Chapter 65

Chapter 65

You place an order with a Butcher of the Abattoir. Then, the Butcher delivers your requested goods and collects payment.

Dead goods, standard price. Alive, double. Special processing costs extra.

Naturally, the Butchers don’t accept every order.

For example, if some arrogant, mediocre man wanted a ‘beauty-pig,’ but had nothing on him of comparable value, the Butchers wouldn’t take such a loss-making deal.

The next day, Lu Yan arrived at X City’s Tenglong District Central Hospital to begin his part-time work.

Logically, an out-of-town doctor not specifically invited for a special procedure should have been hard to place. But the moment Lu Yan walked through the hospital doors, everyone greeted him with a chorus of “Director Lu,” their voices dripping with a familiarity that suggested the 26-year-old had twenty years of medical experience.

Not everyone, of course, was willing to humor the directives from above. Some still saw Lu Yan as some privileged second-generation heir slumming it for the experience.

That notion was quickly silenced by Lu Yan’s relentless surgical schedule and his flawlessly precise technique.

Today was his sixth day at the hospital.

His routine was brutal: sixteen-hour shifts in the operating room. The emergency department always had sudden cases, and if that wasn’t enough, he could pull a few more patients from general surgery.

The assistant doctors who had initially smiled and joked with him now paled at the very sight of him.

After working from 6 a.m. to 2 a.m., the medical orderly assigned to him by the hospital had collapsed from exhaustion.

Lu Yan emerged from the OR, a flicker of unspent energy still in his step. Behind him, a young nurse, doggedly remembering her duty, rubbed her eyes and stumbled after him. “Dr. Lu, where to now? Heading home? Director Ma said to call your driver if you’re going back…”

The ‘Director’ she referred to was Director Ma from the X City Pollution Disease Prevention and Control Center. For security reasons, Lu Yan now had a dedicated car for his commute.

“I’m doing rounds,” Lu Yan said, his voice flat. “Get some sleep. Don’t worry about me.”

The nurse, swaying with fatigue, managed a small nod. “Yes, Dr. Lu.”

Alone, Lu Yan began his nighttime rounds. While 2 a.m. was late, he was the doctor. Most patients, rudely awakened, swallowed their irritation in silence.

Besides, Lu Yan had precedent—he’d done rounds at 4 a.m. before. Compared to that, 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. felt about the same. Some night owls even preferred it, avoiding being jolted from deep sleep.

He moved from bed to bed, checking vitals, scribbling notes on a clipboard. Most records were digital now, but Lu Yan kept the habit of writing by hand.

The young nurse had once picked up one of his discarded sheets. The handwriting was a wild, confident script—the kind you couldn’t fake without decades of practice.

By the time he finished, it was nearly 3 a.m.

Stepping outside, a wall of humid heat hit him. X City’s flies buzzed relentlessly in the night. Mask and gloves still on, Lu Yan walked to a green postal box by the roadside and slid a diagnosis sheet inside.

The writing was rushed, the message simple.

“I want a live meat-pig. He is at the X City Pollution Disease Prevention and Control Center. Name: Zong Yan.”

What Lu Yan didn’t expect was that mere minutes after he’d fed the paper into the slot, it was violently ejected, as if pushed by an unseen force.

A line of red printed text now stamped the bottom like a receipt.

“Order Rejected.”

‘What’s this about?’ Lu Yan asked internally. ‘Do I not have anything on me valuable enough to pay for Zong Yan?’

{The Abattoir has many Butchers,} the System explained. {The lowest tier are the Human-Face Butchers, then the Snake-Tail Butchers, then the Pig-Head Butchers. Above them is the Abattoir’s master. That woman… her current evolution resembles the mythical eight-headed serpent, Yamata no Orochi. Each postal box connects to a different Butcher. It seems the one behind this box isn’t up to the task.}

“How many Butchers are there?” Lu Yan asked.

{They’re fairly mobile. Worldwide… about a hundred, I’d say.}

For a moment, Lu Yan thought these pollutants sounded less like butchers and more like members of some shadowy assassination guild.

He abandoned the order attempt for the night and got into the Control Center’s waiting car.

At 3 a.m., a bleary-eyed Director Ma hurried over to grant him access.

Subject 07 had been located in X City. The fewer who knew, the better. The matter was too sensitive to delegate. Director Ma had to handle it personally.

“You could just give me the access permissions,” Lu Yan said.

Director Ma’s head shook like a rattle-drum. “Absolutely not, Mr. Lu. Regulations state I must be present for any contact with 07. It’s not that I suspect you of anything, or have any issue with you personally. Rules are rules.”

A pang of bleak solidarity struck Lu Yan. He suddenly understood why some Awakened posted mournfully on forum chat boards: “We will always be freaks.”

Ordinary people feared and guarded against them. Pollutants didn’t consider them kin either.

