1:15 a. m., Brookline District, Boston.
Lin Qi was reading in his study. When he heard Artest's desperate, tearful voice say " Chris Paul is dead" over the receiver, the book in his hand fell to the floor with a "thud."
Lin Qi felt his blood freeze instantly.
"Which hospital?!" Lin Qi practically roared into the phone.
" Tufts New England Medical Center..."
Lin Qi hung up the phone immediately, without even grabbing a coat, and rushed out wearing only his thin pajamas, carrying his car keys.
In the early hours of the morning on the streets of Boston, Lin Qi's car speedometer needle was rapidly approaching 120 mph. He ran three red lights in a row, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the force.
"Don't die... Chris Paul, you mustn't die..."
1:30 a. m., Tufts New England Medical Center, emergency room.
The piercing siren of the ambulance came to an abrupt halt in front of the emergency room building. The stretcher was shoved down with a thud.
"22-year-old male! Multiple stab wounds! Hemorrhagic shock! Blood pressure dropped to 70/40, heart rate 130! He has lost consciousness!" The paramedics shouted as they rushed with the gurney.
The head of the emergency department glanced at Pierce's pale face and blood-soaked clothes, and his expression instantly changed. "Get him to operating room number one immediately! Notify the top experts in thoracic surgery and vascular surgery! Hurry! Hurry!"
The stretcher disappeared behind the closed doors of the operating room amidst a flurry of footsteps.
Artest stood outside the emergency room, covered in blood, like a soulless statue. Blood was still seeping from his superficial wounds, but he felt no pain at all.
He just stared intently at the red light on the operating room door.
"It's my fault... It was my fault that he kept it..." Artest slid slowly to the ground against the cold wall, burying his head in his blood-stained hands, his suppressed sobs echoing in the empty corridor.
At 2 a. m., Lin Qi rushed into the emergency room corridor. Rasheed Wallace, who had been alerted, followed closely behind.
Lin Qi immediately spotted Artest, who was sitting on the ground in a state of collapse, and Türkoğlu and Redd, who were trembling beside him.
Lin Qi walked up to Artest, looked at his hands covered in blood, and asked in a commanding tone, "Tell me, what happened?"
Rasheed, on behalf of the already incoherent Artest, recounted what Hedo Türkoğlu had said on the phone.
The corridor was deathly silent.
Lin Qi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The next second, he turned around abruptly and slammed his fist into the hard hospital wall!
"Bang!"
Lin Qi's fist was cut open and bleeding, but he felt nothing.
"What the hell did I say in the conference room?!" Lin Qi turned around, his eyes bloodshot, his extremely suppressed voice carrying a chilling pressure, "I warned you countless times! Why didn't you listen?!"
No one dared to speak. Redd was even so frightened that he shrank back.
At 3 a. m., Garnett, Gary Payton, Ben Wallace, Billups, and others arrived one after another.
When Billups saw Artest covered in blood and the closed operating room doors, his legs went weak and he almost collapsed to the ground.
Three hours ago, he was still sitting in that booth. If he hadn't gotten up and left out of politeness, if he had also gotten caught up in that brawl...
Billups leaned against the wall, his back soaked with cold sweat. He stared at the red light of the emergency room, repeatedly wondering if he hadn't left... would he be the one lying inside?
Garnett walked over to Lin Qi, patted him on the shoulder, and said in a hoarse voice, "Lin, Chris Paul's a tough guy. He'll get through this."
Lin Qi took a deep breath of the air, which smelled strongly of disinfectant, and forced his over-pounding heart to calm down.
Getting angry was useless. The red light above the operating room door, like a blood-red eye, stared at everyone in the corridor.
He walked to the door and peered through the narrow glass window. Under the operating lights, a suffocating scene of activity unfolded: defibrillators, hemostats, blood-soaked gauze... Chris Paul Pierce lay there lifeless, his body riddled with tubes of varying thicknesses.
4:15 AM.
The glaring red light above the operating room finally went out.
With a slight hiss of airlock, the operating room door, which had been closed for nearly three hours, was finally pushed open.
The surgeon, Wilson, emerged. He removed his blood-stained mask, his expression one of extreme exhaustion; the front of his surgical gown was completely stained red.
Everyone immediately swarmed around it.
"Doctor..." Lin Qi was still trying to remain calm, but his tone revealed his nervousness.
Dr. Wilson took a deep breath and looked around at everyone. "It's horrific. A total of 11 stab wounds all over the body. Five on the back, three on the abdomen, and one each on the face and neck. Moreover, the stab wounds on the back and abdomen are different shapes... They used two different folding knives."
A suppressed gasp of cold air echoed down the corridor.
"But the most fatal wound was to his left chest." Dr. Wilson gestured with his hand to his ribs. "The blade went straight in, reaching a depth of 7 inches (about 18 centimeters), completely piercing his left lung, causing severe hemopneumothorax and massive bleeding."
He paused, his eyes filled with a shock rarely seen in his decades of experience. "The tip of that knife was less than an inch from his heart. Another 2.5 centimeters off, and he wouldn't even have had a chance to be lifted into the ambulance."
Gary Payton closed his eyes in agony. Artest buried his head deep in his knees, his shoulders heaving violently.
"So what about him now...?" Lin Qi asked the question that everyone was most concerned about.
