Shen Wenta looked at Sui Ning’s face, feeling a clear surge of anger churning in his stomach.
How dare this person look at Shen Yi with that kind of worried gaze?
Who did he think he was?
Shen Wenta would never trust these people.
Now he saw everyone as a potential enemy.
He wished everyone here would die, leaving only him and Shen Yi on this ship.
“Who’s the doctor?” He raised his hand and pointed coldly at the crowd.
The manic energy in him was palpable—if no one stepped forward, this man might pull the trigger again at any moment.
The air froze for a few seconds.
“We need to stop the bleeding first.” A trembling voice rose from the crowd.
It was a young girl, around twenty years old, with a steady tone: “I have some medical knowledge. I can take care of her.”
“She might be losing too much blood. In this state, she could easily go into shock and die.”
The word “die” made Shen Wenta shudder.
He looked down at Shen Yi’s profile. Her eyes were closed, and she was quiet—if not for the trace of blood at the corner of her mouth and her pale complexion, she would have looked like she was just asleep.
But her breathing was too shallow. So shallow that he had to strain to confirm she was still alive.
He missed the times when she used to fight him.
Heaven knew how many times she had beaten him to the hospital when they were kids.
When Grandpa came to visit him, he seriously asked whether Shen Wenta had secretly taken boxing lessons.
Or joined some unknown martial arts tournament?
Every time he ended up bruised and battered under Grandpa’s concerned gaze, Shen Wenta would stubbornly blame it on an accident.
But the truth was that in their first year of knowing each other, every time he pulled some stunt, she sent him to the hospital.
The way she hit him back then was a million times better than this quiet, lifeless version of her now.
Shen Wenta didn’t want to hand Shen Yi over to anyone.
He couldn’t help doubting the girl’s expertise—
In a situation like this, how could he be sure she had actually studied medicine?
What if she messed up the treatment?
What if she wanted to harm Shen Yi?
A flood of terrifying thoughts surged through his mind, each one making him want to hold her tighter.
But in reality,
Shen Wenta had no other choice.
He swallowed all the sharp, barbed words and pleaded, “…I’m counting on you.”
Shen Wenta never hesitated to say nice things to people he found useful—especially when he was truly desperate.
“You need to put her down first so I can check her.”
Shen Wenta pressed his lips together and followed the instruction carefully, adjusting his grip to gently lay Shen Yi flat on the deck, his palm cradling the back of her head to protect it from the hard wooden planks.
The girl hurried over and crouched down.
She first felt Shen Yi’s carotid artery, then examined the wound on her shoulder and the cuts on her arm.
“She’s lucky. None of the injuries are critical.”
“She’s lost a lot of blood, so she needs immediate bandaging and fluid replacement. Is there a medical room or first-aid kit on the ship? Go find one.”
Shen Wenta’s mind finally started working again.
He turned to the crowd and shouted, “Go get the medical kit! The ship should have emergency equipment.”
The group exchanged glances, all of them realizing they had to spend at least a day and night on this ship with this unstable man.
And the consequence of angering Shen Wenta was likely what had happened to the previous person.
Two people immediately turned and ran toward the cabin, their footsteps rapidly fading across the deck.
The girl didn’t wait. She picked up the knife from the ground, tore off a piece of clean fabric, folded it into a square, and pressed it against the wound on Shen Yi’s shoulder.
Blood quickly soaked through the cloth, but she didn’t stop. She tore another piece and pressed it on top.
“She’ll wake up,” the girl said, glancing at Shen Wenta. “She’s just lost too much blood. Her body has gone into a protective coma. She should be fine.”
“Should.”
Shen Wenta’s nerves tightened at that word.
The sea wind continued to pour in, carrying the salty, fishy moisture and an increasingly thick smell of blood.
The ship swayed slightly.
The scene on the deck was chaotic and oppressive, like a nightmare that refused to end.
All of Shen Wenta’s attention was fixed on Shen Yi.
Soon.
Footsteps sounded again.
The two people ran back carrying a first-aid kit, set it down next to Shen Wenta, and then stepped back several paces on their own accord.
Shen Wenta opened the case, pulling out items one by one and handing them to the girl.
Her technique wasn’t professional, but it was at least methodical.
Shen Wenta watched from the side, unable to help.
Bandage after bandage wrapped around her shoulder, white fabric quickly stained red.
Shen Yi remained unconscious the whole time.
That stillness made Shen Wenta’s heart race with panic.
His clenched palms broke out in a thin sweat as he scanned the people on the deck, memorizing their faces.
The bodyguards had gathered around him, with some hands resting on their waists, ready for action.
Shen Wenta knew it wasn’t enough. Those bodyguards couldn’t stop that many people.
Every guest on this ship could be a potential threat. They were only temporarily subdued by the fear of death.
A bunch of politicians and businessmen could change their minds at any moment, deciding it was safer to kill her than to risk staying with her.
Shen Wenta thought to himself.
He had to protect Shen Yi.
Of course.
He had to protect her.
Even if, until now, it had always been others who threw themselves in front of him.
…
Shen Wenta carried her to the VIP cabin on the ship.
The girl tried to approach again to check the wounds, but the moment she reached out, Shen Wenta rudely shoved her aside.
“I need to see your credentials,” he said, staring into her eyes, emphasizing each word. “I don’t trust you.”
He didn’t trust anyone here.
The girl frowned, looking at him in disbelief. “I’m the one who saved her.”
“You just helped a bit. Besides you, there are many others on this ship with medical training.”
Now that he had confirmed Shen Yi was temporarily safe, Shen Wenta had calmed down and quickly turned on his heel.
Recalling the list of names he had briefly scanned, he spoke with exceptional clarity and an astonishing memory:
“Zhou Lang has a clinical medical doctorate from University College London and worked as a battlefield doctor. There’s a man named Sun who runs a private hospital—he’s a chief surgeon himself.”
“And this woman”—he pulled up several profiles on his phone—“she did a two-year fellowship at the Mayo Clinic. She’s a nurse by training, but she’s usable. Go and call them here.”
The girl: “…?”