07’s transfer from the Research Institute to the Control Center was just a move to a more comfortable cage.

No point in one wage-slave making things harder for another.

Lu Yan gave a slight nod and said nothing more.

When he entered the observation room, Zong Yan—07—was sitting on the floor watching TV, a giant stuffed bear clutched in his arms.

On screen played a once-popular children’s cartoon, suitable for ages 3 to 7.

Lu Yan didn’t know if 07 liked it. He certainly didn’t.

The Institute people probably really did think he was an idiot.

Two consecutive researchers assigned to 07 had died by jumping from buildings. It spooked the staff. While they rationally dismissed superstition, an air of unease lingered.

07 was now nicknamed “The Cursed Number 7.” His third assigned researcher, drafted into the role, minimized contact, simply waiting for treatment to conclude so 07 could be shipped back to the Institute. Things had been quieter since.

Seeing Lu Yan enter, 07 tilted his head. For the first time, he initiated contact. “Doctor.”

It had to be said, the intact half of 07’s face was quite striking, possessing a fragmented, fragile beauty.

{He’s trying to seduce you,} the System’s tone was laced with amusement. {He knows how you saved Tang Xian’an. He’s trying to replicate it, follow the ‘puppy-dragon’s’ path. Probably thinks you’re the bleeding-heart type. Pity. If he had a tail and wings, his little act might have worked.}

Lu Yan doubted it.

Seeing his own reflection daily had given him high aesthetic standards. An ordinary tail wouldn’t move him.

His expression blank, Lu Yan instructed 07 to extend his arm. The golden scales surfaced once more on the skin.

A fish-scale lifted. A thin, white filament emerged from beneath it.

“What are these white threads, really?” Lu Yan asked.

He’d asked the System the first time he saw them. It had refused to answer, claiming his spiritual power threshold was too low and it might damage his mind.

Now, it gave an answer. {Blood vessels.}

The blood vessels of a fish. Or of a “god.”

The routine treatment was always monotonous.

Ten minutes later, Lu Yan retracted the filaments. After two sessions, Zong Yan’s Pollution Index had dropped to around 93.

Lu Yan estimated that reducing it to about 85 would be his limit.

His own Pollution Index had crept up to 23.7 from overusing his ability. Fortunately, it was stress-related and would decrease in time.

It meant Zong Yan would only need one or two more treatments before being hauled back to the laboratory.

As Lu Yan turned to leave, Zong Yan, still on the floor, reached out and caught the hem of his coat.

“Doctor. You will cure me, won’t you?”

Lu Yan knew the words held deeper meaning. “Why are you so convinced I can?”

Zong Yan raised a hand and snapped his fingers softly.

[Talent 519 - Signal Interference].

Useless against most biochemical pollutants, but exceptionally handy in specific situations.

“Dr. Lu, we’ve met before. In the illusion constructed by the mushrooms at Luochuan Botanical Garden.” His gaze was gentle, submissive. “I met many old friends there… Back then, 01 was still the best sniper. 02 was still alive. 03 hadn’t yet awakened her healing talent. The Institute’s atmosphere was… good. There were only volunteers, Numbers 1 through 9. Everyone was full of hope for the future. I’m grateful that illusion reminded me how normal humans are supposed to live.”

He spoke slowly, his thoughts fragmented from the missing part of his brain.

“The others and I… we thought for a long time. About how to… destroy the Research Institute.”

The single remaining eye held unprecedented resolve. “I am begging for your help. I will repay you with rewards far greater than the risks. Please believe me.”

*

Lu Yan was curious what a sickly wreck like 07 could possibly offer him.

Still, even without that conversation, he had already intended to help.

He chose a weekend and went to downtown X City, the old district. It was close to the main post office, with postal boxes on every corner.

Guided by the System, Lu Yan stopped before a red postal box.

The mailbox, having stood for many years, was covered in a patina of rust. It was raining today, and the already secluded side street was utterly deserted.

{You can still turn back,} the System said. {Getting involved with the Abattoir is… troublesome. I’m not being sexist, but that madwoman is a real headache.}

"What will happen to 07 if he goes back to the First Research Institute?"

{A useless piece of garbage is naturally disposed of. Headquarters thinks he still has the Karmic Flame, so they want to save him. But the higher-ups at the First Institute know the truth… If anyone outside discovers his talent has already been harvested, they won’t be able to stay in their positions.}

{But even if he dies, it’s not on you. You’re not the one who killed him.}

"System," Lu Yan held his umbrella, his expression cold and detached. "You and I are different. You're an observer of this era. I live inside it."

The System let out a soft laugh. It wasn't mocking, but it wasn't exactly sincere either.

It sounded like an amused spectator watching an interesting story unfold.

{Fine. I understand. Whatever path you choose, I'll be right here with you.}

Lu Yan slipped the order into the mailbox slot. This time, the paper wasn't spat back out.