Chapter 255 - 115: Courage (Part 2)

Chapter 255: Chapter 115: Courage (Part 2)

The moment the ramp was down, his fingers loosened, and the motorcycle shot forward like an arrow. Zhang Shutong steered the bike in a dead-straight line.

He knew his duty well: to clear a path. He and the ambulance soon reached the city proper, and just as he’d expected, traffic was heavy.

Night had fallen. In the concrete jungle of high-rises, streams of cars and a tapestry of lights blurred into a hazy, multicolored kaleidoscope. Even the ambulance’s wailing siren struggled to carve a path through the gridlock. He had anticipated this. Weaving his bike through the gaps between cars, he pulled up to each window and waved at the drivers.

He waved his arms and shouted. Some drivers, noticing the ambulance behind them, moved aside. Others rolled down their windows to curse at him. "What’s the fucking rush?! Can’t you see the traffic? I don’t give a damn if someone’s dying!"

Others didn’t even bother to roll down their windows, let alone turn their heads.

But in spite of it all, he managed to clear a path for the ambulance.

He didn’t know if he was buying them a few minutes or more than ten. This was all Zhang Shutong could do for his teacher.

By the time they finally reached the hospital, his face was numb. Zhang Shutong kicked the stand down on his bike and ran to the front of the ambulance. Fortunately, the island hospital had called ahead, and several medical personnel were already waiting at the entrance.

Xiaoli directed the others to lift the stretcher. Zhang Shutong ran alongside them into the outpatient building. He stared at the bustling lobby, momentarily lost. This place was infinitely larger than the island hospital—brightly lit and as spacious as a downtown office building. Zhang Shutong hadn’t been here in far too long. The elevator was already full, so he scrambled for the stairs, taking them three at a time and gasping for breath by the time he reached the third floor.

Xiaoli had told him there was no need to rush like this. As long as Song made it to the hospital, he was at least halfway to being saved. The other half, of course, was in the hands of fate. But Zhang Shutong couldn’t rest until he saw his teacher enter the operating room. The metal doors slid shut, and the light above them switched from green to red. The battle now belonged to the city hospital’s doctors and nurses. With his own part done, Xiaoli was more relaxed. He told Zhang Shutong to go get a cup of hot water from the front desk and catch his breath.

"It’s only five forty. Thanks to you and that bike, we made it. We would’ve been hard-pressed to get here by six otherwise. Your teacher’s condition was getting really bad toward the end. If we’d been delayed any longer, I’m not sure he would’ve made it."

Xiaoli finally let out a sigh of relief.

"I’m going to call my supervisor to report in. Oh, right, I remember you were getting a shot back in the hallway. A fever, or just a cold? Sit down and rest. There’s no point in worrying about your teacher now..." ℴ

Zhang Shutong didn’t respond, instead putting his phone back in his pocket.

"I have to go. This is my parents’ number," he said, reciting a string of digits. "When they get here, could you please explain the situation to them?"

"Wait, you’re leaving now? Shouldn’t you at least wait to see your parents?"

"I’ll miss the ferry otherwise." Zhang Shutong slapped his own cheeks. "The last one leaves at six."

"Since your parents are here in the city, you won’t be short of a place to stay," Xiaoli said, surprised. "You could just get a room at a hotel nearby for the night. Besides, he’ll probably be out in a couple of hours, well before it gets late. Aren’t you worried about your teacher?"

"I have to go back." Zhang Shutong was already walking away. "Thank you for everything today—"

"This isn’t about thanking me! Your face is sheet-white. What kind of hero are you trying to play, riding back like this?"

The questions faded behind him. With no time to wait for the elevator, Zhang Shutong ran for the stairwell, casting one last glance at the operating room.

’This isn’t about playing the hero.’

’It’s about not letting go of something when you still have the power to hold on.’

’You’ll only regret it later if you do.’

Those were the words the man had once told him.

Zhang Shutong tore his gaze away and hurried down the stairs. He put on his helmet and gloves, then twisted the throttle once more. As he rounded a corner leaving the hospital grounds, he saw a black SUV. He recognized it as his family’s car but had no time to wave to his parents. They would never guess he had already left. He sped past their car and plunged back into the city’s torrent of traffic.

In the mere ten-odd minutes he’d been gone, the traffic had gotten even worse. A chill began to creep back into his body; he hadn’t closed his eyes once since noon. Zhang Shutong clenched his jaw and leaned lower over the handlebars, as if that could somehow lessen the bite of the wind.

A tunnel lay ahead, with cars lined up for what looked like miles. He had intentionally tried to memorize the surrounding routes while clearing the way earlier, and memories now began to surface. Zhang Shutong recalled the spots where a car couldn’t pass, but a motorcycle could.

He didn’t let up on the gas, maneuvering the bike through one gap after another. He calculated the time. Nine minutes until the ferry departed.

His speed was already well over the limit. He stared blankly at the road ahead, his mind growing numb. But an inner voice told him to keep racing, to never stop. ’A real stray dog...’

Zhang Shutong swerved into a park, his wheels lifting as he leaped up the steps. Even he was amazed by his own skill.

Eight minutes left.

Next was a pedestrian street where stylish young men and women ambled along, only to be startled by the roar of his engine. Zhang Shutong made it halfway down the street before he saw what was blocking the way: a garbage truck.

He slammed a fist on his thigh. ’Of course. A shortcut always comes with its own set of problems.’

He had no idea why this truck was collecting trash at this hour—and for the entire street, no less, stopping every few yards. He pulled out his phone again. A message from Du Kang, asking how Song was doing. He sent a quick voice reply, waited another half-minute, and then decisively turned his bike around.