Chapter 786

A cold, one of the most common yet incredibly annoying illnesses; almost everyone in this world has had a cold, yet for this most common of illnesses, there is still no immediate cure.

If you go to the hospital with a cold, the doctor will definitely say four words to you: "Get some rest." In fact, these four words are more effective than any cold medicine; no cold medicine can compare to the effectiveness of your own immune system.

In the fast-paced modern life, few people take time off for a cold. Most people just go to work with hoarse voices and stuffed noses, resigning themselves to their fate. But there is no doubt that this illness, which doesn't have any serious consequences, makes people feel miserable while working.

Coughing and a runny nose are just the mildest symptoms; headaches and weakness are the most lethal. But regardless, people living in modern cities have a warm bed to lie in after work, where they can cover themselves with a thick quilt and have a good sleep. If it gets serious, they can go to the hospital for an IV drip, or at worst, stay in the hospital for two days.

But right now, what does Bruce have?

He only has a tin can, which doesn't block the wind or the rain, and is so crude as a coffin that it makes one want to cry.

Let alone cold medicine, he can't even start a fire right now. There is no bed, no quilt, and no food.

Bruce knows he must leave this cold shoal now. He can already feel that his fingers and toes are losing sensation.

Last night, he had intended to start a fire, but he was truly too exhausted after a day of work. It is no surprise that he could fall asleep under such harsh conditions and catch a cold due to the drop in resistance caused by fatigue.

But right now, Bruce has no time to get an injection or take medicine. At eight o'clock this morning, he has to drive to the gang's warehouse to pick up cargo. If he is late, he won't be able to settle the payment tonight and will have to wait until tomorrow. Then, he won't have money to buy food for the entire day today.

Bruce has no choice but to drag his exhausted body, leave the cannery district, get in the truck, and go to the gang's territory to transport goods.

Yet, in the process of transporting the goods, he discovered that all the suffering he had endured previously had erupted all at once.

A cold itself leads to a weak stomach, and Bruce had previously drunk unclean water, contracting a mild case of gastroenteritis. In these past few days, because the truck work was very busy, he couldn't bother to boil water; finding a faucet to drink from was already good enough, and he just threw together whatever he ate.

For someone who has never drunk raw water, the stomach is very sensitive to unboiled water. For someone who has never eaten spicy or greasy food, the stomach does not accept these foods either. Coupled with the cold-induced weakness of the spleen and stomach, at noon that day, after Bruce finished a loaf of bread and two sausages and gulped down a cup of cold water, he ran to the back of the truck and vomited violently.

Many people know that vomiting is different from diarrhea. Diarrhea leaves one extra weak for a short period afterward, but as long as there is energy in the body, one will recover quickly. As long as the stomach doesn't hurt anymore, one can function normally.

However, although vomiting doesn't make one immediately extremely weak, side effects like stomach pain, dizziness, nausea, and cold sweats will linger around you. Moreover, stomach pain is not as sharp as intestinal pain, but it lasts longer, and the intervals between repeated attacks are shorter.

After Bruce emptied his stomach, he felt a bit better. But as soon as he sat back in the truck, he felt his stomach acid churning again. A vague feeling of nausea welled up once more, making him want to hunch over.

Bruce, who has learned quite a bit of medical knowledge, knows that his gastroenteritis has worsened. But even if he wanted to give up now, how to return to Wayne Manor is a problem.

More importantly, how is he supposed to explain to Alfred why he had to run to the slums like a mental patient for several days and then get himself sick?

In real life, if there is no profit to be gained, no wealthy person would be willing to integrate into the lives of the bottom-tier people to experience life. Accomplishing this requires very strong willpower, stronger than they imagine.

Batman has never lacked willpower. The more miserable he feels, the more he feels that everything he is encountering might just be the tip of the iceberg. Because he understands that his once-privileged life and his intelligence, which far exceeds that of ordinary people, gave him a much higher starting point than most.

At the very least, after catching a cold, suffering from vomiting and diarrhea due to gastroenteritis, working for a day, having no house to live in, no fire to warm himself by, and freezing for a night, he can still move freely.

Those expensive fitness machines were not bought in vain, and the rare nutritional supplements that ordinary people couldn't afford even with money were not eaten in vain. But even so, all of this is still being worn away bit by bit, just like the cold wind in the high mountains and distant lands, polishing away the downy feathers on this tender bat that has just left the nest.

Bruce did not return to the cannery district, because staying there is not even as good as staying in the truck. Today's work earned him some money, but he doesn't know where to buy food that he can eat with gastroenteritis.

Bruce feels he needs to find a place to see a doctor, but after driving around the East District for so long, he hasn't found a pharmacy anywhere.

The situation is getting worse and worse. Bruce knows he must find a way to turn this situation around, so he stopped a newsboy who was on his way to deliver things.

These children are relatively easier to talk to; as long as you give them a little money, they will point the way for you. At the very beginning, when Bruce wasn't familiar with the roads, it was they who helped a lot.

That newsboy looked young and had a round face, which in Cat Getan signifies that he is a quite capable child. Only by working enough and earning enough money can one eat well, so that the baby fat on the face doesn't disappear due to hunger.

Bruce's lips were trembling, his hands were shaking, and his steps were faltering, mainly because of the cold and weakness, and partly because of the stomach pain.

Bruce gave the newsboy ten cents. The round-faced newsboy looked him up and down and said with a sudden realization: "Oh, I know what you're looking for. Come, follow me, I'll take you there!"

Bruce followed the newsboy, walking into a remote alley. He wasn't afraid that this newsboy would scam him, because he was carrying a long gun in his hand, along with plenty of ammunition. This is the only source of his confidence right now.

