Chaos erupted.
Hua Jing dropped to her knees, scooting closer to where Zhao Yan lay motionless on the cold floor.
Her breath hitched as she took in the sight before her—his usually strong and composed figure now looked lifeless, his body unnaturally still.
The lower half of his face, the only part visible beneath his golden mask, was deathly pale.
A sharp, suffocating panic gripped her chest.
"Zhao Yan!" She shook him with trembling hands, her voice breaking. "Hey! Wake up!"
He did not stir.
Hua Jing's heart pounded, her pulse a deafening roar in her ears.
She had never known fear like this—never known how terrifying it could be to see someone like him, someone so full of life and strength, suddenly so still.
This couldn't be happening.
No.
No.
No.
Her mind rejected the reality before her.
