Chapter 127 - Is it worth? (1/2)

Translator: Lionwwang  Editor: Lionwwang

Don’t know when, I just feel a burst of sharp pain coming, as if all the muscles of my body are torn and pulled. Open my eyes, just about to struggle, I hear the fat fellow’s voice: “Don’t move!”

I find myself lying on a small bed with white sheets in a dark room. There’s the smell of blood in the air, and there’s a curtain hanging beside.

Fat fellow is standing at the end of my bed, squinting at me. Sees me wake up, he is laughing and saying: “How are you feeling?”

I’m shivering my lips, exhausting all my strength to say a word.

“Pain!”

“Pain is good!” He is sighing, then shouting loudly, “Doc, just come hurry up! Otherwise this kid is about to die!”

The curtain is lifted, a bald man, about forty years old, with a cross flesh and rolled sleeves. He is wearing a white coat with some dirties, do not know what the stains are. The muscles of his arms are strong, and a face of savagery.

“Which blood type are you?” The bald fierce man is looking at me and asking.

“Type A.” I’m gritting my teeth to say.

He is nodding and going to outside. I look out of the half-open curtain and see him pull out two packs of plasma from the refrigerator, then coming to me. “There’s no type A already. Two packs of blood type O are suitable. This kid is in good health and should not die.”

Fat fellow is looking at me with a blank expression: “This is the doctor. Now he has to clean up the wounds for you. Don’t move.”

I’m trembling all over. It’s the normal muscular reactions of people in pain. I can’t even control it myself.

I glance weakly at the bald man. Is he a doctor? Looking at his appearance, his face is full of fierce, more like a butcher than a doctor.

The bald man comes to me and begins to take off my clothes. He takes out a pair of scissors and carefully cutting off my bloody clothes. Then he gives me a cold look and says: “You are tough enough. How many cuts did you get?”

My lips are purple, and I’m gritting my teeth to say: “Thirteen!”

“Well, remember it very well.” The bald man is cracking his mouth and laughing. The smile looks fierce.

“Of course, I all remember!” I clench my teeth and say with a reluctant laugh, “I will return it in the future!”

Then he takes out a syringe with the liquid and injecting on my arm: “This is morphine to alleviate your pain.”

I’m so tired that I feel a little bit cold, and my consciousness is gradually leaving me. Although I try to open my eyes to see the people in front of me, the outline in front is still blurred little by little.

I don’t know whether it is the effect of morphine or the coma caused by excessive blood loss, so I close my eyes again. My body’s perception is dull, which is good, at least the pains are less intense. The next few hours, I’m just in a semi-coma and a semi-conscious state.

The butcher-like doctor has a pair of skillful hands. When he’s cleaning up my wound, he’s transfusing blood for me at the same time. There’s a set of blood transfusion equipment here!

Then, like a tailor, he carefully sews up thirteen wounds on my body! I feel like a torn doll is stitched up by pieces now.

Fat man has been standing at the end of the bed looking at me. He sees my eyes half opening and half closed, just joking: “You’ll have a lot more scars in the future. You can’t wear short sleeves T-shirt in summer anymore.”

I try to squeeze a smile from my face, but the muscles are stiff. I feel I don’t have the strength to control my facial muscles.

Then the doctor turns me over and let me lying on my side. I let him play with me like a puppet. I can hardly feel anything. The back clothes are cut by the scissors. In some places, the blood coagulated and the scab cracked when he is ripping off my clothes. It should be very painful, but now all my feelings are very slow, and I only feel a few tremblings of my body instinction.

“FXXX!” The doctor is stareing at my back for a few seconds, then turning to the fat fellow and says, “I say Ocean, what a fucking tough boy! Look at the back. It’s all honeycombed! Shit, all the skins and meats are rotten.”

Fat fellow is saying lightly: “Someone shot him with a homemade gun. Iron sand bullet, that thing is not too lethal, but one shot damages a large area. He wasn’t hit on the face is lucky! Don’t talk nonsense, just clean it up as soon as possible.”

The butcher-like doctor is pouting his mouth: “This is a delicate job. Need more money!”

Fat man says nothing, just slips a gold ring from his finger: “I don’t have much money, you just take this.”

The doctor takes it over. His hands are covered with blood, but he puts the ring in his mouth and biting hard. When he is sure it’s not a fake, so he just wiping it on his coat and puts it into his pocket.

Then the doctor takes out a small tweezers, put a lens on his eyes, and spent a full hour tweezing out the iron sands embedded in the flesh on my back.