Chapter 72

72

Lu Yan woke from a nightmare, though he couldn’t recall what it had been about. Opening his eyes, he found Director Hu’s concerned face hovering above him.

“Xiao Lu, what happened? Too many surgeries lately?” Director Hu asked. “How did you fall asleep leaning against the wall?”

Lu Yan’s head throbbed with a splitting pain, a wave of dizziness washing over him. It felt like the aftermath of a sleepless night, or a brutal hangover.

Director Hu’s expression turned wistful. “The surgery’s about to start. Go change your scrubs. Can’t back out now, not after signing the confidentiality agreement.”

Confidentiality agreement?

Lu Yan thought for a moment, then remembered.

Half an hour ago, he’d been home on leave when the emergency call came, summoning him to the Hospital for a special procedure.

Always dedicated to his work, Lu Yan nodded and headed for the scrub room. He raised his hands to pull on his gloves, but a sharp, stinging pain from both arms forced him to lower them.

He pushed up his sleeves.

Both forearms were crisscrossed with deep knife wounds—some fresh, others old.

The nature of the injuries could reveal a great deal: the angle of entry, the method, even the physical characteristics of the assailant.

Lu Yan studied them for a moment and concluded these wounds were self-inflicted.

He counted them. Twenty-three on the left arm. A string of numbers ran along the right.

Lu Yan admitted he had a history of mental illness. But he would never self-harm.

Which meant the numbers on his right arm had to be a message.

Numerical ciphers usually converted letters to numbers via hexadecimal, often using ASCII tables, though other methods were possible.

Lu Yan translated the string: wslyzddn.

“I am Lu Yan… but what is ‘zddn’?”

A flicker of confusion crossed his face.

He didn’t have long to ponder. The director had said the surgery was about to begin.

He entered the operating theater. A quick scan revealed no anesthesiologist. Both Dr. Li and Director Hu wore expressions of palpable anxiety.

Once everyone was in position, the OR doors swung open half a minute later. A round metal capsule was wheeled in.

The hatch opened. Assistants in full protective gear lifted the occupant onto the operating table.

Lu Yan glanced at the patient’s face out of habit. The next second, he nearly dropped his scalpel in shock.

The patient looked like him.

But more refined.

The features were so flawless they seemed artificially crafted, like a CG model.

The patient’s eyes were closed, an expression of profound serenity gracing his face.

He looked already dead.

Director Hu couldn’t help a low whistle. “Incredible. To think there’s a second face in the world on par with our Xiao Lu. The other nurses would lose their minds if they saw this.”

With that, the director made the first incision, opening the patient’s abdomen.

From within, thick, ink-black tentacles emerged, their surfaces studded with eyes—blue sclera, black pupils.

The tentacles writhed as if alive, as though some living entity were moments from manifesting.

Scalpel in hand, Lu Yan felt a nameless dread. “Director, what exactly is this procedure?”

Director Hu blinked. “Right… what are we doing?”

Dr. Li looked equally lost. “No idea. Some kind of lesion excision, maybe?”

Lu Yan didn’t move. He watched as beatific, devout smiles spread across the faces of Director Hu and Dr. Li.

They pried out the patient’s eyes. Within the sockets, beautiful silver irises glinted with mocking laughter.

They severed his limbs. White filaments sprouted from the stumps as the severed limbs rolled off the table, hitting the floor and withering to bone in the blink of an eye.

They dissected out his golden heart. It pulsed rhythmically, a massive tumor that refused to stop beating even in death.

They removed his tongue. Rows of sharp teeth lined its surface.

They dug out his ears, ensuring he would never again hear the whispers of the world.

They cut his throat. A fountain of crimson blood arced through the air, splattering across Lu Yan’s face.

Finally, only the brain remained within the body.

The brain…?

A thunderclap of realization echoed through Lu Yan’s muddled mind.

zddn. “Find the brain.”

