Chapter 447: Xiaoyong Suddenly Goes Into Shock!

The contrast between Wang Yun and Xiaoyong had become impossible to ignore. It was so stark, in fact, that every single person in the gym was now staring at Wang Yun in stunned horror.

“Still too slow,” Wang Yun muttered, continuing to run as if he were out for a leisurely stroll rather than sprinting at the treadmill’s maximum speed.

The crowd was dumbfounded.

Meanwhile, Xiaoyong was in full collapse.

His breathing had become rapid and ragged, legs struggling to keep pace with his disoriented mind. His body swayed unsteadily, his form breaking down by the second.

And then—

Bang!

With a sickening thud, Xiaoyong’s body slammed into the floor.

He had flown off the treadmill.

“Ahh!”

“Xiaoyong!”

“Coach! Are you okay?! Quick, get water, now!”

People rushed over in a panic, surrounding Xiaoyong in a chaotic swarm.

To their shock, he was foaming at the mouth, retching violently as bile and stomach contents spilled from his lips.

The air was filled with the sharp stench of vomit and anxious shouting.

“Water! Water’s here!” Supervisor Zhang came running, sloshing a cup of water as he scrambled over.

The water splashed along the way, but no one cared.

He reached Xiaoyong and raised the cup to his lips.

Only for Xiaoyong to suddenly convulse again, doubling over as more stomach acid spewed out violently.

The two colleagues holding him were instantly splattered. Their hands and clothes were drenched.

“No good. He can’t drink water like this!”

“His body’s at the limit, his airways might be blocked!”

“We need to stabilize him, now!”

The other coaches were shouting in alarm, voices rising with panic.

Supervisor Zhang’s face had gone pale with anxiety.

If something serious happened here, it wouldn’t just be about reputations; it could shut the gym down entirely.

A human life was on the line.

“Hang in there, Xiaoyong! Breathe. Slow it down! You have to calm your breath!”

Supervisor Zhang crouched beside him, no longer caring about the vomit soaking into his slacks.

Xiaoyong’s face had turned deathly white.

He couldn’t breathe. The oxygen wasn’t making it to his lungs.

When a person pushes their body past its limit, the symptoms come fast—chest pain, nerve shocks, dizziness, nausea. In severe cases, the heart and lungs begin to fail.

That was happening now.

His pulse rate had skyrocketed, easily exceeding 200 beats per minute, well beyond the safe maximum of 150.

Any higher, and his heart might simply give out.

He was going into shock.

“Let me take a look.”

Wang Yun stepped forward, having silently monitored Xiaoyong’s condition with his acute hearing. His instincts and abilities told him the man was right on the edge.

If Wang Yun hadn’t stopped running just now, he would have kept going. His body was fully activated, blood circulating at peak efficiency.

But Xiaoyong was in danger.

“Mr. Wang!”

Supervisor Zhang looked at him as if grabbing a lifeline.

Wang Yun’s physical performance had left everyone speechless, but this… this was a different kind of hope.

It had already been three minutes since Xiaoyong collapsed.

Including the time Wang Yun had spent on the treadmill earlier, that was thirteen minutes of full-speed sprinting. And yet, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a warm-up jog.

His breath was steady. His complexion hadn’t changed at all.

“His heart’s overstrained,” Wang Yun said, crouching beside the man. “He’s going into cardiac shock.”

Xiaoyong was trembling. His eyes were open but glassy, pupils dilated. His legs were shaking uncontrollably.

His chest was heaving so violently that you could feel his heartbeat without even touching him.

“Call the ambulance! Where is it?!”

Supervisor Zhang was losing it.

“It won’t make it in time!” someone shouted from the crowd. “I already contacted property management, there’s an on-site doctor!”

This was, after all, a high-end neighborhood. Emergency medical staff were always on standby.

“It’s too late,” Wang Yun said calmly. “His heart’s failing. He won’t last three more minutes.”

The words fell like ice water.

“Give me the water,” Wang Yun ordered.

Without thinking, Supervisor Zhang handed him the cup.

Wang Yun immediately splashed it onto Xiaoyong’s face.

The crowd gasped in unison.

But before anyone could protest, Wang Yun did something that made jaws hit the floor.

He grabbed Xiaoyong’s shirt and ripped it open, baring his chest.

Then—with one hand pressed flat against Xiaoyong’s sternum—he formed a fist with the other and began striking it rhythmically.

Bang!

Bang!

Each muffled thud echoed like a heartbeat.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“You’ll make it worse! His heart’s overloaded already!”

A fitness trainer lunged forward in alarm, ready to intervene.

But Wang Yun’s eyes flared.

“Don’t touch me. I’m saving him.”

His voice was low, but it burned with conviction.

He struck again.

These weren’t random blows. They were calculated, precise.

To an untrained eye, it looked dangerous.

But what Wang Yun was doing was no different than jumpstarting a spring.

A spring wound too tightly would eventually lose its elasticity, unless aided by external force to restore its rhythm.

This was controlled impact therapy.

But it was also incredibly dangerous.

The margin for error was razor-thin.

Too little force, and it wouldn’t help. Too much, and it could push the heart past the point of no return.

Wang Yun was gambling on that edge.

And winning.