Jin Luan recalled, “This story is a bit long. Me and him…”
“Uh, um…” Yin Lin quickly interrupted, “Can you shorten it to under 100 words?”
Jin Luan was instantly at a loss for words.
Yin Lin had eagerly wanted to hear the story, yet now she was making demands?
Still, Jin Luan indulged her, thinking carefully about how to condense the tale.
“Simply put, I saved him. I was injured at the time, and he helped me with emergency treatment. Later, when I got hurt, I came here to find him, and we gradually got to know each other.”
“That’s such a plain story,” Yin Lin said, a bit disappointed.
“You asked me to shorten it. Without any embellishments, of course it sounds plain. You have no idea how dangerous it was back then. I had just fought a mid-level aberration and then ran into another mid-level aberration…”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Too cliché,” Yin Lin cut her off impatiently.
Jin Luan ground her teeth in frustration.
You want to listen, then you don’t.
How is this little princess so hard to please?
“Hey, you two, stop arguing. It’s so late, time to sleep,” Huan Hong couldn’t help but break up their conversation.
The ward finally fell silent.
A minute later, Jin Luan suddenly spoke again, “Tell me, how could you do something like that? If we hadn’t come, were you planning to take on Lightning Man alone?”
No one answered.
She glanced at Yin Lin, who had already closed her eyes, resting, breathing softly and rhythmically through her small nose.
Jin Luan propped her head with her hand, unable to sleep—both in pain and discomfort.
She thought of Diamond’s favoritism, of Yin Lin’s secrecy, and the many times they had helplessly faced cadre-level aberrations.
She clenched her fists, hating her own weakness and powerlessness.
Every time like this, she couldn’t look cool in front of her little sister.
All she could do was sob quietly.
After a whole night, the next morning, Yin Lin was awakened by incessant tapping on her phone.
No one knew what she was doing—constantly pressing her phone like she was typing.
The medical staff came to change their dressings and continued the IV drips.
In the morning, Huan Hong went for surgery first.
Yin Lin’s operation was scheduled for the afternoon.
When she was pushed out from the Surgery Room and back into the ward, Yin Lin’s mouth was crooked, her tongue slightly sticking out like a panting dog trying to cool down.
She hadn’t fully regained consciousness yet and was still numb.
Jin Luan didn’t require surgery.
She was scrolling through her phone, watching the news about yesterday’s incident.
After some time, she was drawn to the faint moans coming from Yin Lin, who was gradually waking up and seemed to be in a lot of pain.
“Feeling the pain now? You still dare to fight cadre-level aberrations?” Jin Luan scolded from the side.
Yin Lin ignored her, softly moaning, trying to hold back the pain but unable to suppress it completely—tears even started to flow.
Jin Luan couldn’t bear to keep piling on and called over the medical staff.
The staff could only offer comfort.
To be honest, it was agonizingly painful.
Even a 34-year-old man would struggle to endure such genuine, deep pain, as if someone was repeatedly kicking inside her body, with stabbing waves of pain.
Her muscles felt as if sliced by sharp blades.
The suffering was unbearable.
Once the anesthesia wore off, the pain was unleashed without restraint.
She cried for an entire hour, soaking her pillow.
Jin Luan was still holding her phone, taking photos and videos—not out of any other purpose, but because Yin Lin’s weak, pitiful, helpless appearance was just too endearing to resist capturing.
When the pain eased a bit, Yin Lin picked up her phone again and resumed typing.
For an old man on the verge of being fired, there was no day or night, no weekends or holidays—only endless overtime, overtime, and more overtime, even while bedridden.
Jin Luan was starting to lose patience and asked, “Why aren’t you just lying down properly? Still playing with your phone?”
Yin Lin: “Some personal matters need handling.”
Suddenly, Jin Luan remembered a serious question.
“I’ve had something on my mind for a while.”
She leaned in, sitting sideways by Yin Lin’s bedside.
Yin Lin had to lean back a bit, not wanting her body to brush against Jin Luan.
Jin Luan moved a little closer again.
Yin Lin retreated a bit more.
Jin Luan: “At your age, shouldn’t you be in middle school? Grade nine, right? Why aren’t you going to school?”
Yin Lin: “I’ve completed compulsory education and am currently grinding through society. I have full civil capacity.”
Huh?
That sounded like a very formal, almost robotic statement.
Jin Luan felt a pang in her heart.
Such a small child, barely just reached the age defined as adult by the Human Alliance, yet still looking so tender and girlish.
For someone like that to have to face the world alone—it was truly pitiful.
“Wait, what about your parents?” Jin Luan suddenly asked, finding another question.
Yin Lin: “I’m an orphan.”
“Damn, classic protagonist template!” Huan Hong suddenly interjected.
Jin Luan shot her a sharp glare, and Huan Hong quickly apologized, “Sorry, just joking.”
Then Jin Luan gently cradled Yin Lin’s head, comforting her, “It must be tough living alone. It’s so cruel to let such a young child suffer so much. What’s wrong with this world?”
Yin Lin kept scrolling on her phone, soon finishing another phase of her work task.
Working from a phone was a hassle.
She hoped to recover quickly and return to the office.
Really wanted to get back to her desk—the cells in her body were craving work.
Suddenly, she heard Diamond coughing nearby.
Yin Lin: “Oh, right, help me buy two servings of pan-fried dumplings.”
Diamond didn’t speak but extended two claws.
Yin Lin: “Make that three.”
Jin Luan: “At this hour, you still want pan-fried dumplings?”
Yin Lin: “Diamond wants them.”
Hearing it was for Diamond, Jin Luan frowned but, seeing how sick it looked, she called the medical staff to help buy the food.
Twenty minutes later, the food arrived.
Yin Lin secretly ate a few—though she wasn’t supposed to—but she did anyway, blatantly disobeying medical orders.
Diamond took the dumplings it supposedly loved so much, ate one, but then vomited when trying the second.
Its condition wasn’t good either.
In the end, they had to call in the veteran doctor and keep it alive with injections.
Sigh, the fight against Lightning Man was definitely not profitable.
But surely the Contract Goddess must have foreseen this result.
Why didn’t she stop it?
Even such an outcome was acceptable?
Was it because they took down a high-level aberration?
Or because they figured out Lightning Man’s fighting strength?
Why was the Contract Goddess okay with this result?
Jin Luan needed to meet that woman—once they healed up, she would go find her.
“What do you think?” Jin Luan looked at Yin Lin.
Yin Lin was dazed.
What?
What did she just say?
She hadn’t been paying attention, her mind full of thoughts about the Contract Goddess.
Jin Luan said, “The three of us should make a group chat. If anything comes up, just say it there—it’ll make communication easier.”
Yin Lin nodded.
It wasn’t a difficult thing to accept.
Of course, she joined the group with a secondary account, not her main one.
She kept her information isolated, to avoid having her true identity exposed.
Looking at Jin Luan and Huan Hong, these two had no such concerns and were using their main accounts.
Ah, young people are just so naïve.
If the Human Alliance really wanted to capture them, it probably wouldn’t take more than a few days.
All the pressure was on the Witch Faction within the Human Alliance.
It was truly a hard job for the Witch Faction to protect these fledgling magical girls.