Chapter 81: The Echo of a Name
"Sanlang, try not to die in this one," the director called out, adjusting his headset. "We need you alive for the sequel."
Sanlang smirked, settling into his seat behind the wheel. "What, you don't have enough tragic slow-motion death scenes?"
Laughter rippled through the crew. Someone clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax, man. It's just another chase. You've done this a hundred times."
"Yeah, yeah," Sanlang muttered, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "Let's just hope the car agrees."
A co-star leaned against the door, grinning. "If it doesn't, at least your funeral would be star-studded."
Sanlang shot him a look. "Touching. I'll make sure you get my wardrobe collection."
The crew was in high spirits, but beneath the banter, Sanlang felt… off. Like he was watching himself from the outside, his own body a marionette on invisible strings.
The stunt coordinator approached, checking the rig one last time. "Brakes are good, steering's tight. You'll hit the sharp turn, clip the crate stack, spin out, and we cut."
Sanlang nodded, forcing himself to focus.
"Hey," the stuntman added, lowering his voice. "You sure you're good? You seem—"
"Pretty? Talented? Unbelievably charismatic?" Sanlang offered.
The stuntman snorted. "Distracted."
Sanlang exhaled slowly. "I'm fine."
Noor's face flickered in his mind—not the cold, untouchable Noor the world knew, but the one who had looked at him that night. The one who knew him in ways he didn't understand.
"Ready when you are, Sanlang!"
He revved the engine.
The car shot forward, cutting through the night air like a blade. The chase was smooth, precise. Too smooth.
Then—the brakes failed.
Sanlang slammed his foot down. Nothing.
The wheel locked.
Something was wrong.
Time slowed. He felt the car veer, a violent lurch that sent him spiraling into metal and glass. The impact was a scream in his skull. His head struck the wheel. Blood. Darkness.
And then—
Sanlang was falling.
Not through the wreckage, not through the city—but through time.
A storm raged overhead, the sky split open like a wound. The wind howled his name in a voice he had never heard but somehow knew.
"Ka…ang!"
His body plummeted, the weight of centuries dragging him down.
At the edge of the abyss—a woman.
Her figure blurred by the wind, arms reaching, desperate. She knew him.
"Kang!"
The agony in her voice shattered something inside him.
He reached for her—but the abyss swallowed him whole.
The last thing he heard was her cry breaking apart.
"Come back!"
Then, Darkness.
---
The moment Noor entered, the air changed.
Doctors and nurses fell silent. Even the machines seemed to hum softer.
Her heels clicked against the pristine tile, a measured rhythm of controlled fury.
Sanlang lay still, his face pale, bandages stark against his skin. The monitors beeped steadily. The doctors whispered among themselves, shaken—because just minutes ago, they had thought they were losing him.
"Let me through."
The nurse at the ICU hesitated. "Ma'am, he's in critical condition—"
Noor didn't blink. "And?"
There was something in her voice—a blade wrapped in silk. The nurse swallowed hard and stepped aside.
Yilan stood at the edge of the room, eyes wide, hands shaking. Noor barely glanced at her.
Sanlang was all that mattered.
She stepped forward, gaze sharp, taking in every detail.
The bandages. Fresh. But the bruising on his ribs was older—not from the crash.
The security camera in the corner—slightly adjusted, as if someone had tampered with it.
The doctor standing too still, like a man too afraid.
Noor exhaled. "Sanlang, come back to me."
A flicker.
His fingers twitched.
The doctor staggered back.
Yilan gasped.
The beeping steadied.
Sanlang's eyes opened.
A breath. A moment. Then—
"Noor."
Barely a whisper. But it cut through her like a knife.
A doctor murmured, "Impossible…"
Noor didn't take her eyes off Sanlang.
Then, without turning, she spoke—voice calm, controlled, lethal.
"Who tried to kill him?"
The doctor flinched.
Noor finally looked up.
"Who tried to kill him?"
The doctor didn't blink. The nurse's hands tightened on the chart she was holding. Even Yilan, standing by the door, felt the pressure in the air shift into something unnatural.