After winding through the alley, walking down a cellar, and coming back up, they finally arrived at a basement. Before they even went in, Bruce smelled a very terrible odor.

When he first smelled it, it felt like thick smoke. Smelling carefully, there was a scent of sesame oil in the food, but it was greasier than that. Just smelling this odor made him feel like his nasal cavity was coated with oil. And when it reached the tail end, it even carried a scent of vomit.

Bruce knows all too well what this smell is. Every time he goes to catch Constantine, his expensive bat suit gets stained with this smell, and then he throws it into the trash can.

He turned to leave, but an old man immediately stopped him and said: "Hey, it's rare for a little chick to introduce a guest here. What's wrong with you? Tell me about it."

"No, this isn't where I wanted to come." Bruce was very determined to leave, but the old man kept pestering him. He said: "I can tell, you're very uncomfortable right now. It must be because you've run out of stock recently, right?"

"This is normal. The Twelve Families have been checking quite strictly recently, and they don't allow any goods to be smuggled on the vehicles. If the one you usually go to has gone out of business, you can totally come to me. I dare guarantee that no one has better goods than mine."

"Come, try this." The old man stuffed a cigarette into Bruce's hand and said: "I just rolled it, guaranteed fresh. Don't worry, kid, as long as you take a puff, the pain will leave you."

Bruce took a deep breath. He looked at the cigarette, turned his head to look at the old man, and asked: "Do you know that you are harming people? Do you know that this thing is actually..."

"Is what?" The old man was a bit confused. He scratched his head and said: "Isn't it just marijuana?"

As he spoke, he looked Bruce up and down and said: "Oh, you're a college student, right? I understand, I understand. You're not used to smoking cigarettes directly. You wait a moment..."

As he spoke, the old man walked back to the counter at the entrance of the basement, took a box of cigars out of the cabinet, opened the box, pointed inside, and said to Bruce: "I told you, others won't have such good goods as mine. You've come to the right place, kid."

"These are the leftovers from the Lawrence family's smuggled cigars. I took them apart and re-rolled the tobacco leaves. I put in plenty of ingredients. You absolutely can't buy such good goods on the market."

"Did you bring a cigar cutter? If you didn't, I can lend you one. However, you can also buy one from me. Although it's not as professional as their guillotine-style ones, it's enough to cut some ordinary goods."

Bruce pushed away the box in his hand and said: "No, I didn't want to come here. I want to find a doctor."

The old man looked at him with some surprise and said: "I am a doctor. Where else do you want to go?"

"You are a doctor??!"

Bruce raised his voice and said: "Then you still push drugs to others??!"

"Drugs?" The old man seemed a bit unfamiliar with this word. He smiled and said: "We don't usually call it that here. This is our medicine here, top-notch pain relief. You'll know once you try it."

The old man pushed the box to Bruce again and said: "No matter where you are hurting, as long as you have one, you can sleep soundly."

"You're crazy." Bruce said: "This thing is addictive. Smoking too much will cause memory loss, limb convulsions, and even induce epilepsy. Long-term smoking will lead to infertility. If the dosage is too high, it may lead to shock or death."

The old man took the box back, looked at Bruce, and said: "Yes, marijuana cigarettes will lead to shock or death. Won't pain do the same?"

After finishing, the old man walked to the door of the basement and opened it. Bruce saw a pile of people lying helter-skelter inside the room, some holding cigarettes, some holding water pipes, and some holding pipes. At this moment, the room was filled with smoke, and that terrible stench made Bruce involuntarily take two steps back.

"Why do you think they come here?" The old man said: "They couldn't possibly have money to burn and insist on coming to buy my goods, right?"

"I don't entertain those who are looking for fun here. If you smoke one a day, you might as well go to that nightclub next door; there will be beauties to roll cigarettes for you. This is a hospital here. Don't come to me if you're not sick."

The old man spoke very seriously, so seriously that it made Bruce feel absurd. He said: "This is a hospital here?? Do you really know what you are saying???"

"Of course, if you're not sick, you won't come here. This... we all call him Old Yak..." The old man pointed to a bearded man lying in the room and said: "He probably has a problem with his lungs, uh... it might be an infection, or it might be cancer. Because he coughs too severely and it hurts, that's why he came to me for treatment."

"This one, Little Peanut, some time ago he fell from a scaffold and broke his bone. He didn't have money to set it, but he couldn't sleep at night because of the pain, so he stayed here for two days, and he was fine. He has been sleeping very soundly recently."

"And this one, we all call her East Street Widow. Her son died of an infection because he got caught in the rain. She cried for several days and couldn't get over it, so she could only come to me to find some medicine. Now she is much better and can go out to work during the day."

The old man walked back again, looked at Bruce, and a smile appeared on his gullied face. He said: "I see, your symptoms are not very severe, and you are very young. Smoke two a day, and in a week, you'll be guaranteed to be better."

Bruce looked at him blankly and said: "Are all the doctors here like this? The medicine you prescribe to people is drugs?"

The old man turned around and put the box back on the table. He said: "I can tell, you are not from here. If you just want to taste something fresh, you'd better leave."

Bruce looked at him, not knowing why his attitude had done a 180-degree turn. But the old man looked at him and revealed a somewhat awkward smile. Although he was smiling, it looked like he was crying.

Bruce didn't know if he was really crying, but he had never seen the tears of a Gothamite.

Finally, the old man said:

"This is the only medicine we can find, let us die comfortably. If you still have a place to go, then leave here as soon as possible."

"If you really have nowhere else to go, I advise you to cure your illness first, otherwise, the outcome will only be more miserable."