Rain poured from the pitch-black sky like shattered glass, pelting the concrete floor of the 32nd-floor hotel rooftop. Yu Qing's bare feet rested on the damp marble railing, the icy sensation shooting up her spine. She looked down—through the curtain of rain, the city lights twisted into a blurred halo, like a nebula waiting to swallow her whole.
"Why hasn't the hypocritical bitch jumped yet?"
Her phone screen glowed blindingly bright in the darkness. The comment, liked tens of thousands of times, had been trending for three days. Yu Qing's thumb hovered over the screen. Traces of the starry blue nail polish from last night's brand event still clung to her nails, chipped and uneven from her picking at them.
She swayed slightly, and the night wind seized the opportunity to lift the hem of her silk dress, making it billow like a tattered flag. Just five more degrees forward, and it would all be over. The malicious comments, the fake smiles, the endless void.
Suddenly, a sharp fire alarm tore through the night.
Yu Qing turned her head and saw the emergency exit door slam open. A team of firefighters in orange protective gear burst onto the rooftop. The man leading them removed his helmet, revealing a sharply defined face. A faint scar lined his brow, glinting red under the flashing emergency lights.
"False alarm," he signaled to his team, but his eyes never left Yu Qing. "But it looks like we didn't come for nothing."
Yu Qing let out a soft laugh and tossed her phone behind her. It shattered against the concrete, sending shards flying like an electronic flower in bloom.
"Firefighter, how many people who really wanted to die have you saved?"
The man didn't answer immediately. He slowly removed his heavy gloves, his movements as cautious as defusing a bomb.
"Twenty-seven." His voice was deep and steady, laced with an eerie calm. "You're number twenty-eight."
The wind suddenly changed direction, and Yu Qing's dress snagged on the railing. In that split second of distraction, the man lunged like a predator. His iron grip clamped around her wrist, and Yu Qing caught the strange scent of smoke and mint.
"Let me go!" She struggled, her nails raking across his hand, leaving deep scratches. The silk of her dress tore under the force, slipping off her right shoulder, exposing a dark red butterfly-shaped birthmark.
The man's pupils contracted slightly.
The next moment, Yu Qing felt the world spin—he had grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back. Her back slammed onto the concrete, pain jolting through her spine like an electric current. And then, she started to cry. Not just sobs, but gut-wrenching, soul-crushing wails, as if trying to pour out three years of bottled-up emotions onto this stranger's uniform.
"Does it hurt?" His voice came from above her, his grip on her wrist still firm. "Remember this feeling. It means you're alive."
Yu Qing looked up at him, noticing the blood trickling from the scar on his brow—maybe from their struggle, maybe from saving her. On impulse, she reached out to touch it, but he intercepted her hand midair.
"Don't move," he said, his voice carrying a subtle tremor. "Your hands are shaking."
Rain mixed with her tears, leaving a salty, metallic taste in her mouth.
"Name." The man spoke again, gesturing for his team to step back.
"You don't know who I am?" Yu Qing let out a self-mocking smile. "Looks like Captain Jin doesn't watch TV."
Jin Chen—his uniform name tag read—narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Yu Qing. 28 years old. Last year's Golden Phoenix Award winner for Best Actress," he stated with perfect accuracy. "Now answer me. Why tonight? Why here?"
"Because it's high enough." Yu Qing met his gaze with defiance. "And because it's raining. The body would hit the ground more quietly."
Jin Chen's expression remained unreadable. He pulled the radio from his belt.
"Team A, rooftop of the 32nd floor secure. Requesting a female officer and medical personnel." He paused before adding, "Handle it discreetly. The individual is a public figure."
Yu Qing suddenly clutched his arm. "Don't call the police," she pleaded. "I have a schedule tomorrow."
Jin Chen studied her, his stormy blue-gray eyes unreadable. "That's not up to you."
"Do you know what the media will say?" Her voice began to shake. "'Washed-up actress fakes suicide for publicity'—or worse—"
"I don't care about headlines," Jin Chen interrupted. "I care whether you live to see tomorrow's sunrise."
By the time the paramedics arrived, Yu Qing had stopped struggling. She let the nurse check her vitals, unmoving like a delicate porcelain doll. But when they attempted to inject her with a sedative, she flinched violently.
"Don't be afraid," Jin Chen murmured from beside her. "It'll help you calm down."
Yu Qing's eyes fixed on the needle, her breathing ragged.
"I... I don't like needles."
To her surprise, Jin Chen didn't force her. He took the syringe from the nurse, crouching to meet her gaze at eye level.
"Look at me," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "Count to three."
She obeyed instinctively. When she reached two, Jin Chen swiftly inserted the needle into her arm. It was so fast she barely felt it.
"You lied," Yu Qing mumbled, the medication already taking effect.
Jin Chen gently laid her down onto the stretcher. "No. I saved you."
As the ambulance doors closed, Yu Qing caught one last glimpse of him standing in the rain, blood washing down his face. He looked like a lighthouse—guiding others to safety, yet leaving himself in the darkness.
She wanted to ask him—what did it feel like to have saved twenty-seven people? Watching them continue to live in this cruel world, did he ever regret it?
As the ambulance pulled away, Jin Chen remained motionless on the rooftop. A teammate walked up and patted his shoulder.
"Captain, we're heading back."
Jin Chen nodded but didn't move. Instead, he walked toward the edge where Yu Qing had stood moments ago. He crouched down and picked up her shattered phone. The cracked screen still displayed her wallpaper—a picture of her smiling, so dazzling it was almost blinding.
"Another fool who wants to become a star," he muttered, slipping the phone into an evidence bag.
On the ride back to the fire station, Jin Chen noticed his hands were trembling slightly.
This wasn't the first time he'd experienced post-rescue adrenaline shakes.
But it was the first time in years that a rescue had reminded him of that rain-soaked night two years ago.
The same high-rise. The same despair.
Only that time—he was three minutes late.
Three minutes that changed everything.