Noor's voice hadn't been loud. It didn't need to be.
It wasn't the question itself that terrified them.
It was the way she asked it.
As if she already knew the answer.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
Finally, Zeyla stepped forward, careful, composed. "My lady, it was an accident. The brakes—"
Noor turned to her, head tilting slightly.
"Then why is his body rejecting the IV?"
Zeyla stiffened.
So did the doctor.
The nurse's breath hitched. Noor caught the sound, let her gaze flick toward her—a silent warning.
No one spoke.
Outside, the sound of hospital monitors beeping in other rooms seemed unbearably loud.
Noor's expression did not shift, did not change. But something in the air grew heavier.
"What's in the drip?"
The nurse clutched the chart tighter.
Noor took a slow step forward.The world around her was holding its breath.
"The IV should have stabilized him." She let the words sink in. "Instead, his vitals kept dropping. His breathing became erratic. His fingers—"
She gestured to Sanlang's hands—fingers curled inward, twitching slightly.
A sign of resistance. Of the body rejecting something foreign.
Then she smiled. It did not reach her eyes.
"He wasn't supposed to survive, was he?"
The nurse visibly paled.
The doctor took a step back, as if Noor had suddenly become something inhuman.
Noor turned toward the nurse first.
Noor didn't speak immediately. She just let the silence stretch.
A silence that made people feel the weight of their own thoughts.
When Noor finally spoke, her voice was gentle.
"You checked his IV before I arrived, didn't you?"
The nurse's lip trembled. "I—"
"You saw the color was off."
The nurse's breath shuddered.
"And yet, you said nothing."
Tears gathered in her eyes. Noor leaned in slightly, lowering her voice.
"Why?"
The nurse's face collapsed.
A sound left her throat, something small, something broken.
Noor knew then.
She had only been a bystander.
Someone who had seen something she shouldn't have—and been too afraid to act.
Noor's gaze flicked up.
"Doctor."
The old man inhaled sharply. He knew he could not escape.
Noor turned toward the IV stand, staring at the clear bag hanging there. "The poison was subtle," she murmured, as if speaking to herself.
"But not perfect."
She traced a gloved finger lightly over the surface of the bag. "If you wanted it to go undetected, you should have masked it with a secondary sedative. But you didn't."
Her eyes lifted, cold and piercing.
"Why rush a job if you wanted him dead?"
No one answered.
Noor exhaled softly, almost disappointed.
"Who gave the order?"
The nurse, trembling, whispered, "Chen."
And the moment his name was spoken, the room seemed to exhale.
Noor didn't react. Because she had already known.
And then she turned.
And walked out.
The air remained cold in her absence.
___________
Noor did not love many things in this world.
But the things she did love? She loved violently.
Her motorcycle roared through the city, weaving between lanes without hesitation.
Sanlang had almost left this world with her name on his lips.
If that had happened…
Noor didn't let the thought finish.
But if they had taken Sanlang from her tonight, she would have burned the heavens themselves.
Her fingers tightened on the throttle.
A mistake she was about to correct.
_______
She reached a bar .
The bar was filled with the kind of men who had never feared consequence.
That was about to change.
She walked in slowly.
The first man noticed her before she spoke. He stopped mid-drink.
The second man felt it next. He set his glass down too carefully.
The third? He turned toward her before he even understood why.
Noor reached the center of the room.
And sat down at their table.
The leader scoffed, feigning confidence. "You lost, sweetheart?"
Noor smiled slightly.
"Funny," she murmured. "That's exactly what Sanlang asked before you cut his brakes."
The bar fell silent.
And then—without warning—
Noor reached across the table, gripping his bandaged hand.
He tensed. She applied the slightest pressure.
His breath hitched.
"Did he fight back before or after you realized you'd failed?"
The man was visibly shaking.
"The docks!" he gasped. "Warehouse 17—Chen's there! Please, just—"
Noor let go.
The man staggered back, gripping his wrist like he'd been burned.
She stood. Adjusted her gloves.
And walked out.