Hand trembling, Lu Yan raised his scalpel and drove it deep between the patient’s brows.

Pale brain matter mixed with blood welled up and spilled out.

The patient, now reduced to little more than a limbless torso, slowly sat up on the table.

His abdominal cavity still gaped open. The slick, viscous tentacles within lashed out, wrapping around Lu Yan’s limbs and pulling him into a gruesome embrace.

The figure leaned down, its bloody, featureless face drawing closer—a sight designed to shatter any sane mind.

If it had possessed a mouth, the gesture might have resembled a kiss.

The face stopped just short of Lu Yan’s, hovering in the air, unbearably close but not touching.

Tears began to stream uncontrollably down Lu Yan’s face, great fat drops of them. A grief so profound it threatened to tear him apart from the inside seized his chest.

A susurrus of whispers filled his ears. Lu Yan could feel his consciousness fraying at the edges, dissolving.

He was powerless to stop it.

In the final moment before death, Lu Yan suddenly understood the meaning carried in those whispers—

“Wrong, brother.”

*

Lu Yan’s eyes snapped open. He jerked upright in bed.

“Xiao Yan, did you have a bad dream?”

As the woman spoke, she slowly turned on the light.

Lu Yan looked at her. A gentle smile graced her face, her eyes soft with affection and tenderness.

Mom.

Lu Yan made a noncommittal sound in his throat, then frowned slightly.

Why did his own voice sound… off?

His mother reached out and smoothed his hair. “Don’t be afraid. It’s good you’re awake. Daddy says he’s found a way to cure you. He wants us to go to the Hospital.”

Lu Yan tilted his head, thinking.

He seemed to have amnesia. Every morning at dawn, he forgot everything that happened the day before.

No wonder his mind felt so hollow, unable to recall a thing. And his body ached all over.

His mother patted his back. “Go get changed, Xiao Yan.”

Lu Yan walked into the bathroom. He was wearing a white shirt, though for some reason it was already stained crimson.

That’s when the sense of wrongness finally clicked.

He remembered being five years old. But the person in the mirror had the face of a young man.

A child’s soul, trapped in an adult’s body.

Lu Yan took off the shirt. His torso was a map of knife scars—some fresh, some old.

Puzzled, he looked down at his left palm.

A chunk of it was missing. A hole remained, as if something had been brutally gouged out.

Little Lu Yan counted the wounds on his body in the mirror. One hundred and six in total.

And on his right forearm, a string of strange numbers was carved.

He stared at them for a long moment, certain they were important, though their meaning eluded him.

His mother took his hand and led him toward the Hospital.

They didn’t live far. The streets looked as though they’d been ravaged by war, littered with rubble and ruins.

Sections of severed snake bodies lay scattered about. Lu Yan’s eyes traced them, mentally piecing the fragments together.

Eight heads. Eight tails.

The sky was a leaden gray, choked with dark clouds. Not a single living soul was in sight. The sun was setting.

His mother, dressed in a snow-white dress, held his hand as they walked toward the Hospital.

A bullet shot from a distant high-rise, streaking toward his mother.

Lu Yan didn’t turn, but he somehow knew—the shooter had the ears and tail of a dog.

His mother glanced back at the building and let out a cold laugh. “Die, you mutt.”

[Talent 11 - Prophecy]

And the dog did die. Silently, like the Little Mermaid dissolving into foam under the sun.

Though his end was far bloodier—he burst into a shower of gore and paste.

After uttering those words, his mother coughed up great mouthfuls of black blood.

A wave of inexplicable fear washed over Lu Yan.

“Don’t be afraid,” his mother soothed. “They’re all bad people.”

Lu Yan nodded.

They soon reached the Hospital. His mother went to register.

A patch of green algae, disguised as a potted plant, cautiously tugged at Lu Yan’s clothes.

“Hey kid, want to learn software programming? Great career prospects. Just work twenty hours a day like me, and you’ll afford a house in no time…” The green algae trembled as it spoke. “See? I’m in my twenties and still look this young.”

