GOLDEN LOBSTER AND OLD COMRADES

The sterile white glare of the examination room felt worlds away from Huashan's hushed VIP corridors where salutes had cut the air. Xu winced as the orthopedic specialist, Dr. Chen, probed her swollen ankle with cool, clinical fingers. Li Na hovered anxiously nearby, clutching Xu's discarded jacket.

"Hmm," Dr. Chen murmured, rotating the joint gently. "Significant sprain. Grade two, bordering on three. But…" He leaned back, adjusting his glasses, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. He pointed to the expertly applied compression bandage, its tension perfect, the padding strategically placed. "This. This is textbook. Immaculate stabilization. Far better than what most ERs manage on a busy night." He looked up at Xu, his gaze sharpening. "Did you do this yourself?"

Xu shook her head, the motion making the fluorescent lights swim slightly. "No. A… friend. In the village where I was found."

Dr. Chen's eyebrows shot up. "A friend? With medical training? This," he tapped the bandage near her lateral malleolus, "this technique, this specific wrap pattern… it's advanced field medicine. Military-grade. The padding under the stirrup? That's not standard civilian first aid kit stuff. Whoever your 'friend' is, they've had serious training. Probably saved you weeks of extra damage." He began carefully removing the bandage. "Frankly, with care like this, the hospital visit is mostly confirmation. Rest, ice, elevation, keep it braced. I'll prescribe anti-inflammatories and pain relief." He scribbled on a pad. "Consider yourself lucky. Your village friend knows their stuff."

Xu exchanged a wide-eyed look with Li Na. *Military-grade.* The salutes outside flashed in her mind. Anze's precise movements, the efficient kit, the way he'd assessed her on the mountain – it all clicked with grim clarity. "Just… lucky," Xu echoed faintly.

* * *

Three floors above, in a private waiting room smelling of antiseptic and expensive coffee, Anze stood rigidly before a Colonel whose face was etched with the strain of command and worry. Yan sat quietly in a plush chair nearby, dwarfed by it, her eyes fixed on Anze's back.

"The initial reports were dire, Li," the Colonel said, his voice low and gravelly. "Full respiratory failure. Kidneys shutting down. Toxins flooding his system from the infection. We thought…" He trailed off, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. "But they found a donor. A miracle match. Lungs. Surgery started two hours ago. The lead surgeon just updated me." He met Anze's eyes, a flicker of relief finally breaking through. "It's going well. Barring complications, Liang Wei will live."

The air left Anze's lungs in a silent rush. The iron band constricting his chest since reading the letter loosened. He closed his eyes for a brief second, mastering the wave of emotion. When he opened them, they were clear, focused. "Thank you, Colonel. For the update. For everything."

The door opened softly, and Liang Wei's wife, Mei, slipped in. Her eyes were red-rimmed, exhaustion lining her face, but hope, fragile and new, shone through. She saw Anze and rushed forward, not with ceremony, but with the desperate gratitude of shared fear. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder for a moment. "Anze," she whispered, her voice thick. "He's going to be okay. They said… they said he's going to be okay."

Anze returned the hug stiffly at first, then softened, patting her back gently. "He's strong, Mei. The strongest." He pulled back, holding her shoulders. "He'll pull through."

Mei nodded, wiping her eyes. "He asked for you. Before they took him in. Mumbled your name." She managed a watery smile. "Go. Rest. You look exhausted. Come back tomorrow morning. He'll be in recovery, but he'll know you're here." She glanced at Yan, offering a small, kind smile to the wide-eyed girl. "Both of you."

Anze nodded. "We will. Take care, Mei." He guided Yan towards the door with a gentle hand on her shoulder. The Colonel gave him a respectful nod.

* * *

They emerged from the hospital's quieter West Wing entrance just as Xu and Li Na were exiting the bustling main doors. Xu, now sporting a fresh, albeit less expertly applied, compression brace and holding a small pharmacy bag, spotted them first. Her limp was more pronounced without Anze's meticulous bandaging. "Anze! Yan!" she called, hobbling over with Li Na in tow. "How is he? Your friend?"

Anze stopped, the residual tension in his frame easing slightly at the genuine concern in her voice. "Surgery went well. He'll recover." The simple words carried immense weight. "The donor… it was a miracle."

Xu exhaled in relief, mirroring his own earlier reaction. "Oh, thank goodness. That's wonderful news."

