The Thin Wall Between Hell and Heaven
Chapter 1: The Thin Wall Between Hell and Heaven
Rain in New York was nothing like the poetic scenes in the movies. It was cold, merciless—a brutal cleansing that washed the city’s filth, despair, and struggle down into the sewers, stripping away its glossy facade.
Emily Anderson’s gaze was shredded by the downpour outside, her vision fractured and uncertain.
The window glass was webbed with cracks, like a spider’s net that could never catch the future. Rain seeped through the fissures, pooling on the windowsill, reflecting the flickering bulb above—a bulb that sputtered, never quite deciding if it wanted to light up the room or leave it in darkness.
She tore her eyes away from the rain and landed them on the overdue rent notice lying on her desk. The words “Final Warning,” scrawled in blood-red ink by her landlady, pressed down like a modern eviction spell. The ink, blurred by the damp air, looked like a stain of dried blood.
Her stomach twisted with a familiar, hollow ache.
Emily opened the fridge. A wave of cold hit her, smelling of old plastic and empty shelves. All that remained was a single, tightly wrapped piece of bread—her last scrap of food. It was hard, its edges cracked, fragile as her life; one wrong move and it would crumble.
She didn’t eat it. That was for tomorrow. Tomorrow, maybe, she’d have an interview. She needed a little strength to face it.
Maybe.
On her laptop screen, her inbox was littered with dozens of unanswered job applications—rows of digital tombstones, burying every hope she had. Master’s in Art History? In a city where even breathing felt like a luxury, her degree was a cruel joke. All her pride, her brilliant analyses of Renaissance frescoes, couldn’t buy her a fresh piece of bread.
“Drip... drip...”
The faucet wasn’t shut tight. Each drop hammered the steel sink, echoing through her tiny, terrifyingly silent apartment, pounding her temples with every beat. It sounded like a countdown to her failure.
She stood up, bare feet sinking into the cold, sticky wood floor. The apartment was so small she could touch both walls with outstretched arms. The paint peeled from years of damp, exposing the bruised brick beneath. The air was thick with mold, mingling with the cheap curry drifting in from her neighbor’s place—a scent that could only be called “poverty.”
She walked to the window, peering through its broken web at the world outside.
This was a fringe of Brooklyn, separated from Manhattan’s dazzling lights by nothing but a river. Tonight, the rain had thinned a little, and across the water, the city’s steel, glass, and ambition lit up like a forest of stars. Fifth Avenue, Times Square, Empire State Building—names that sparkled like diamonds, impossibly out of reach.
Emily knew that, over there, people were dining in restaurants she couldn’t even imagine, gazing down at the rain-soaked city from warm apartments. Their lives were steady, orderly—a universe apart from her leaky, moldy, forgotten corner.
Hell and heaven, separated by nothing but a wall—or maybe just a river.
Her stomach twisted again, sharper this time. She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to go out, even if it was just to buy some discounted, nearly expired instant food from the convenience store. Anything was better than being devoured by silence and hunger.
She threw on a faded old coat, shoved her last five-dollar bill—her final asset—deep into her pocket, as if it were a precious treasure.
The hallway outside was even darker than her room. The sensor lights were broken, and only the green glow of the emergency exit lit the corridor like a ghost. She descended the creaking stairs, each step crunching her fragile pride.
Rain poured down in sheets.
The moment she stepped outside, icy rain soaked her through. The wind drove the drops into her skin like needles, stinging her cheeks. People hurried past, umbrellas up, not sparing a glance for a lost young woman wandering in the storm.
Emily hunched her shoulders, walking aimlessly. She didn’t know which convenience store to go to—she just wanted to cut through, escape the suffocating rain as quickly as possible. She slipped into a narrow, dark alley.
Garbage bins overflowed, the air thick with the sour stench of rotting food and rainwater. Puddles reflected the distant neon lights, twisting them into something eerie and surreal. This was the city’s hidden side—the wound beneath the glamour.
As she stumbled forward, her foot struck something soft.
She staggered, nearly falling.
In the dim light, Emily saw him. A person lay on the ground.
An old man.
Her heart clenched, fear surging. In a place like this, any surprise could mean trouble. She wanted to turn and walk away, pretend she’d seen nothing. It was the safest, most rational choice.
But her feet wouldn’t move.
The old man lay curled in a puddle, soaked through. But even in such a sorry state, his clothes spoke of wealth—a deep gray cashmere coat, finely tailored, unmistakably expensive. The shape of his watch, glinting in the faint light, hinted at luxury.
He wasn’t a homeless man.
“Sir? Sir, are you okay?” Emily’s voice trembled, barely audible above the rain.
