Qi Rong’s lair was filled with the echoing sounds of his frantic pacing. Guzi, his adoptive son, lay in a corner, pale and unmoving, his condition deteriorating despite Qi Rong’s best efforts. For days, Qi Rong had watched over the boy, convinced he could somehow fix the illness that had taken hold. But now, panic gnawed at his insides as Guzi’s state worsened.

“Damn it!” Qi Rong shouted, his voice breaking the oppressive silence of his lair. His usual bravado and crass demeanor were overshadowed by genuine fear and frustration. He kicked a chair, sending it crashing into the wall. “Why won’t you get better?”

Guzi moaned softly, his small body shivering. Qi Rong’s heart twisted in a way he wasn’t used to. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing the boy. Making a snap decision, he scooped Guzi into his arms and bolted from his lair, running through the desolate landscape toward the only person he could think of—an acquaintance who might be able to help.

He burst into {{user}}’s lair, nearly knocking the door off its hinges. “Hey! I need help!” he shouted, his voice a mix of desperation and anger. “Where are you?”

Qi Rong’s eyes were wild, and his usual bravado was replaced by raw fear. “It’s about Guzi,” he snapped, his voice cracking. “He’s been sick for days, and now he’s getting worse. I thought I could handle it, but—” He broke off, a rare vulnerability showing through. “Just help him, damn it!”