"We've repaired the lung lobe, cleared the blood from the pleural cavity, and sutured all the ruptured blood vessels," Dr. Wilson said, looking at Lin Qi. "He's out of immediate danger."
"Phew..." Garnett let out a long breath and punched his own palm. Billups leaned against the wall, tears finally streaming down his face.
"However, the next 48 hours are still a critical period." The doctor's words made everyone's hearts, which had just settled, tighten again. "He has lost a great deal of blood. If he develops a postoperative infection, lung inflammation, or blood clots, the consequences could be dire. He will be transferred to the ICU immediately."
Dr. Wilson turned to Lin Qi: "Are you the team manager?"
"I am."
"Then I must tell you, it's a complete miracle that he survived."
"His extraordinary physical condition and cardiopulmonary function allowed him to maintain basic vital signs despite massive blood loss. After being stabbed, he survived until paramedics arrived, thanks to his terrifying survival instinct and surging adrenaline."
The doctor paused, then turned and picked up a thick, black suede leather jacket that had been cut open from a tray behind him. It was covered with numerous knife marks and dark red bloodstains.
"Thank goodness for this leather jacket. Its thick material at least blocked three or four fatal blows to his back and abdomen. Without this jacket as cushioning, he would have been dead long ago."
Lin Qi stared at the shocking garment in silence for a long time before finally saying, "Thank you, doctor."
The doctor patted Lin Qi's arm and turned to leave.
The corridor fell silent again, filled with a sense of utter exhaustion, as if one had just survived a catastrophe.
Lin Qi turned around, regaining his composure. He looked around at the exhausted players.
"Listen, folks," Lin Qi's voice wasn't loud, but it was firm and resolute, " Chris Paul's out of danger. That's the only good news for today."
" Kevin, Gary, Ben, Chauncey Billups, you guys, go back to your lodgings and get some sleep right now. Training... let's cancel it for a day." Seeing Garnett's unyielding gaze, Lin Qi raised his hand to interrupt, "Go rest. Get some rest!"
The veterans exchanged glances. Garnett gritted his teeth and nodded. "Notify us immediately of any developments."
After seeing the veteran off, Lin Qi looked at the young man in the corner.
" Ron," Lin Qi called out.
Artest lifted his tear-streaked face.
"Go to the nurses' station to get your wound treated and stitched up," Lin Qi said, pointing to his still-bleeding arm. "Then go to the Boston Police Department with Türkoğlu and Redd. Rasheed, you go with them. Tell the police everything you saw in the nightclub, word for word."
"Understood, Lin." Rasheed nodded calmly, leading the three still-shaken young people toward the elevator.
After clearing the corridor, Lin Qi sat wearily on a cold plastic chair outside the ICU.
7 a. m.
The ICU door was gently pushed open, and a nurse came out. "Mr. Lin, the patient's vital signs are stabilizing, but he is still in a deep coma. You may go in to see him, but only for 5 minutes. Please do not touch him."
Lin Qi put on a sterile gown and walked into the ward where only the ticking of medical instruments could be heard.
Chris Paul Pierce lay there, his face as pale as paper. A ventilator was inserted into his mouth, his chest was wrapped in thick sterile gauze, and countless drainage tubes extended from his body.
Lin Qi walked to the bedside and looked at the lifeless face. He leaned down and spoke in a low voice that only the two of them could hear.
" Chris Paul, don't overthink it. Just get through this. I'll handle everything else."
8:00 AM.
The morning light in Boston streamed through the hospital's glass windows into the corridor.
Lin Qi sat down in the chair, took out his phone, and began crisis management and counterattack.
The first call was to Mark, the team's public relations director.
" Mark, draft a brief official statement immediately. ' Chris Paul Pierce suffered an unexpected attack during the offseason, has undergone surgery, and is in stable condition.' Don't mention any other details, including the nightclub, the fight, or the 11 stab wounds. Cut off all unofficial sources within the hospital. Hold a press conference at 2 PM at the training facility; I will be there in person."
The second call was to the Celtics ' chief legal counsel.
" John, take your best criminal defense team and head to the Boston Police Department right now. Ron and Türkoğlu are giving statements. I want you to keep a close eye on the police investigation the entire time." Lin Qi's eyes gleamed with a chilling coldness in the morning light. "I want the police to charge those thugs with 'attempted first-degree murder.' Use all the team's legal resources; I want them to rot in jail for the rest of their lives. Understand?"
"Understood, boss. We'll be at the police station in ten minutes."
After hanging up the phone, Lin Qi stood up and stretched his stiff neck.
At 9 a. m., chaotic footsteps and suppressed sobs could be heard from the end of the corridor.
Pierce's parents, George and Lorraine, arrived at the hospital in a state of panic, accompanied by team staff.
"My Chris Paul... my child..." Upon seeing the ICU sign, Lorraine's legs went weak, and she collapsed into her husband's arms, sobbing.
Lin Qi went up to him, without saying anything polite, and simply shook George's trembling hand.
"He's very strong; he pulled through the toughest part. The best medical team is inside." Lin Qi looked at the heartbroken father. "I assure you, the Celtics will take full responsibility and will not let this go."
Watching the elderly couple support each other as they walked into the ICU, Lin Qi turned around and headed towards the hospital entrance.
In the outside world, the media across America, like Shark smelling blood, had completely surrounded Boston.