Chapter 16: Zhou Zong: A Debt of Lifelong Gratitude (Requesting Follows~)

Dim lighting, a corridor stretching into endless darkness.

A male figure in a gray short-sleeve shirt and blue three-quarter pants lay sprawled on the floor, writhing like a mindless zombie, gasping heavily with intermittent, incomprehensible moans of pain, head hung low, face obscured.

If you switched to a different set and played the "Getting Close to Science" BGM, you'd swear it was a horror film.

Zhou Yi, already exhausted from a full day of training, nearly kicked the thing in the dark—sending this midnight fright straight to the afterlife—

Especially when the man in the tank top, upon hearing the sound, stopped writhing and painfully turned his head toward him.

“Help… help…”

Fortunately, Zhou Jielun’s faint, whisper-soft voice still pierced the silent corridor; Zhou Yi instinctively reached into his pocket and gripped his phone—

“Could you… please… help me call an ambulance?”

Zhou Jielun, having twisted his body over, lifted his head—his pallor was terrifying, like massive blood loss.

Zhou Yi, who had just assumed he’d stumbled upon some “Taiwanese gang hit-and-run,” froze in shock as he finally recognized the face—

Holy shit? Zhou Jielun?!

Having once enjoyed the final golden age of Mandopop, Zhou Yi knew Zhou Jielun’s face well. Clearly, the man groaning helplessly on the floor was the young Zhou Zong.

Got screwed?

Watching the once-celebrated music prodigy suddenly appear before him in such a pitiful state, Zhou Yi stood stunned—this panicked the suffering Zhou Jielun even more—

“I’m… not a bad guy. Could you please… call an ambulance? We might’ve eaten something bad—food poisoning, maybe…”

Zhou Jielun, his mind growing dimmer, gritted his teeth and forced himself to speak, pointing weakly toward Liu Genghong’s front door: “There are… two more inside… just like me…”

“I understand. Take it easy.”

Zhou Yi snapped back to reality, pulled out his phone, and instinctively typed “120”—but his finger froze mid-dial: “Uh, bro, what’s the emergency number in Taiwan?”

“119. 119 is the emergency number.”

Though puzzled by Zhou Yi’s question, Zhou Jielun quickly realized this guy was probably a recent mainland visitor and gave the answer.

Zhou Yi immediately dialed the emergency number and reported:

“Yes, they say it’s food poisoning. Their condition looks critical.”

After securing Zhou Jielun in the corridor, Zhou Yi followed his directions, stepped through the open door into Liu Genghong’s home, and instantly saw a woman collapsed on the living room sofa, foaming at the mouth—

Her face was unmistakable: the woman he’d passed by the neighborhood basketball court earlier.

Then came the frail, young version of Liu Genghong, lying on the floor.

Wen Lan, nearly unconscious, showed no reaction to the commotion; Liu Genghong, too weak even to hold his phone, managed to lift his head and stare at the intruder—

“Three people need emergency aid: one young woman, two young men. The woman is foaming at the mouth—likely life-threatening.”

After rapidly reporting the scene to the emergency center, Zhou Yi grabbed Wen Lan—the most severely affected—and carried her out.

He laid her beside Zhou Jielun in the corridor, then turned back to drag out the heavier Liu Genghong.

“Hey, hey, wake up, wake up, don’t fall asleep—if you do, you might actually die.”

Zhou Yi slapped both Liu Genghong and Wen Lan’s faces, moved them away from the scene, and shouted urgently—then called over Zhou Jielun, who’d regained a little strength: “Come here, help me keep them awake.” His expression, however, carried unmistakable strangeness.

He’d just remembered what this was.

Zhou Jielun and his close friend Liu Genghong were said to have a life-or-death bond—because before Zhou Jielun debuted, he once took a shower at Liu Genghong’s place for too long, causing a gas leak that nearly killed Wen Lan, Liu Genghong, and himself.

Only the still-mobile young Zhou Jielun managed to crawl out, knocking door after door until one neighbor opened up and called for help.

This wasn’t gossip—it was a verified fact, confirmed by the participants themselves.

“The ambulance is on its way. Hold on as long as you can.”

After closing Liu Genghong’s door, Zhou Yi brought all three to the ventilated corridor, finally catching his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead, and looking at the only one still conscious: young Zhou Jielun.

Honestly, the other two—one foaming and unconscious, the other slumped and speechless—were in terrible shape. Only Zhou Jielun, though pale, had recovered noticeably.

