Chapter 120: Holy shit! You

You deadbeat bastard caused a death and won’t take responsibility—I didn’t even ask for compensation for your new house turning into a haunted one, and you fucking ghosted me? Go die.

What the fuck! Zhang Tianming actually put mosquito repellent in the spirit-blocking talisman! I just wanted to leverage the emperor to command the lords and squeeze some family wealth out of you—do you really need to treat me like a thief?

Left? Where did he go? Isn’t he still lying in the ICU? Where did he go?

The little fox stood frozen outside the hospital, pulling his gaze away from the refreshing wish list, lifting his head to stare at the sign above the entrance: “Xia Dong First People’s Hospital.”

“Wait, can we be normal? The things popping up on the wish list are in Chinese? I, An Sheng, feel you need to pay me three hundred yuan for emotional damages to soothe my eyes and the part of my brain that recorded all that nonsense.”

Outside the livestream room and the Tianhou Palace, An Sheng found another new source of wishes.

If wishes made in the livestream room were users joking, mocking, and babbling nonsense, dreaming of climbing to the sky to shoulder-to-shoulder with the sun and becoming the center of the universe,

then the subcontracted wishes received at the Tianhou Palace were the most sincere, practical, and hopeful wishes—people earnestly wishing for better days and brighter futures.

The wishers in the hospital didn’t hide their desires at all; many were filled with hysterical rage, bordering on explosive fury.

Some wishes were so abstract they made the little fox physically ill.

Got sterilized and now want to reverse it?

So why the hell did you get sterilized in the first place? This is a life-altering decision—why didn’t you think it through?

The little fox opened the details, glanced at them, then his fox eyes widened. Without a word, he walked into the hospital.

The wisher, aged twenty-six, had already bought three rental apartments in Jiule City by dating rich women, owned a big Land Rover, and had nearly three million yuan in savings—a financially free man.

With this wish detail, how could anyone say he didn’t understand things?

He understood them far too well.

Do you love your brother or do you love gold? After stabbing your brother in the back for wealth and luxury, you start missing him.

The little fox hoped the brother’s surgery would succeed—but not too successfully, or else he feared the brother would come after him and snip off his two little fur balls.

“What the hell are you thinking every day? This is way too abstract. Is this stuff even fit for a blessed fox like me to see?”

An Sheng entered the hospital, glanced at the busy, running elevator, grimaced, and turned toward the emergency staircase.

Today, An Sheng came to find a patient currently staying in bed #167 on the seventh floor, in the physiotherapy department.

The subcontracted wishes from the hospital were far too abstract for the little fox—either family drama epics or the Nine Sons Fighting for the Throne, or leveraging the emperor to command the lords.

After seeing those wishes, An Sheng’s first thought wasn’t to collect wish points—he wanted to find the wisher, snatch their phone, and transfer three thousand yuan from their bank account as eye-cleaning compensation.

“Something’s off.”

An Sheng walked from the first floor to the second; his fox face wore a strange expression. The higher he climbed in the hospital, the more the wish list in his mind flickered.

A flood of random, meaningless wishes poured into his wish list.

Some wishes had no names or identities, as if they weren’t true wishes at all—just complaints.

Others came with entire families, as if they’d pasted their household registration book onto the wish list; these were all wishes that their sick relatives would safely be discharged.

The higher An Sheng climbed, the fewer hysterical wishes appeared in his mind; some of the abstract wishes even faded from his wish list.

An Sheng followed the guidance to the ninth floor, squatting by the entrance of a large hall. To the left was the hospital’s operating room; to the right was the ICU.

In the hall between the operating room and the ICU, directly opposite the entrance stood a hospital wall.

【May no one ever come here. — The pure white wall, tiled with gleaming porcelain, covered in countless fervent wishes, radiated a powerful aura of intent.】

【Wish fulfilled: Wash the wall (On this great white wall standing between life and death, for decades it has borne countless sincere thoughts and beautiful blessings).】

To others, it was just an ordinary white wall plastered with slogans. To the little fox, it looked like another “wish list.”

Row upon row of wishes were neatly arranged on the wall between the operating room and the ICU.

Eighty to ninety percent of the wishes on it were for medical progress; the rest hoped specific patients would recover and be discharged.

“I knew why hospital wishes were so hysterical and abstract—turns out all the serious wishes are posted on this wall. The unserious ones never even make it here.”

The little fox stared at the white wall, then at his own wish list, where the “Nine Sons Fighting for the Throne” wish was fading.

Countless wishes covered the white wall, but most were beyond the reach of a little fox.

Some, however—like comforting or palliative wishes—were within An Sheng’s ability to fulfill.

To the Blessed Fox Lord, that plain white wall was a legitimate transit station.

It carried the most sincere and beautiful blessings.

Some, after filtering, were like end-of-life comfort wishes—many were patients who wanted to write farewell letters to loved ones but, too weak to do so, left their thoughts hanging on the white wall.

An Sheng’s task was simple: copy down those messages and mail them to the intended recipients.

“Beep-beep-beep—”

The little fox sat on the floor, gazing at the white wall, when suddenly, a piercing alarm blared from the ICU to his right—startling the fox and several weary people who’d been waiting in the hall for days.

“Mmm!”

Medical staff turned pale, rushed out of the ICU, and immediately called someone on the phone, likely summoning other doctors. An Sheng quickly ducked back into the emergency stairwell.

“You’re asking a blessed fox like me, who might not even pass hospital disinfection standards, to hold a scalpel? That’s just too much. I’ll stick to simpler tasks!” the fox muttered, preparing to leave and not disturb the busy medical staff.

As the little fox descended from the ninth floor to the seventh—

The vital signs of a certain ICU patient suddenly returned to normal. If not for the lingering ECG trace on the monitor—still resembling a raging storm—the earlier alarm had seemed fake.

Medical staff stared blankly at the patient, some wondering if their medical textbooks were fake.

A vegetative patient suddenly sitting up and overturning the bed could be explained as a neural reflex.

But why did he calmly reposition himself, lie back down, and even pull the blanket over himself?

Are we supposed to believe that, under our care, he turned over because he had bedsores?

【There are worms. Deworming medicine! Insecticide! I feel worms inside me! — A patient who had just awakened from coma, trying to speak, but in his unconscious state, could only leave behind a single thought.】

On the white wall between life and death, moments after An Sheng left, a line of text appeared.

. Ever since I got sick, my body no longer obeys me.

I just wanted to take some medicine and take a nap.

I set ten alarms between 3 and 4 a.m.

Then, fuck, I woke up at 8 p.m.

No choice.

I’ll write two extra chapters after midnight as compensation.

Otherwise, I’d feel guilty holding onto monthly votes.





(End of Chapter)