No response, only the faint rise and fall of breath. By his hand, a small brown pill bottle had rolled away, white tablets dissolving quickly into the filthy water.
Emily’s mind was at war. Logic screamed: walk away, don’t get involved, you can’t even save yourself—how could you help a stranger? But deep inside, a part of her, worn down but not yet extinguished, whispered: He needs help.
She thought of her grandfather, who’d collapsed on a rainy day just like this one, heart attack on the street. If a kind stranger hadn’t stopped...
She couldn’t make herself leave.
Emily took a shaky breath, the sour, rainy stink making her cough. She knelt down, gently lifting the old man, cradling him against her. His body was heavy, cold with rain, but beneath the soaked cashmere, she felt a faint warmth.
“Sir, wake up!” She patted his cheek—cold and wet under her hand.
His eyelids fluttered, slowly opening. Clouded eyes, once sharp, focused on her. His lips moved, trying to speak, but no sound came.
“Don’t move, I’ll call an ambulance!” Emily reached for her phone.
“No…” The old man rasped, voice barely audible. “…don’t…call…ambulance.”
Emily froze.
“Water…medicine…” He pointed weakly at the empty bottle.
She understood instantly. Heart attack, or something like it—he needed medication, but it was gone.
“Hold on, I’ll get it!” she said.
She propped him against the wall, making him as comfortable as she could, then dashed out of the alley toward the 24-hour pharmacy on the corner.
“Emergency heart pills! Nitroglycerin! Fastest you have!” She slammed into the counter, voice wild with panic, rain dripping from her hair and face, pooling on the floor.
The clerk eyed her warily, but handed over the medication quickly.
Emily’s hands shook as she pulled out her last, rain-soaked five-dollar bill. She slapped it on the counter without hesitation.
She grabbed the pills, bought a bottle of water and the cheapest sandwich from the convenience store next door—thinking the old man might be hungry when he woke up.
When she raced back into the alley, a black Bentley was parked at the entrance. A man in a black suit, earpiece gleaming, stood beside the old man, holding a huge umbrella, talking urgently into his phone.
He saw Emily and his eyes sharpen with suspicion.
“It’s okay, I’m just here to help,” Emily said, raising the medicine and water.
She knelt, and with the suited man’s help, opened the bottle, placed two pills in the old man’s mouth, and held the water to his lips.
After a few sips, color returned to his face. His breathing steadied.
“Thank you, child,” he whispered, voice weak but clear.
“Do you feel better now?” Emily exhaled, collapsing into the puddle, cold water soaking her pants—but she barely noticed.
The old man didn’t answer. He just looked at her, eyes deep and searching—not as if she were a stranger, but something rare, precious. He saw her soaked, shabby coat, her lips tinged purple with cold, and her eyes—too large from years of hunger—shining with uncalculated kindness.
“Sir, we have to leave. The family doctor is waiting,” the suited man murmured.
The old man nodded. Supported by the man, he walked toward the Bentley. Before getting in, he turned back, giving Emily a long, complicated look—gratitude, curiosity, and a hint of… pity.
The car door closed. The Bentley slid away into the rain, vanishing quickly.
Emily was alone again.
She looked down at her empty pocket, her rain-soaked body, exhaustion and cold surging up from her feet, swallowing her whole. The courage that had driven her moments ago disappeared with the luxury car.
What had she done? Used her last bit of money to save a rich stranger.
She didn’t even know his name.
A bitter smile twisted her pale lips. Emily, oh Emily—you’re a hopeless fool.
She dragged herself back to her leaking apartment, legs heavy as lead.
Inside, she collapsed onto her bed, shivering uncontrollably. She knew she was running a fever. In this cold and hunger, a bad flu could be deadly.
Her mind blurred.
In the darkness, the flickering bulb became a judge’s eye. The dripping faucet sounded like death’s footsteps. She curled up, burning one moment, freezing the next.
She thought she saw her late grandfather beckoning, and the cold faces of HR reps who’d rejected her.
“Is this… the end?” she wondered, drifting.
Maybe it was better this way. No more worrying about tomorrow’s rent or bread.
Just as her consciousness was sinking into the deepest black, when even the last spark of resistance was fading—
A cold, emotionless voice rang out in her mind, slicing through pain and chaos.
【Detected high-purity 'altruism' energy… meets binding criteria…】
【Scanning host’s vital signs… extremely weak… meets emergency activation requirements…】
A blue data stream seemed to appear in Emily’s mind.
【Life Reversal System binding... 10%... 30%... 70%... 100%!】
【Binding successful!】
【Hello, Host Emily Anderson. I am your personal assistant, code 9527.】
【Now, your first mission: Survive.】