Was it good physical condition? Or just luck?

“Thank you. Really, thank you.”

Watching his friends being carried out, Zhou Jielun’s pale face lit up with gratitude: “If not for you, I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“Without you, we might all have died here.”

“No problem.”

Zhou Yi waved it off, manually keeping the other two awake while chatting with Zhou Jielun to prevent him from slipping into unconsciousness: “I’m Zhou Yi. What’s your name?”

“Zhou Jielun.”

“Same surname? How coincidental.” Zhou Yi smiled, hearing the answer he already knew: “I just got to Taiwan from the mainland a few days ago, so I didn’t know the emergency number.”

With someone talking to him, Zhou Jielun, breathing fresh air, visibly improved.

His pallor hadn’t faded, but his speech was no longer broken—he even managed to stand, leaning against the wall: “So you’re from the mainland? I’m truly sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s nothing. But what happened? Poisonous mushrooms?”

Though he knew exactly what had occurred, Zhou Yi couldn’t play the “born knowing” role. As someone who’d just saved lives, asking what happened now was perfectly natural.

“I’m not sure, but I suspect food poisoning. I didn’t eat much of my meal, so my poisoning is mild. Genghong and Wen Lan finished theirs—they’re badly poisoned.”

Leaning against the wall, Zhou Jielun recalled the day’s events and naturally blamed his half-eaten dinner.

Zhou Yi, knowing the truth, found no reason to correct him.

Should he say it was a gas leak?

Don’t be ridiculous. Gas is odorless and colorless—he didn’t even know where the leak originated. If police questioned him later and he couldn’t explain, he’d only invite trouble.

“Oh, by the way, the muscular guy with the crooked mouth is Genghong—Liu Genghong. The woman beside him is Wen Lan.”

After introducing the two who couldn’t speak, Zhou Jielun, feeling steady enough to stand upright, stomped his feet twice, grimacing—his expression oddly comical.

As the two exchanged idle words, the ambulance, dispatched after the emergency call, arrived at the building’s entrance.

Hearing the sound, Zhou Yi instinctively walked to the window and looked down—only to spot, besides the ambulance, a news van?

“Uh, Jielun, do you guys in Taiwan send news vans along with ambulances?” Zhou Yi’s expression turned strange as he turned to Zhou Jielun, equally baffled.

The latter shook his head: “Never heard of that.”

“Tch. If reporters are here, this is going to be a headache.”

Zhou Yi sighed, pulled out his phone, and called his agent Qian Jiang: “Hey? Qian Ge? I need to tell you something.”

“I ran into something on my way home—I saved three people, but reporters showed up. I don’t know the local rules, so I thought I should let you know.”

“What? You saved three people? And reporters showed up?”

Qian Jiang shot upright from his sofa at home, eyes blazing with excitement: “Are you okay, A Yi?”

“Uh, I’m fine. Don’t get so excited, Qian Ge. This kind of thing? Better not make a fuss. I don’t like exploiting this for publicity.” Zhou Yi instantly sensed his agent’s intent and made his boundaries clear.

Warner was infamous for hype. Qian Jiang had stayed this long precisely because he knew the game—Zhou Yi had to set his limits upfront.

Marketing a saintly image could backfire. One misstep, and he’d be morally chained, his reputation ruined. He didn’t want that.

“Alright, I understand. Are you still in the East District? If so, I’m coming now.”

“Yeah, I’m right here. Thanks for coming, Qian Ge.”

Zhou Yi politely thanked him, hung up, and turned to find Zhou Jielun staring at him in surprise: “You’re an artist?”

“Uh, not quite yet. I’m signed to Warner, working on my first album—haven’t debuted.” Zhou Yi held up his phone and smiled.

“I see. If you ever need help in the future, I can help you.”

Hearing Zhou Yi’s profession, Zhou Jielun’s face flickered with surprise, then hardened with resolve: “Actually, Genghong and Wen Lan are artists too. I’m a professional songwriter.”

True, no one paid much attention to his songs yet—but Zhou Jielun still had confidence in his talent.

Besides, didn’t he have Xian Ge’s company behind him?

This was his savior. He owed him a massive repayment for dragging himself out at this hour.

Zhou Jielun had always been a man of loyalty.

In ancient times, Zhou Yi’s act would’ve merited a bow and a cry of “My Lord of Mercy!”