In those few minutes the Green Gang had bought, snipers had set up on the buildings along our route.
We accelerated through. When we reached an open three-way intersection, the gunfire finally stopped.
I looked up at the person beside me, and found his entire sleeve soaked in blood.
"Victor! You've been shot!" I cried out.
I immediately stopped the car, but didn't know what to do.
His silver vest was stained crimson.
Though he'd used Harrison as a shield, in an open convertible with elevated snipers, they were sitting ducks—not to mention he'd been protecting me.
"You're not hurt. That's good."
His voice was barely a whisper, his breathing growing heavy. He smiled at the corner of his eyes, but the light in his gaze was dimming.
Behind us, more car engines—pursuit.
He gritted his teeth and gathered his last ounce of strength, pulling me into his arms.
I closed my eyes in despair, holding Victor tight.
"I'm so scared..."
The smell of gunpowder vanished. When I opened my eyes again, I was in my own home.
And Victor had entirely lost consciousness.
Just like last time, the bullet slowly pushed itself out of his flesh.
I dragged him onto the bed with great effort.
His wound had already closed, but he was burning with fever.
I held back my tears and cleaned his body.
When I pulled the blanket over him, I couldn't hold back anymore.
I buried my face in him and wept freely.
That world couldn't be navigated with my modern mindset.
I'd thought a date meant coffee, a movie, dancing.
Where everyone followed the rules, where every street was lit by lamplight.
Where the Green Gang would never surround you, where snipers would never chase you.
Breaking down, my phone screen flickered.
Ivy: "Stinky Rose, you can't possibly be ignoring me for three days just because I laughed about your fantasy boyfriend!"
Scrolling up further, my best friend had nearly called the police after three days of silence.
I texted back: "No, I've just been busy."
She immediately video-called me.
When she saw I'd been crying, she grilled me until I confessed everything about falling for a man from a hundred years ago.
Then I turned the camera toward the tall, unconscious man in my bedroom.
Ivy went silent. Then the call disconnected.
She probably thought I'd gone all-out on a prank and didn't want to humor me.
I wiped my tears. If even Ivy found it unbelievable, how could I not feel the same?
I went to the bathroom, washed up, changed into modern clothes, and felt slightly calmer.
He could resurrect. That was truly a relief.
I stayed beside him, fingers smoothing his furrowed brow, tapping the bridge of his straight nose.
I thought about how this man, even in the plainest T-shirt and jeans, would be devastatingly handsome.
I lay beside him, murmuring:
"Victor, why don't you just stay here with me and be a happy ordinary citizen? Better than dodging bullets and never knowing if tomorrow's guaranteed."
He didn't respond. It felt like his recovery was taking longer this time.
At three in the morning, a knock came at the door.
I opened it. It was Ivy.
She clearly hadn't slept—dark circles under her eyes, looking ready for battle. She charged straight into the bedroom.
As expected, she shrieked and backed out.
"How did you get into our complex?" I asked, surprised.
"The lockdown's been lifted!" She looked at me in disbelief. "You—you really went a hundred years into the past with this wild man?"
She clutched a copy of Modern Chinese History, trying to show me.
I stopped her from flipping through it:
"I've already looked it up online. I know more than you do."
"Then why would you..." She lowered her voice, incredulous. "You're not coming back, are you?"
I shook my head. I didn't know.
"Of course I want him to stay. But if he won't, I'll have to go back with him. Because I don't know which time will be his last. I don't want to spend my whole life with regret..."
Ivy immediately cut me off, eyes round: "How long have you even known him? What do you mean, your whole life?"
She paced back and forth, anxiety escalating: "You work with data all day, then it's anime and fan-chasing in your spare time. Your brain is as simple as a paramecium. What do you know about love?
"Besides, you can't even stay loyal to one celebrity crush—today it's this actor, tomorrow it's that idol. Do you even have any consistency?"
Seeing my silence, she pressed on: "Think about it. He's a dangerous man. He might sweep you away on a whim, but you'd have nothing and no one there. What if he changes his mind? Can you ever go back?"
I fell silent.
No matter how much courage drove me to leap without looking, I couldn't overcome the possibility that he might change his mind.
When you start weighing whether your sacrifices for love are worth it, it usually means they aren't.
2.
"You said the complex is unblocked?" I suddenly thought of something else.
Ivy's tone softened, seeing my topic shift: "Yeah, are you going out?"
I nodded, grabbed my jacket, and searched for the nearest pharmacy.
Ivy came with me: "Why are you going to the pharmacy? The lockdown's lifted, but public transit isn't running yet. It's a long walk there and back."
"I can't sleep anyway. A walk will clear my head." I changed my shoes and headed out.
"I'll come with you."
Ivy followed.
She was a girl who prized her beauty sleep above all else, yet she'd come to my complex in the middle of the night to check on me.
Every word she said was sensible. Every ounce of worry was genuine.
Besides her, no one else in this world truly considered my well-being, would tell me hard truths that were actually good for me.
I looked at her worried face and smiled to reassure her:
"I just want to buy some antibiotics and fever medicine for him. If he really won't stay, at least he won't leave empty-handed."
Ivy finally smiled: "That's the right mindset! He's a warlord—he can have any woman he wants. Give him something his era doesn't have, something valuable. He might appreciate that even more. As for the rest, just treat it as a dream."
Just treat it as a dream...
A breeze blew across my face, clean and free of gunpowder, clearing my head.
But what if I didn't want it to be just a dream?
"You should go home and sleep." I forced a smile, pushing her gently in the opposite direction.
She yawned, her taut nerves finally loosening:
"I'll come by tomorrow afternoon. Minecraft Chuck Restaurant is reopening. If your man stays, dinner's on me."
She waved and trudged off, exhausted.
I turned and started walking—then running.
I'd never understood runners who sacrificed sleep to sweat. Now, pushing my body to its limit, I discovered that running really could shake off some of the weight.
The first pharmacy wouldn't sell me enough medicine, suspecting I was a reseller.
So I walked from pharmacy to pharmacy, farther and farther, buying a little at each until I'd accumulated a full bag.
Exhausted, I stopped at a convenience store for something to eat.
I bought a set of sweatpants and hoodie that might fit him.
Glancing at the convenience store shelf, I noticed a solar-powered cartoon digital watch.
Having seen the old ceramic-plug sockets of this era, I knew other electronics might not work well when I went back.
But this one was solar-powered—no charging needed. It would definitely work.
If this weren't a lockdown period with shops closed, I could've kitted him out with full outdoor gear. Our era had too many conveniences compared to a hundred years ago.
Finally, I bought some ready-made meals and lugged everything back.
When I opened the door, the apartment was quiet—just as I'd left it. The only difference was the Modern Chinese History book on the sofa was gone.
Victor was awake?
I set down my things and pushed open the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar.
A powerful force yanked the door open and slammed me against the wall.
I yelped in pain.
When the owner of those hands realized it was me, I was pulled into a warm embrace.
Against my ear, a frantic heartbeat and a low, unsteady voice.
"I thought you'd left."
Victor had woken at some point. When he didn't see me, he'd been frantic.
But the door to my apartment, once opened, only led to his world.
He could only wait helplessly in this house without me.
I'd come in with heavy steps, and he'd mistaken me for an intruder.
When he saw it was me, relief washed over him.
And I could feel from his bare skin that something was off—he still had a fever.
I hugged him tightly to calm him: "Victor, I went out and bought you new clothes."
I left the dark bedroom and handed him the convenience store clothes.
A moment later, he emerged dressed and sat down on the sofa.