1 Chapter 1: Yvonne Finley, you won't die, wait for me

——I cross through the dazzling sunlight and the ghostly lights, only to return at the twilight.

——You go ahead, I will be your follower.

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"I've never slept with a man before I die..."

"I can't stand it."

Yvonne Finley leaned against a rock, gazing at the expansive natural scenery in front of her, her throat painfully hoarse. Her reddened eyes narrowed, a heartfelt sigh escaping from her.

This is Sioux.

The distant autumn drizzle whispers in her ears, a thousand cliffs and gullies stretching before her eyes.

The layered mountain ranges stretch on, as if drenched in delicate ink, the rain icy with biting cold winds, feeling like endless needles stabbing into her bones.

If only.

——She wasn't stranded here in the rainforest at this moment.

She would have been interested and in the mood to observe, to gather painting inspiration.

She had been back in the country for more than three months.

Her inspiration and ideas were nearing exhaustion, she had been staying at the gallery every day for these three months, unable to give her sketchbook any substantial contribution.

She couldn't create anything anymore.

She had been stuck for nearly a hundred days.

So she decided to take a walk in the 'Mortal Sanctuary'.

The first stop was the Sioux Border, known as the most dangerous yet magically exquisite tropical rainforest. Located at an altitude of about 2000 meters, this is a treacherous mountain range that many adventurers have traveled far to conquer.

If one does not follow the regular development routes, they will easily deviate into dangerous areas and naturally ——

The accident rate is higher.

The death toll is also frequently hitting its peak.

Now it seems.

Is she about to become the next victim?

Now is her twenty-fifth hour of being trapped.

Yvonne Finley supported her cold, numb body with both hands, moving slightly towards the large rock behind her.

She sprained her right ankle when she fell from the slope above. It's so swollen that she can't take a step.

With sheer grit, she spent three hours crawling from the steep slide to a relatively safer position.

It's raining now.

The light gradually fades.

Yvonne Finley felt her fingers freeze stiff.

The gradually slowing breath rate, still accompanied by a heart that clenches inch by inch in pain and numbness.

Her body is about to cool down.

In a maximum of three more hours, in severe hypothermia, her life will end right here.

"A genius painter on the news is faster than making a name by painting." Yvonne Finley sighed gently against the pain in her lungs.

She gave another squeeze to her already numb legs, her eyelashes wet with rain, her soft goose-egg-shaped face pale, yet her expression showed no panic or despair.

She's still able to joke with herself.

She took out her phone from her pocket. Miraculously, a weak signal appeared.

She tried many places, and finally there was a little signal here.

Open the dialing interface.

Enter the emergency number.

Before she could attempt to dial.

The phone released an ear-piercing yet hopeful ringing sound in the forest.

It's an unknown number.

Yvonne Finley answered without hesitation.

Due to poor signal, the current noise was buzzing in her ear.

She opened her mouth: "I'm in the Sioux rainforest, I need help, I'm trapped, please help me contact Sioux police, my name is..."

"Yvonne Finley ——"

In the phone receiver.

Despite the poor signal, after a few seconds of buzzing, the voice of a young man gradually becomes clear, the rain-soaked coolness bringing some calm yet sober chill.

Yvonne Finley's heartstrings were suddenly pulled by this sound, her slowly beating heart seemed to be taken by an invisible hand, ruthlessly kneaded.

Her breathing became lighter.

He then calmly called her name: "——Yvonne Finley, isn't it?"

The voice made Yvonne Finley tremble.

Unexpectedly she raises her hand to touch her earlobe: "It's me, I'm Yvonne Finley, right now,—"

"I'm a member of the Assault Rescue Team."

The young man speaks quickly, yet articulates clearly, "Describe your surroundings to me, so I can determine your current location. You should be in a signal zone right now, stay put temporarily to avoid another disconnection should the signal get broken."

Yvonne Finley looks around. Under hypothermia, her voice trembles a bit. Its innate soft timbre adds a crying note due to the cold. But in reality, her expression remains composed, "From my position, I can see the cable cars over the tourist area. My back is pressed against…against a rock, down below is…"

"In the northwest direction, the Banyan Grove—" he says with an assuring undertone, "I've located your position."

He gives her a quick emotional tranquilizer.

Two seconds later.

Over the static noise, there's the sound of his fast footsteps combined with his slight panting. His voice, as cool as frosty jade, makes her ears feel inexplicably hot.

"Wait for me."

"You won't die."

Yvonne Finley's body is losing control, as she leans against the rock out of exhaustion.

She hears the sound of the man's footsteps racing towards her on the phone.

He hasn't hung up.

...That's quite considerate of him, isn't it?

Yvonne Finley no longer has the strength to lift her hand, so she simply tilts her head and holds the phone with her shoulder.

She's starting to feel drowsy.

"Yvonne Finley."

When her thoughts start to scatter.

Again, the man's warm and deep voice comes from the earpiece, snapping her back to reality momentarily. His voice is lazy and indifferent, typical of someone from Eden, with a faint but particularly pleasing local accent... there's a bit of a swagger to it.

So——proper.

Yvonne Finley wakes up a bit more.

She squints and looks into the distance.

"What's your name?" she suddenly feels like indulging in small talk.

From the other end, amidst the hustle and bustle and the sound of rainfall, he says: "—Assault Team Member 22."

Yvonne Finley barely manages to make a 'tsk' sound: "Team Member 22."

He doesn't respond.

He's still sprinting.

Yvonne Finley doesn't understand why, but weakly she says with a laugh, "Team Member 22."

"Team Member 22."

"Team Mem…"

"Miss, you're a bit noisy." The young man's voice remains unperturbed. Because his voice is so superior, it seems devoid of emotions, only highlighting his lazy disposition and the slight indifference in his tone.

It is simply so pleasing to the ear.

Yvonne Finley laughs quietly.

But they say handsome voices are owned by unattractive men, don't they?

She squints regretfully.

"Ah, I'm afraid I might die here before you arrive. Let the dying speak a few more words.", she says.

The other side falls silent.

All she hears are the quick, urgent beats of the rain against leafy branches, carrying the sound of vibrant life. It's almost as if it was given to her in her desolate state, as she's on the brink of death, as if it was charity in her last gasp of life.

Yvonne Finley finds her vision blurring.

She's a bit drowsy.

She licks her icy lips with her tongue.

Is she really going to die?

She's so tired.

Her body's functions are on the brink of collapse.

Her chest feels frozen; she can't feel the temperature anymore.

What a pity.

Her exhibition is next month, but she is—

"Yvonne Finley."

There's a thunderous roar—

There's a landslide in the distant mountain, cascading down, accompanied by the sound of water.

But the voice that calls her name easily drowns out all the other chaotic sounds.

Yvonne Finley's eyelids grow heavy, she tries to turn her head, and sees a tall figure running towards her. He is dressed in a black tactical suit, his long arms and legs holy emergency equipment, wearing a waterproof duckbill hat on his head. His face is securely hidden beneath a dark veil, only revealing a pair of beautiful but lifeless eyes.

She squints and gazes at him.