. The smell of disinfectant, the metal-framed bed, the IV bottle. He had survived.
Using his left hand to brace against the bed, he tried to sit up. A sharp, intense pain shot through his chest, and cold sweat instantly broke out.
The prolonged coma had left his muscles weak and spasming. He paused, adjusting his breathing. With two fingers of his right hand, he pinched the needle on the back of his hand and pulled it out.
A drop of blood welled up. Without looking, he grabbed a corner of the blanket and pressed it against the spot.
“What are you doing!” The door was pushed open as Xiao Zhang entered carrying a basin of hot water, nearly dropping it in shock. He quickly set the basin on the floor and rushed over to hold He Lin’s hand.
“Captain, are you trying to kill yourself! Doctor Chen said you were one centimeter away from death! You’ve been unconscious for over half a month before waking up!” Xiao Zhang’s eyes reddened with urgency.
He Lin looked at him, his voice hoarse and dry from not drinking water for so long. “Where is the enemy spy leader?”
“Dead. You shot him,” Xiao Zhang replied. “The political commissar said the mission was successfully completed and told you to focus on recovering.”
He Lin nodded, his eyes scanning the room.
“Where are my clothes?” he asked.
“They’re at the logistics department. Those clothes were soaked in blood and have been sitting for over half a month—they’re no good anymore…”
“Bring it here. Now.” He Lin cut him off.
Xiao Zhang didn’t dare disobey, turning and running out.
Ten minutes later, Xiao Zhang returned with a gray cloth bag. Inside was He Lin’s set of training uniform, cut open and covered in dried bloodstains.
Leaning against the headboard, He Lin searched through it with one hand. He checked every pocket, finally feeling for something extremely small in a hidden compartment on the right pant leg.
He opened his hand.
In his palm lay an ordinary white plastic button. Its edges were slightly worn, with a broken red thread still attached.
This was the button from that girl’s clothes. Back then, after tearing it off, he had casually stuffed it into his pocket.
He Lin stared at the button, that pale, tear-streaked face surfacing in his mind once more.
From that night in the deep mountains to the weeks-long pursuit along the border, followed by severe injuries and unconsciousness—almost three months had passed. He had no idea how she was doing now.
He owed her an explanation. He had ruined a girl’s innocence, and he had to take responsibility for it. He Lin never shied away from his duties.
The hospital room door was pushed open, and Zhao Guodong walked in.
“Already stirring up trouble as soon as you wake up. Wasn’t half a month of sleep enough for you to recover?” Zhao Guodong glanced at the uniform in his hand. “Looking for some treasure?”
He Lin clenched the button in his palm and looked up at the political commissar.
“Commissar, I need to report a personal matter.”