Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

Respiratory alkalosis.

Excessive ventilation due to emotional excitement leads to excessive carbon dioxide expulsion, resulting in symptoms such as numbness in the hands and feet, chest tightness, and dizziness.

He Xu had always been very clear about this.

He sat on the faded bench, his hands gripping the fabric on his knees, his knuckles white.

My breathing became shallower and faster.

The pressure in his chest felt like a hand gripping his ribs from the inside, and he could only inhale half a mouthful of air with each breath.

He recognized that feeling.

This has happened a few times before.

After staying up all night in the practice room of the host, during the recovery period after injuring my voice, and also during my teenage years.

He knew how to handle it.

But he couldn't control himself.

The rhythm of breathing had completely slipped out of my control; it was fast and shallow, as if some kind of instinctive reaction had pushed reason into a corner.

"……Hold."

The voice that came out of his mouth had a strange, trembling lightness, as if it came from a very far place.

He started to feel dizzy.

My head felt light and floating, but my body remained in place.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting on that bench.

It could be five minutes, or it could be ten minutes.

Then he heard a voice coming from afar—English with an accent, muffled and unclear, as if asking him, "Are you alright?"

He turned his head and saw a blurry figure standing a few steps away.

The face was obscured, only the outline was visible. It was backlit, and the person was holding something in their hand—probably a cell phone.

"...I'm fine," he said, his voice barely audible as he spoke. "Just tired."

The person didn't leave.

The conversation continued intermittently in his ears. He couldn't remember the content of the questions, but the other person's tone changed from doubt to concern, and then from concern to a kind of urgency.

After a while, he heard police sirens coming from afar.

Getting closer.

Parked nearby.

Then came the sound of footsteps. Someone squatted down in front of him and asked him his name in English, asking if he could hear them and if he could answer.

He answered, but he didn't know what he answered.

As he was lifted onto the stretcher, all he could see was the overly clear, cloudless blue sky of Los Angeles.

He remembered some unrelated things.

He recalled that when he was sixteen, in a windowless dormitory in Seoul, he had a fever of 39 degrees Celsius, and no one took him to the hospital.

He closed his eyes briefly, then was pushed into the ambulance.

-

The lights in the emergency room were just like those in all the hospitals he remembered—blindingly white with a cool blue tint.

He lay on the mobile hospital bed, a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his wrist, slowly inflating and deflating.

A blood oxygen monitor clip was held between my fingers, and green numbers flashed on the screen—98, 97, 96, before slowly rising back up.

The nurse stood by the bed, removing an oxygen mask from his face.

"How do you feel now?" she asked.

He Xu opened his mouth, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

It took him about two seconds to regain his composure, and his breathing was much slower than before.

"...Better."

"Your blood oxygen saturation has returned to normal. However, your heart rate is still a little high. We would like to keep you in the hospital for another hour for observation."

"I'm fine." He propped himself up on his elbows, the movement causing the blood pressure cuff on his wrist to inflate with a short, sharp sound. "It's just...hyperventilation. I know what to do."

The nurse glanced at him, her expression unchanged, but her gaze held a subtle scrutiny.

"[British] You're not 18 yet, are you? We need to contact your guardian."

He Xu's breath hitched for a second.

"...What? (What?)"

"Your appearance," the nurse said calmly, "you look very young. And you don't have any identification on you. We need to verify your age before you can leave."

He Xu glanced down at himself—a sports jacket, sports pants, and a T-shirt he hadn't had time to change out of after his run.

He didn't have his wallet with him, but his phone was in his pocket.

"I'm twenty-four," he said, his voice a little steadyer than before, but still slightly breathless from recovering. "I'm an adult. I can sign myself out."

The nurse looked at him, neither nodding nor shaking her head, but simply turned her head and exchanged a glance with another person in blue surgical scrubs next to her.

The man approached, holding a form, his tone polite but firm: "Mr. [English], we understand you're feeling much better. But without identification, we cannot let you leave without verifying your identity. It's hospital policy. Do you have someone you can contact?"

He Xu leaned against the headboard, looking at the form, and remained silent for a moment.

He didn't want to call Jiang Yanbai.

He didn't want to hear Jiang Yanbai's voice right now.

He didn't want to call Jen either—Jen would call Jiang Yanbai, and then the situation would turn out the way he didn't want to face.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket; the screen was still lit, showing the time.

He scrolled to his contacts, paused his finger on the screen for a moment, and then dialed Marco's number.

The call was answered after two rings, and Marco's voice was as gentle as ever: "Hello? This is Marco."

"Marco," He Xu began, his voice hoarser than he had expected, "...It's me. I'm in the hospital. I need you to sign the discharge papers for me."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.

"Mr. He? What happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just need someone to verify my identity. They won't let me leave without proof."

[English] Where are you? Which hospital?

He Xu told him the address and department, then hung up the phone and held it in his hand.

He leaned against the headboard, staring at the fluorescent light on the ceiling.

About forty minutes later, Marco appeared at the door of the emergency room.

He was wearing a light blue shirt, his hair was a little messy from the wind, and he was holding a cell phone and a file folder, as if he had come straight from somewhere.

He strode to He Xu's bedside and looked him up and down: "Mr. He, are you sure you're alright? The nurse said—"

"I'm fine." He Xu's tone was calm. "[English] They need you to sign something, and then I can leave."

Marco glanced at him, hesitated, then turned and went to the front desk to fill out the form.

He Xu sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands resting on his knees.

The numbness in my knuckles has mostly subsided, and my heart rate has returned to normal.

The nurse returned ten minutes later and handed him a signed discharge form: "You can go now. But if you feel dizzy again, come back."

He Xu nodded, took the paper, folded it, and put it in his sweatpants pocket.

He stood up, took two steps outside, and then stopped.

Marco stood at the emergency room door, still holding the file folder, and turned to look at him: "Where are we going? Back to the house?"

He Xu remained silent for a few seconds.

"...I'm not going back," he said. "You go back. I'll stay on my own for a while."

Marco looked at him, didn't ask any questions, and quietly put the file folder into his coat pocket: "Then at least let me drive you to where you want to go."

He Xu stood at the entrance of the emergency room, the afternoon sun streaming in through the glass door and falling on his shoulders.

He remained silent for a long time before finally speaking: "...The dance studio. The one I go to."

Marco nodded. "Let's go."