Chapter 1833: 1769 An Ancient and Mysterious Family (Monthly Ticket 4500 Bonus Chapter ×9)

The Alps are covered in white snow year-round.

A valley, shrouded in mist, sees no sky or sun.

A medieval ancient castle symbolizes tradition and power. But its antiquity is deliberately retained, serving as evidence recording the passage of time and the family's continuity.

Inside the castle, it rivals a luxurious top‑seven‑star hotel.

The bedroom on the third floor has its curtains drawn tight, letting no air through.

A bone‑thin 'person' lies on a gray velvet bedsheet.

His hair is sparse, yet neatly combed, giving an impression of order.

His complexion is pallid, frighteningly white. But his face is covered in scars—some old, some with a few blisters and fresh ulcerations.

The angle of his lips is strange; the upper lip is upturned, the gums receded, and his four canine teeth are sharp and prominent, much longer than the other teeth.

Wearing black silk pajamas, the old man grips the sheets with his hands; his finger joints are stiff, less like human hands and more like those of some animal.

He simply lacks the abundant fur.

At the bedside hangs an IV stand with a bag of whole blood.

Domestic whole blood had been phased out over a decade ago, replaced by component blood. If Zheng Ren were here, he would surely be curious, recalling the last time he saw whole blood.

A young man sits at the bedside; he resembles the old man lying in bed, except his face has no blisters or ulcerations, and his teeth lack the old man's four sharp teeth.

Moreover, he is full of vitality, forming a stark contrast with the moribund old man on the bed.

"Father, the responses from Massachusetts, Hopkins, and Mayo are not optimistic." The young man holds some papers; his fingers are slightly deformed, standing out against the white paper.

"They're useless." The old man shakes his head. "With three billion dollars invested each year, research has made no progress. Over a hundred years have passed, yet there's still no good news."

He paused, sighed, and said, "Forget it; I've grown accustomed to it."

The young man said, "I'll urge them again."

"It's useless; try to stay indoors as much as possible—those damned ultraviolet rays really give me a headache." The old man said, "I expect to finish my mission soon and go see our ancestors. Everything thereafter will be in your hands. Your performance over the past fifty years has been good; you're a suitable choice, but heading a great family is no easy task."

"Father, you should keep an optimistic attitude." Looking at the young man—whose age is actually a mystery—he did not continue the family patriarch's words but instead waved the papers in his hand and said, "Massachusetts General Hospital has selected a candidate for its third tenured professorship; they recommend letting this newly appointed tenured professor diagnose and treat you."

"Who are those old‑fashioned little fellows looking for? Henry? No, Henry is in London, and he came to see me—he had no solution." The old man guessed only one name and then fell silent.

Such is the family's peculiar constitution: it brings him endless benefits, yet also some drawbacks.

But these benefits certainly do not include immortality.

His body has endured many, many years, and finally it can endure no more.

Although the family has for centuries been buying, establishing, and taking stakes in hospitals worldwide, and the blood banks of Europe and America are practically open to them, transfusions and drinking fresh blood cannot let him live another hundred years.

"Money can buy fresh blood, but not life." The old man uttered a hometown proverb, but the young man cut him off: "Father, the pace of modern technological progress is rapid; you must keep faith."

"Faith?" The old man's voice grew muffled, his expression somewhat dull, far less lively than the young man sitting beside him.

"He's a very interesting young man, still under thirty."

"Have those little fellows from Massachusetts finally lowered their proud heads and admitted someone is stronger than them?" After saying a few words, the old man, exhausted from overexertion, spoke with an increasingly muffled voice.

The young man picked up a cup beside him, filled to the brim with scarlet liquid, its bloody smell seeming to brim with vital energy.

The old man drank the red liquid in the cup, but unlike before, he did not quickly regain strength; he only felt a little better.

"What an interesting young man—Dr. Mei Ha'er nominated him for this year's Nobel Prize in Medicine, and I declined." The young man said, "According to the rule you set ten years after WWII, surgical procedures bring us no benefit; only basic research can discover and solve problems—this is a guiding principle."

After drinking the scarlet, bloody‑smelling liquid, the old man closed his eyes and said nothing.

His deformed fingers trembled ever more violently; his eyes slowly shut, yet his lids kept twitching.

After nearly three minutes, he finally exhaled and said, "What on earth is that little fellow Mehari thinking?"

"He himself objects to clinical procedures not winning a Nobel Prize, but as you said, despite billions invested yearly for over a century, there's still no hope." The young man said, "He's grown old and wants to challenge our authority in his final moments."

"Impossible; if he wants to die, I can grant his wish right away." The old man said.

"Still, this little fellow is quite interesting; here is his file." The young man handed over several sheets of white paper.

But the old man did not take them.

His eyes were half‑closed, half‑open, the eyeballs rolling sometimes fast, sometimes slow.

The vital spark in his body was slowly ebbing away; now it was utterly exhausted, the lamp dry.

It seemed that a gust of wind would blow out the candle of his life.

The young man said nothing and did not move; they remained locked in that stalemate.

"Why do you persist?" After a long while, the old man's voice rang out like a bat in a night cave.

"Father, I haven't finished yet." The young man laughed: "This young man is assisting the Royal Academy of Sciences in solving the turbulence problem; even the academy's president has gone to audience with the king."

"Turbulence? A meaningless research project."

"That's how it is for us, but for those poor people it's another matter." The young man said: "This young man from China has secured an appointment at Massachusetts General Hospital, proving he has joined the top tier of the medical world; I stand by my recommendation and have him come to examine you."

"Useless."

"Give it a try; it can't hurt." The young man said: "A tenured professor already has the qualifications to enter this ancient castle."

"I'm old and tired. Living in this world, every day is painful. Now I've begun to look forward to meeting our ancestors, only regretting that I haven't yet accomplished everything I hoped to."

"As for the diagnosis…"

"Just wait—half a year from now you'll be clan chief, and even I must respect your opinion now." The old man murmured.

The young man bowed and departed.