With that, the algae-person handed him a sheet of paper.

Lu Yan looked down. He couldn’t read it. The title at the top said: ASCII Code Table.

Little Lu Yan said, “Thank you, uncle.”

The algae-person smiled bitterly. “You’re welcome. If we had more time, I’d do the algae dance for you. But not today.”

The green algae rapidly withered and died.

The Hospital wasn’t busy. His mother returned quickly, her smile unchanged.

“Xiao Yan, what’s that in your hand?”

Little Lu Yan lied instinctively. “A flyer for a tutoring class.”

“One of those hyper-competitive cram schools?” His mother frowned. “You don’t need to learn all that, Xiao Yan. Just grow up happy by Mommy’s side. Once you’re cured, you can go anywhere you want.”

A flash of confusion crossed Lu Yan’s face before he nodded. “Then I’ll go throw it away.”

“Go on. I’ll wait.”

Lu Yan walked toward a trash bin. The information on the sheet wasn’t extensive. A single glance was all he needed to memorize it.

With that glance, the numbers on his arm suddenly made sense.

wslyzddn.

I am Lu Yan? And then?

The operating theater was on the top floor.

The Hospital had no elevator. His mother held his hand, and together they began the long climb, one flight of stairs at a time.

The staircase zigzagged back and forth. Each time, Lu Yan had to traverse the entire length of a floor to reach the next flight.

The Hospital had no patients, but everywhere, corpses lay in grotesque, twisted poses.

The most terrifying part was that all these corpses wore the same face.

A face identical to his own.

Mom seemed blind to the bodies, her expression still one of serene, peaceful contentment.

"I'm scared, Mom," little Lu Yan said. "…I don't want the surgery anymore."

"Scared of what?" Mom looked genuinely puzzled. "Your father would never hurt you."

Without another word, she tightened her grip on his hand and pulled him forward.

Her strength was immense. Lu Yan couldn't break free.

Her pace quickened. In moments, they reached the Hospital's top floor.

Dad stood waiting, already dressed in surgical scrubs.

A young man stood beside him.

"This is my assistant, Xiao Shen," Dad said, a smile stretching his lips. "Curing you hasn't been easy. Fortunately, Xiao Shen is willing to be your vessel. Once the two of you merge into one, you'll never have to worry about amnesia again." He nudged Lu Yan. "Aren't you going to thank Uncle?"

Lu Yan looked at him. The man had deep blue eyes, but one socket was empty. A nest of vile, tiny tentacles writhed within it.

"Thank you, Uncle," little Lu Yan said.

Shen Qingyang offered a faint, shallow smile but said nothing.

Lu Yan clasped his hands together and lay back on the operating table. The light overhead was painfully bright, stabbing into his eyes.

Dad smiled, raised the scalpel, and drove it down toward his heart.

The blade never fell.

A black tentacle coiled around Dad's wrist.

Shen Qingyang wrapped his arms around Dad from behind.

His limbs had degenerated completely, replaced by thick, ink-black tentacles.

Other tendrils shot out, entangling Mom where she stood. The scalpel clattered into Lu Yan's lap.

"Lu Yan, run!" Shen Qingyang roared.

The expressions on Mom and Dad's faces twisted into something feral, insane. Their bodies began to swell, bloating like overfilled balloons.

Confusion clouded Lu Yan's mind, but instinct took over. He grabbed the scalpel and scrambled off the table, bolting for the door.

The emotion flooding his chest wasn't fear. It was grief.

Tears streamed down his face.

Behind him, Mom's furious shriek echoed. "Let go!"

Shen Qingyang's black tentacles tore free from their roots, spraying the room with arcs of sapphire blood.

Lu Yan stumbled forward, running blindly, with no destination in mind.

Inside the operating theater, a cloud of inky black mist began to spread.

Outside, the sky went dark.