Chapter 538: Chapter 522: No Need to Thank Me, You Already Carry Your Own Gratitude

He is not Feng Mu, then who is he?

Rewind the time by five minutes to around when Feng Mu just made a call.

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

Standing in the elevator corner, he slightly tilted his head to glance at the surveillance camera.

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

The soft needles under the mask restricted the natural movement of muscles, making this smile appear as if it was painted on his face.

"The disguise is still not lively enough; it’s fine when static, but once expressions are made, it becomes uncoordinated..."

"Feng Mu" evaluated in his mind, silently noting down the defects that needed improvement,

"It’s a pity I’m not working on a corpse; my needlework is more suited for beautifying the dead. Being alive ultimately limits my potential.

Hmm, perhaps next time I could try using some softer needles, then hollow out the flesh beneath the face; it would allow for more maneuverability..."

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

On the gurney lay a small corpse—an eight or nine-year-old girl, emaciated and evidently having endured a long period of illness and suffering before death.

Her face twisted, likely having borne unimaginable pain before dying.

In this world, the rich can use neuroblockers to eliminate pain, while the poor can’t even afford painkillers.

Initially, they could; painkillers were the most affordable medication for the poor to treat illness.

Later, Holy Light Pharmaceutical invented the "Awakening Liquid," and pharmaceutical companies followed suit, developing various competing products, quietly changing everything.

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

A middle-aged man with red, swollen eyes yet an unusually numb expression followed beside the nurse.

As the gurney entered the elevator, the wheels emitted a piercing squeak.

Chen Ya noticed that the girl didn’t even have a piece of covering white cloth, her exposed skin riddled with needle marks and bruises.

Other patients in the elevator turned a blind eye, impatiently shifting their feet to allow space for the gurney.

In the hospital, floods of patients are most common.

Then, there is death.

Doctors and nurses only occupy the third place.

In the past, people always said that death is humanity’s final fairness; in the face of death, whether rich or poor, all are treated equally.

But now, with technological advancement, people suddenly realize that even death has preferences; it shuns the rich and favors the poor.

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

He reached out his hand, gently stroked from the girl’s forehead along her brow bone down to her jaw.

"What are you doing—?"

The nearby middle-aged man jerked up, initially enraged, then stunned.

The girl’s face gradually relaxed, miraculously slackening.

The grimness faded away, replaced by an almost peaceful calm, as if she was merely asleep, with even a hint of a long-lost arc at the corner of her mouth.

"No need to thank me,"

"Feng Mu" gently withdrew his hand, calmly said,

"She was merely luckier to escape this ugly world ahead of time, she shouldn’t carry the lingering pain of this world anymore."

"Feng Mu" thought to himself: "Indeed, my needlework suits dead bodies better!"

The elevator door opened once again, and he stepped out, leaving a silent elevator behind.

Even a few patients glanced at the girl’s body, a hint of envy in their eyes.

If one could die without pain and with a smile, that would surely be the most desired dream for countless poor people.

"Feng Mu" left the elevator, walked through the general ward area, and entered the VVIP corridor.

The lights here were gentle, the carpet muffled footsteps, and valuable paintings adorned the walls, as if death had nothing to do with here.

At the far end of the corridor, at the doorway of Qian Huan’s ward, stood a tower-like giant man.

Beside him, a girl with braided pigtails leaned against him, fiddling with something.

"Feng Mu" continued walking without stopping.

Hong Ya looked up, her eyes lighting up upon seeing "Feng Mu":

"Junior brother! Why are you here? I didn’t bring you any food!"

She smiled innocently, more beautifully than the makeup-worn face of the corpse earlier.

"Feng Mu" twitched the corner of his mouth, didn’t say much, just slowly squeezed out a smile and replied with a "hmm."

He walked a few steps further, his gaze flitting over the giant man beside him before turning into the adjacent VVIP room—Shi Wuming’s room.

Hong Ya tilted her head, her pigtails swaying: "Where’s junior brother going?"

She was about to bounce after him when Li Bashan’s fan-sized hand grabbed her.

The giant man’s voice boomed like muffled thunder: "Don’t go."

Hong Ya raised her little face, full of confusion: "What’s the matter?"

Li Bashan couldn’t explain, just covered Hong Ya’s head with his large hand, messing up her pigtails, and gruffly repeated:

"Don’t go!"

Hong Ya puffed her cheeks, glaring wide-eyed like an angry little fox:

"Ah! My hair’s all messy!"

In front of her junior brother, Hong Ya was very mindful of her senior sister’s image and authority; she could only reluctantly rebraid her hair, temporarily giving up the thought of going after him.

The light inside the room was dimmer than the hallway, the cold light from various monitoring instruments casting mottled shadows on the ground.

Shi Wuming half-reclined on the hospital bed, his severed arms rested on his chest, entwined with a dense array of electronic components and wires.

He lay there, barely able to move.

Upon hearing the door open, he laboriously turned his neck.

Seeing that the visitor was "Feng Mu," his brows immediately furrowed, asking this with guarded alertness: "What are you doing here?"

"Feng Mu" glanced at Shi Wuming, quickly walked towards the bedside, while reasoning to lower the other’s guard.

He said:

"Speaking of which, it was my people who brought you to the hospital; you owe me a life. The way you’re talking now doesn’t sound like you’re speaking to your savior."

Shi Wuming’s face darkened slightly, feeling more disgusted with Feng Mu.

"If you think you can use favors to demand repayment, you’re making a mistake. I’m a reconstructed being; at that time, even if no one cared for me, I wouldn’t have died."

Shi Wuming didn’t believe Feng Mu dared to harm him. After all, the VVIP ward area had surveillance cameras installed, and Feng Mu would undoubtedly have been captured entering.

Shi Wuming felt secure, even internally declaring Feng Mu’s death date—tomorrow.

He sneered:

"The only thing I can repay you with is three words, ’Thank you.’

"Feng Mu," however, ignored it, heading straight to the bedside. He looked down at Shi Wuming, slowly placing his palm on the other’s chest.

Shi Wuming urgently shouted:

"What are you doing? Don’t touch them; these components are very expensive. If you damage one, you couldn’t pay for it by selling yourself off."

Shi Wuming wasn’t bluffing; selling Feng Mu off as a Medicine Man wouldn’t be enough to afford his implanted components.

"Feng Mu" remained unmoved, his palm pressing against the other’s chest, feeling the strange mixture of mechanical and flesh heartbeats, saying softly:

"There’s no need to thank me, because you’re already carrying enough ’gratitude’ to repay."