Before Xu could say more, Yan tugged insistently on Anze's jacket sleeve, her small stomach giving an audible rumble. "Shīfu," she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I'm *really* hungry. Like… hollow-leg hungry."

A ghost of a smile touched Anze's lips. The mundane demand was a welcome anchor. "Alright, Yan. Food it is." He turned to Xu and Li Na. "You both just finished? Join us? Dinner." It wasn't a question so much as a statement of practical logistics, yet the offer was genuine.

Xu glanced at Li Na, who shrugged, curiosity warring with her protective instincts over Xu's ankle. "I could eat," Li Na conceded. Xu nodded. "We could too. Thanks, Anze."

Anze pulled out his phone again – the sleek device looking less incongruous now in the city – and booked a cab with a few taps. Minutes later, they were weaving through the neon-lit arteries of Shanghai, Yan plastered to the window again, gasping at the towering light displays. "It's like giant fireflies! But… noisy!" The cab eventually pulled up not at a modest noodle shop or a bustling dumpling house, but on a side street off the Bund, stopping before an unassuming, dark wood doorway flanked by stone lions. A discreet brass plaque read: **Jīn Lóng - 金龙 (Golden Dragon)**.

"This is it?" Li Na asked, eyeing the understated elegance with skepticism. "Looks… pricey."

Yan tugged Anze's sleeve again, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as they approached the door. "Shīfu… it looks *really* expensive. Do you have enough money? I have some…" She fumbled for her small, embroidered coin purse, a gift from Auntie Mei, looking earnestly worried. "I saved from selling herbs to Granny Wen!"

Anze actually chuckled, a low, warm sound Xu hadn't heard before. He gently pushed Yan's purse hand down. "I do, Yan. Don't worry. Let's go." He pushed open the heavy door.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly. Low lighting glinted off dark lacquered wood and polished brass. The air hummed with the discreet murmur of conversation and the clink of fine porcelain. It was undeniably luxurious, and undeniably full. A maître d' in a tailored black suit glided towards them, but before he could speak, a figure detached itself from the shadows near a velvet curtain.

He was massive. Easily six and a half feet tall, with shoulders like a brick outhouse straining the seams of his impeccably tailored dark suit. A faded scar traced a pale line from his temple down to a jawline that looked carved from granite. His eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over Li Na, widened in surprise at Yan's small form, lingered on Xu's brace, and then snapped to Anze.

Xu instinctively took a half-step back, Li Na gripping her arm tighter. Yan pressed close to Anze's side. The giant's presence was intimidating, blocking their path like a living fortress wall. His expression was unreadable, stern.

Then, his gaze locked fully on Anze's face. Recognition flared, followed by an astonishing transformation. The sternness melted away, replaced by a wide, genuine grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made the scar seem less threatening. "*Captain!*" The single word boomed through the hushed ambiance, causing a few nearby diners to glance over. He closed the distance in two strides and enveloped Anze in a bear hug that lifted the smaller man slightly off his feet, making Anze grunt in surprise. "You finally crawled out of your mountain mist! Took you long enough!"

He released Anze, still beaming, and turned to the stunned group, his voice dropping to a more manageable, yet still resonant, level. "Apologies, ladies, little miss," he said, sketching a surprisingly graceful bow that seemed incongruous with his bulk. "Didn't mean to scare you. Name's **Zhòng Tiěshān - 铁山 (Iron Mountain)**. Used to lug this Captain's gear and keep idiots from shooting him back in the day." He clapped a massive hand on Anze's shoulder, making him sway slightly. "Welcome to the Golden Dragon! Captain's friends are *my* friends! And hungry ones, I hear!" He winked at Yan, who stared up at him, open-mouthed, fear replaced by pure awe.

Zhòng Tiěshān turned to the hovering, slightly alarmed maître d'. "Private Lotus Room. Now. And tell Chef Jiang the Captain's here. He knows the drill." He gestured grandly towards a curtained archway. "This way, Captain, little warrior," he nodded to Yan, "and honored guests. Let's get you fed properly. None of that mountain grass and bark soup the Captain probably makes you eat!" He chuckled, a deep rumble like distant thunder, and ushered them past the staring maître d' and into the plush, secluded embrace of the private dining room, where the scent of ginger, star anise, and unimaginably expensive ingredients promised a meal far removed from Cloud Cakes and wild mushroom stew. Anze just shook his head, a wry smile finally settling on his face as he followed his old comrade, the weight of hospitals and goodbyes momentarily lifted by the solid, booming presence of Zhòng Tiěshān.