Chapter 522: No Need to Thank Me, You Have the Gift on You

He isn't Feng Mu, so who is he?

Time rewinds slightly, back five minutes or so — roughly when Feng Mu just called.

Another "Feng Mu" also walked into the hospital elevator.

Standing in the elevator corner, he tilted his head up slightly and glanced at the surveillance camera.

The corners of his mouth slowly pulled into an arc, as if tugged by invisible threads, forming a stiff and eerie smile.

The soft needles beneath the mask restricted the natural movement of his muscles, making the smile look as if it were painted on his face.

"The disguise still isn't lifelike enough. It's fine when static, but once an expression is made, it easily becomes discordant.."

"Feng Mu" assessed silently in his heart, quietly noting the flaws needing improvement,

"What a pity I'm not a corpse. My needlework is still better suited for doing makeup on the dead — being alive ultimately limits my performance.

Hmm, next time perhaps I can try switching to softer needles, and also carve out all the flesh beneath the skin — that would give more room to operate."

Just as "Feng Mu" was deep in thought, the elevator door opened with a "ding," and a female nurse pushing a stretcher cart walked in.

On the cart lay a tiny corpse — a girl of eight or nine, skin and bones, who had clearly endured long illness and suffering before death.

Her face was twisted; she must have endured unimaginable agony before dying.

In this world, the rich can use nerve blockers to eliminate pain, while the poor can't even afford painkillers.

At the earliest, it was possible — painkillers were the cheapest medicine for the poor to treat illness.

Later, Shengguang Pharmaceutical invented "Awakening Liquid," major pharmaceutical companies followed suit and developed competing products, and everything quietly changed.

Under the push of the pharmaceutical groups, the Lower City enacted new legislation, citing addictive ingredients in painkillers, strictly restricting their production and use.

Beside the nurse followed a middle-aged man, eyes red and swollen, expression strangely numb.

As the stretcher cart entered the elevator, the wheels let out a piercing screech.

Chen Ya noticed the girl's body didn't even have a piece of white cloth to cover it; her exposed skin was full of needle marks and bruises.

The other patients in the elevator treated it as invisible, merely shifting their feet impatiently to make space for the stretcher cart.

In the hospital, what's most common are endless patients.

Then comes death.

Doctors and nurses can only rank third.

In the past, people always said death is the final fairness for all humanity — before death, whether poor or rich, all are treated equally.

But now, with the development of technology, people suddenly realized: turns out death has preferences too — it dislikes the rich and favors the poor.

"Feng Mu" lowered his head, gazing indifferently at the corpse on the stretcher.

He extended his hand, fingertips lightly brushing across the girl's forehead, down along the brow bone, to the jaw.

"What are you doing—?"

The middle-aged man beside them snapped his head up, first furious, then stunned.

The girl's face gradually smoothed out; the girl's face miraculously relaxed.

The ferocity faded, replaced by a near-serene calm, as if she were merely asleep, the corners of her mouth even bearing a long-lost arc.

"No need to thank me,"

"Feng Mu" gently withdrew his hand, saying lightly,

"She was just lucky to escape this ugly world one step ahead; she shouldn't have to carry this world's lingering pain any longer."

What "Feng Mu" thought in his heart was: "As expected, my needlework really is better suited for doing makeup on the dead!"

The elevator door opened again; he stepped out, leaving the whole elevator in silence.

Even a few patients looked at the girl's corpse, their eyes revealing a trace of envy.

If at death one could be without illness and wearing a smile, that would probably be the most longed-for beautiful dream of countless poor people.

"Feng Mu" exited the elevator, passed through the general ward area, and entered the VVIP Corridor.

The lighting here was soft, the carpet absorbed footsteps, expensive oil paintings hung on the walls, as if death had nothing to do with this place.

Deep in the corridor, at the door of Qian Huan's ward, stood a giant of a man like an iron tower.

Beside him nestled a girl with twin horn braids, head lowered, fiddling with something.

"Feng Mu" didn't pause his steps, continuing deeper inside.

Hong Ya looked up and saw "Feng Mu," her eyes lighting up:

"Little Junior Brother! What brings you here? I didn't bring you any rice!"

She smiled innocently and radiantly, even more beautiful than that made-up corpse just now.

The corner of "Feng Mu's" mouth twitched; he didn't say much, just slowly squeezed out a smile and gave an "Mm."

He walked two more steps forward, his gaze lightly sweeping past the giant beside him, withdrawing at first contact, then turning toward the adjacent VVIP ward — Shi Wuming's room.

Hong Ya tilted her head, her horn braids swaying: "What's Little Junior Brother going there for?"

She was about to bounce after him, but was grabbed by Li Bashan's palm-leaf-sized hand.

The giant's voice was low like muffled thunder: "Don't go."

Hong Ya lifted her little face, eyes full of confusion: "Why?"

Li Bashan couldn't articulate a reason, just covered Hong Ya's head with his big hand, messed up her horn braids, and repeated in a muffled voice:

"Don't go!"

Hong Ya puffed her cheeks, glaring with round eyes like an angry little fox:

"Aiya! My hair's all messed up!"

In front of Little Junior Brother, Hong Ya was very mindful of her Senior Sister image and dignity; she could only angrily re-braid her hair, temporarily giving up the idea of chasing after him.

The light inside the ward was a bit dimmer than the corridor; cold light from various monitoring instruments cast mottled shadows on the floor.

Shi Wuming half-leaned against the hospital bed, his severed arms resting on his chest, wrapped in dense electronic components and wires.

He lay on the hospital bed, basically unable to move.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, he turned his neck with difficulty.

When he clearly saw the visitor was "Feng Mu", his brows immediately knitted tight, and he asked with considerable vigilance: "What did you come for?"

"Feng Mu" scanned Shi Wuming, and while striding quickly to the bedside, he relaxed the other's vigilance through reasoning.

He said:

"Speaking of it, it was my people who carried you to the hospital; you owe me a life. Your tone of voice right now doesn't sound like you're addressing a life-saving benefactor."

Shi Wuming's face darkened slightly, and he loathed Feng Mu even more.

"You want to hold a favor hostage for repayment, then you've miscalculated. I'm a modified human; even if no one had tended to me back then, I wouldn't have died."

Shi Wuming didn't think Feng Mu dared harm him; after all, the VIP ward corridor had surveillance installed, and Feng Mu walking in would definitely have been recorded.

Shi Wuming had nothing to fear; in his heart he had already sentenced Feng Mu to death — tomorrow.

He gave a cold laugh and said:

"What I can repay you with is only three words: 'Thank you'."

"Feng Mu" paid it no heed, walking straight to the bedside. He looked down at Shi Wuming from above, his palm slowly covering the other's chest.

Shi Wuming hurriedly shouted coldly:

"What are you doing, don't move recklessly. These components are very expensive; if you break one, selling you off wouldn't cover the cost."

Shi Wuming wasn't bluffing; he truly meant selling Feng Mu as a drug test subject, and even that wouldn't buy the implanted components on his body.

"Feng Mu" remained unmoved, palm pressed against the other's chest, feeling the bizarre heartbeat of machinery mixed with flesh and blood from inside, and said faintly:

"No need for you to say thanks, because you're already carrying a 'return gift' on you sufficient to repay the debt!"

(End of Chapter)