Era of Magic and Martial Arts-Chapter 244 - 228: I’m Not Human
It turns out that when a person is in deepest pain and despair, they cannot shed tears.
Wang Cong was in this state now.
He walked out from the cold of the mortuary, like a walking corpse that had lost its soul, mechanically moving his steps to the ward.
His gaze was hollow, falling woodenly on that hospital bed, where lay his father who had already breathed his last.
The latter’s body was cold and stiff, the exposed skin covered with livor mortis, yet there was no smell of decay because the hospital had wrapped him in a layer of transparent cling film.
After all, there were other patients in the room, and the hospital feared they couldn’t tolerate his "body odor."
Wang Cong looked down, the father still had a tube stuffed in his nose, the ventilator it was connected to still working tirelessly, the screen recording the total amount of ventilation.
Like a taxi meter, ticking upwards every second.
And the strangest thing was, this ventilator’s ventilation frequency was obviously several times that of other beds.
The explanation was scientific though, because other patients were still alive, mainly breathing on their own, the ventilator merely assisting, their lungs not fully expanding with each breath, a shallow breathing.
The deceased, however, was breathing entirely passively, the ventilator being the main force, each breath ensuring the lungs could expand and contract to the fullest extent—this deep breathing, an ideal state even some advanced martial artists dream of.
The heart rate monitor next to the ventilator also quietly performed its duty, the screen showing a straight line with no fluctuation.
The good news was, due to the lack of fluctuation frequencies in this line, the billing system would not charge per occurrence but calculate by the hour, far cheaper than the ventilator.
The nurse beside him was still dutifully asking, "Mr. Wang Cong, should we remove the tube for your father now?"
Wang Cong no longer had the strength for anger; his heart felt as if it had been emptied entirely.
He mechanically reached out, pulled the tube from his father’s body, allowing it to fall to the floor with a crisp sound.
The nurse calmly noted the time of extubation, then input the paused value from the ventilator into her tablet.
She flipped the tablet, screen facing Wang Cong, her finger sliding gently across to show him the bill: "Up to now, the total expenses incurred during your father’s hospitalization are as follows..."
She paused, continuing, "After deducting all expenses, the account balance is 13,114 yuan. If there is no objection, please sign here for confirmation."
Wang Cong did not notice, a new entry for tube damage had been added to the last column of the bill.
Wang Cong ignored the nurse’s voice, instead slowly bending over, cradling the cling film-wrapped body in his arms, but suddenly, his steps suddenly froze.
The money in his bank card, and the merit points in his citizen account were insufficient to buy or exchange for a cemetery plot, so the best way was to have the body cremated and put into a box.
The female nurse, used to such scenes, was very understanding: "Do you need the hospital to call a special vehicle from the crematorium for you?"
Wang Cong had neither tears nor memory of pain, only finding it all very laughable.
Laughable was the hospital’s dedication, laughable was his parents’ selflessness, laughable was the absurdity of the world, laughable was his own despair.
Wang Cong rasped, "To the crematorium where my mother was taken."
The female nurse calmly replied, "Understood, the cost of contacting the crematorium’s special vehicle will be deducted from your father’s account balance."
As she spoke, she handed the tablet to Wang Cong. He took the electronic pen and mechanically signed his name on the screen.
The crematorium’s special vehicle was already fully scheduled and would not arrive for another three hours.
Wang Cong, hollowly holding his father’s body, sat on the long bench in the hospital corridor. Because as he signed, the discharge procedures were completed, and that empty bed had welcomed a new patient.
Fortunately, the corridor benches were free, and Wang Cong could patiently wait here.
Wang Cong’s head powerlessly leaned back, the back of his head against the cold wall, his eyes vacant, staring at the unblemished white ceiling.
His mouth occasionally twitched, emitting a sound more discordant than crying, a laugh.
His parents were dead.
The house was gone.
Hope he climbed towards was unseen.
Before Wang Cong was a complete darkness, this time, truly devoid of even a hint of light. Not only had he failed to escape the mire, it seemed he had fallen into an even more despairing abyss.
At this moment, Wang Cong’s heart was filled with an icy coldness, even more bone-chilling than the corpse in his arms.
The clock in the corridor still ticked leisurely, as if silently narrating the passage of time, while Wang Cong, in this relentless rhythm, quietly waited, waited for fate to hand him the next answer.
A corpse-transporting vehicle from the crematorium slowly pulled to a stop at the hospital entrance.
The car door opened, a man in a floral green coat, cigarette hanging from his mouth, took two heavy puffs, then harshly threw the butt to the ground, crushing it with his toe, before quickly walking towards the hospital.
Even before he approached, the strange smell unique to years of burning corpses wafted into the corridor.
Before reaching them, the smell of years of burning corpses had already drifted into the corridor.
Wang Jian found Wang Cong directly in the corridor, speaking lightly, "The car was called by you, right?"
Wang Cong slowly returned to consciousness, stiffly nodding, standing up, holding his father’s body tightly, mechanically following behind Wang Jian.
Wang Jian helped him lift and secure the body in the car, then slowly started the vehicle, suddenly saying to Wang Cong, who sat silent in the front passenger seat, "You’re Wang Cong, right?"
Wang Cong did not want to speak, his gaze blank.
Wang Jian laughed, "I also came to pick up the corpse this afternoon, called Liu Xiujuan, your mother, right?"
A glimmer of movement flickered in Wang Cong’s eyes, his voice low and trembling, "My mother’s body, now at...?"
Wang Jian calmly responded while focusing on driving:
"Usually, when the hospital notifies us of unclaimed bodies, we collect them for cremation, the ashes mostly washed down the drain."
Wang Cong hung his head low, jaw clenched, as if an invisible hand tightly gripped his heart with a pain so severe it was hard to breathe.
He wanted to blame the hospital, the crematorium, yet the one he should most blame was... himself!
Wang Jian continued, "But your mother’s ashes weren’t washed away, they were placed in a box because Feng Mu made a call to me."
Wang Cong’s body suddenly halted, his head snapped up, "Whose name did you say?"
Wang Jian, puzzled by Wang Cong’s intense reaction, explained:
"Feng Mu, he told me you’re his colleague and friend now, said you wouldn’t make it to the hospital today, and specifically instructed me to carefully manage your mother’s ashes. Odd, didn’t Feng Mu mention this to you?"
Wang Jian was talking, and took out his phone from his pocket, handing it to Wang Cong to show the call record with ’Feng Mu’ noted.
Wang Cong’s gaze was as if nailed, staring fixedly at the time marked for the call from ’Feng Mu’ on the screen.
That time was etched deeply in his memory, exactly when he reported progress to the prison warden, also the moment Feng Mu led a group of prisoners into the cremation chamber.
If not for some inexplicable incident, this call should have been Feng Mu’s last message left in this world?!!
Suddenly, Wang Jian slammed the brakes, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt stop.
He turned his head in fright, seeing Wang Cong hysterically slap his own cheeks, the ferocity instantly swelling bruises and blood on his face.
He alternatively bawled, then laughed maniacally, the blood-tinged voice from his throat repeatedly echoing a single sentence:
"I’m not human, I’m not human aaaaah——"
