Chapter 228: I Am Not Human

It turns out that when a person is in the most painful and desperate moments, they cannot shed tears.

Wang Cong is exactly in this state now.

He stepped out of the chill of the morgue, like a walking corpse that had lost its soul, mechanically moving his steps, and arrived at the ward.

His gaze was hollow, blankly falling upon that hospital bed, where lay his father who had already breathed his last.

The latter's body was cold and stiff, the exposed skin covered in livor mortis, yet there was no smell of decay, because the hospital had wrapped him in a layer of transparent plastic wrap.

After all, there were other patients in the room, and the hospital feared they could not stand his "body odor."

Wang Cong looked down, seeing that his father's nose still had a tube inserted, the tube connected to a ventilator that was operating without rest, the screen recording the total volume of ventilation.

Like a taxi meter, it jumped up every second.

And what was most ironic was that this ventilator's ventilation frequency was obviously several times that of other beds.

The reasoning was quite scientific, because the other patients were still alive; they breathed mainly on their own, the ventilator merely assisted, and each breath could not fully expand the lungs—it was shallow breathing.

A dead body, however, breathed passively throughout, with the ventilator as the main force; each breath ensured the lungs could expand and contract to the maximum extent, and this deep breathing was even an ideal state sought after by high-level Martial Artists.

The heart rate monitor beside the ventilator was also silently performing its duty, the screen showing a straight line without any fluctuation.

The good news was that, since this straight line lacked any fluctuation frequency, the billing system would not charge by count but by the hour, and the cost was far cheaper than the ventilator.

The nurse beside him was still dutifully asking: "Mr. Wang Cong, shall we remove the tube for your father now?"

But Wang Cong no longer had the strength to be angry; his heart felt as if it had been hollowed out.

He mechanically reached out, yanked all the tubes off his father's body in one go, letting them fall to the ground with a crisp sound.

The nurse recorded the time of tube removal, and input the value paused at that second on the ventilator into the tablet.

The nurse calmly recorded the time of tube removal, then input the value of that paused second on the ventilator into the tablet computer.

She turned the tablet, facing the screen toward Wang Cong, and lightly slid her finger across the screen, showing him the bill: "As of now, the total expenses incurred during your father's hospitalization are as follows……"

She paused for a moment, then continued: "After deducting all expenses, the account balance is 13,114 yuan. If you have no objections, please sign here to confirm."

Wang Cong did not notice that in the last column of the bill, a charge for tube wear and tear had just been newly added.

Wang Cong ignored the nurse's voice, instead slowly bending down to embrace the corpse tightly wrapped in plastic wrap in his arms; however, the step he took as he turned around suddenly froze.

The money in his bank card and the Merit Points in his citizen account were insufficient to purchase or exchange a cemetery plot, so his best option was to cremate the body and put it in a box.

The female nurse, accustomed to such scenes, said understandingly: "Do you need the hospital to call a special car from the incineration plant for you?"

Wang Cong had no tears, nor did he remember the pain; he only felt it was very ridiculous.

Ridiculous was the hospital's dedication, ridiculous was his parents' selflessness, ridiculous was the absurdity of the world, ridiculous was his own despair.

Wang Cong said hoarsely: "To the incineration plant where my mother was taken."

The female nurse calmly replied: "Understood; the cost of contacting the incineration plant's special car will be deducted from the balance in your father's account."

While speaking, she handed the tablet computer to Wang Cong. He took the electronic pen and mechanically signed his name on the screen.

The incineration plant's special car was fully booked and would not arrive for another three hours.

Wang Cong blankly held his father's corpse, sitting on the long bench in the hospital corridor. Because he had signed, the discharge procedures had already been completed, and that empty bed had already welcomed a new patient.

Fortunately, the corridor's long bench was free, and Wang Cong could patiently wait here.

Wang Cong's head weakly leaned back, the back of his head pressing against the cold wall, his gaze hollow, listlessly staring at the spotless white ceiling.

The corner of his mouth twitched from time to time, emitting a laugh more unpleasant than crying.

His parents were dead.

The house was gone.

The hope he had climbed toward was also gone.

Before Wang Cong's eyes was complete darkness; this time, there truly was not a single ray of light left. He had not only failed to escape the mire, but seemed to have fallen into an even more desperate abyss.

At this moment, Wang Cong's heart was filled with coldness—a coldness more piercing than the corpse in his arms.

The clock on the corridor continued to tick unhurriedly, as if silently telling of the passage of time, while Wang Cong, within this merciless beat, quietly waited, waiting for the next answer fate would give him.

A corpse transport vehicle from the incineration plant slowly pulled to a stop at the hospital entrance.

The car door opened; a man wearing a green floral coat had a cigarette in his mouth, took two heavy drags, then viciously threw the cigarette butt on the ground and stamped it out with his toe before quickly walking into the hospital.

Before he even approached, the strange smell unique to someone who burned corpses year-round drifted into the corridor first.

Before the person even arrived, a strange smell from burning corpses year-round drifted into the corridor first.

Wang Jian directly found Wang Cong in the corridor and said lightly: "You called the car, right?"

Wang Cong slowly returned to his senses, stiffly nodded, stood up, tightly embraced his father's corpse, and mechanically followed behind Wang Jian.

Wang Jian helped him lift the corpse into the car and secure it, then slowly started the vehicle. Facing Wang Cong, who sat silently in the passenger seat, he suddenly said: "You are Wang Cong, right?"

Wang Cong did not want to speak; his gaze was vacant.

Wang Jian smiled: "The corpse this afternoon was also hauled by me, named Liu Xiujuan, your mother, right?"

A flicker of emotion crossed Wang Cong's eyes; his voice was low and trembling: "My mother's corpse, where is it now...?"

Wang Jian, while focusing on driving, calmly answered:

"Usually, when the hospital notifies us of an unclaimed corpse, we haul it back and cremate it; most of the time, the ashes are flushed into the sewer."

Wang Cong's head hung very low, his teeth clenched, as if an invisible hand tightly gripped his heart; the sharp pain made him almost unable to breathe.

He wanted to blame the hospital, blame the incineration plant, but the person he should blame most was... himself!

Wang Jian's words continued: "However, your mother's ashes were not flushed away; they were put in a box, because Feng Mu called me."

Wang Cong's body suddenly stiffened; he abruptly raised his head: "Who did you say?"

Wang Jian was somewhat confused by Wang Cong's intense reaction; he explained:

"Feng Mu. He told me you are his current colleague and friend, saying you couldn't make it to the hospital today, and specifically instructed me to properly arrange your mother's ashes. Strange—didn't Feng Mu mention this to you?"

While speaking, Wang Jian took out his phone from his pocket and handed the call record displayed on the screen to Wang Cong to see.

Wang Cong's gaze was nailed down, staring fixedly at the call time on the mobile phone screen labeled "Feng Mu."

That moment was deeply etched in his memory — it was when he reported progress to the Prison Warden, and when Feng Mu led a group of prisoners into the Incineration Room.

If not for an accident he couldn't understand, this phone call would have been Feng Mu's last will and testament left in this world?!

Wang Jian suddenly stomped on the brakes, and the car came to a halt.

He turned his head in terror and saw Wang Cong slapping his own cheeks madly, with such force that the latter's face swelled and bruised instantly.

And he wailed one moment, then laughed hysterically the next, a voice tinged with a fishy smell from his throat, repeating only one sentence over and over:

"I'm not human, I'm not human ahhhhhh—"

End of Chapter