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 a curtain hanging beside it.

Fat fellow is standing at the end of my bed, squinting at me. Sees me wake up, he laughs and says, "How are you feeling?"

I s.h.i.+ver my lips and exhauste all my strength to say a word.

"Pain!"

"Pain is good!" He sighs, then shouting loudly, "Doc, just come hurry! Otherwise this kid is about to die!"

The curtain is lifted, a bald man, about forty years old, with a cross flesh, rolled sleeves. And he wears a white coat with some dirty, do not know what stain it is. The muscles on the arms are strong, the body is strong, and the face is savage.

"What blood type are you?" The bald fierce man looks at me.

"Type A." I grit my teeth.

He nods and goes to outside. I look out of the half-open curtain and see him pull out two packs of plasma from the refrigerator and come 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 looks at me with a blank expression: "This is the doctor. Now he has to clean up the wound for you. Don't move."

I'm shaking all over. It's the normal muscular reaction of people in pain. I can't even control it myself.

I glance weakly at the bald man. Is he a doctor? Look 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 cuts off my b.l.o.o.d.y clothes. Then he gives me a cold look and says, "You are tough enough. How many cuts have you got?"

My lips are blue and I grind my teeth: "Thirteen!"

"Well, remember it very well." The bald man cracks his mouth and laughing. The smile looks fierce.

"Of course... remember!" I grind my teeth and say with a reluctant laugh, "I will return it in the future!"

Then he takes out a syringe and puts it into 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 of me 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 pain is not so strong. I spend the next few hours 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, now st.i.tched up by pieces.

Fat fellow has been standing at the foot of the bed looking at me. He sees my eyes half open and half closed, joking: "You'll have a lot more scars in the future. You can't wear short sleeves T-s.h.i.+rt in summer anymore."

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

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

"Fx.x.x!" The doctor stares at my back for a few seconds, then turns to the fat fellow and says, "I say Ocean, what a f.u.c.king tough boy! Look at the back. It's all honeycombed! s.h.i.+t, all the skins and meats are rotten."

Fat fellow says lightly, "Someone shot him with a homemade gun. Iron sand bullet, that thing is not too lethal, but one shot damage a large area. He was not hit on the face is lucky! Don't talk nonsense. Clean it up as soon as possible."

The butcher-like doctor pouts 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 bites it hard. When he is sure it's not a fake, so he wipes it on his body and puts it in his arms.

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.

The whole process takes so long that the morphine power on my body has gradually faded. At last, the sweat beads on my forehead keep falling, and the fat fellow do not stand. Instead, he presses me hard to keep me from moving.

This guy is so strong that with a pair of big palms pressing me. I can hardly move. But the doctor is still not satisfied: "Don't move! Don't let him f.u.c.king move!"

Fat fellow is also sweating, anxious: "d.a.m.n, you try?! This kid has a strong strength!"

Finally, my eyes are dark and I faint again.

When I wake up, it is daylight. I'm wearing bandages on my upper body and thighs. My body is like a mummy and my head even can not turn.

I was woken up by the pain. People who have not experienced it can't understand it! Although the body is wrapped up, but the muscles seem to be constantly whipped! The twitching pains make my whole body twisting like a snake.

Fat fellow was sitting at my bedside smoking. Watching me wake up and throw the cigarette away immediately, he comes up and holds me down. He shouts: "I know it hurts, but you f.u.c.king hold it! Don't crack the wound!"

I'm in a state of mental disorder in pain and scolding, "Hold... Hold d.a.m.n f.u.c.k! It's killing me!"

I'm sweating all over and the pain has taken control of my entire nervous system. To tell the truth, I'm sheding tears.

Not that I am weak, but that at this time, the secretion of the lacrimal gland has not been controlled by myself! It's like someone punches you in the nose and you can't help crying when you feel sore! Not only my tears, but also the snivels are running. My whole face is dirty. The tears and snivels are mixed with sweat. Fat fellow presses me very hard. But when a man is in extreme pain struggle, the strength is beyond imagination. He is anxious, can not help shouting: "Doc! Come f.u.c.king fast! This kid's crazy!"

The doctor's cold voice comes far away: "Crazy you f.u.c.king ghost! Haven't you been hurt before! You don't know it's a normal reaction? The pain will be over in a few minutes. Just hold him down and keep him still."

Fat man is sweating on all his face. "You just give him another shot of morphine!"

"Already haven't." The doctor says coldly, "Do you take here a big hospital? That's thing is hard to get a little bit."

I can't help screaming, and my voice is hoa.r.s.e. Fat fellow covers my mouth. "Don't scream!" he snaps at me,"You want to die?!" Then he simply pulls something and stuck it in my mouth.

I'm s.h.i.+vering with the pains. My fingers are clutching at the sheet. My knuckles protruding and become pale!

Fortunately, such pains last for a few minutes every time. After a while, I get over a little, and gradually stop s.h.i.+vevering. Fat fellow sees me not moving. He just let me go, wipes his forehead, laughing and scolds, "You are like a f.u.c.king calf. I could hardly hold you down."

I'm still aching, desperately breathing the cool air, speechless. He lights a cigarette, inserts in my mouth, murmurs: "Just smoke, may be comfortable a little."

I just like a baby finding a pacifier, once bite the cigarette end, the filter mouth are bitten. I'm desperately smoking. One third of a cigarette is inhaled by me for just one breath. Fat fellow quickly takes it away. My mouth is smoking and my eyes are looking at the ceiling. My body is shaking faintly, and I grip my teeth without saying a word.

At this moment, my heart is full of hate!

It's a very tough day!

I can't remember how many times I fell asleep but I was woken up by the pain very soon. And then I struggle, exhausted, fall asleep again, and wake up again. It's been a day like this over and over again.

Fat fellow is tired enough, but the doctor never intervened. He just occasionally comes over to check for my injuries. He looks cold, as if I am not a living man at all, but a dead pig in front of him.

I don't know the exact time, but the lights in the room turned on and off. Outside the window on one side, the palm-sized sky was black and white. Then I knew another day has pa.s.sed.

The next afternoon, I finally get over.

Although my body still hurts, my face is pale, I have very few strength. But basically no need to press me, occasionally when the pain pa.s.sed, I can also talk to the fat man for some words.

The doctor didn't show up again, and there are only two of us in the room.

"How do you feel?" He finds a chair and sits beside me, legs on the bed, smoking and looking at me.

I force a smile: "Thank you! You saved my life!"

He laughes and leans over to wipe the runny nose and sweat on my face with a thick palm, and of course tears.

Then he suddenly asks me a question.

"Ask you a question I asked you the day before yesterday. Now, do you still think, it is worth?"

He looks at me with a smile.