Chapter 2011: Healing or House Arrest

The room door swings open, and the light at the doorway flicks on.

Yaen Chi instinctively squints his eyes, and after adjusting to the light slightly, he looks toward the door, his sharp gaze sweeping over the four figures.

Wearing blue caps and masks, dressed in sterile clothing, fully armed from head to toe, two doctors walk in front, with nurses pushing medical equipment following behind.

“Mr. Yaen, has the wound split open again?”

The older one, about forty years old, wears glasses on the bridge of his nose; behind the lenses, his eyes seem honest and earnest.

But in such a place, the more honest a person seems, the less normal they are.

Yaen Chi is still lying down. After the person approaches, he has to look from below upward, tilting his neck as his gaze passes over the doctor’s face and then lowers.

“Trouble you.”

“Please, there’s no need to be polite. It’s what we should do. We are specifically here to take care of you alone. You are seriously injured; if you feel any pain, there’s no need to endure it. We will immediately help you deal with it.”

The doctor extends his hand, and the nurse passes a syringe to him. “Mr. Yaen, are we still not using anesthesia this time?”

“No anesthesia.”

“It will hurt a bit.”

Yaen Chi grits his back teeth slightly, his voice muffled and hoarse. His shaky laughter carries a sinister chuckle, “I was wide awake when you operated on me after I almost got blown to bits. I endured back then, now that I’m alive, I can surely endure.”

The doctor’s eyes stretch mechanically, devoid of warmth, making it impossible to discern the expression beneath his mask. But as a physician, there is no trace of sympathy for the patient in his gaze.

“Alright then, as long as you can endure it. If there are any issues, just say a word, and I’ll stop.”

He gestures, and the nurse takes the syringe from his hand and passes up another instrument.

The air conditioner stays on, maintaining a temperature of 27°, and the large wounds on Yaen Chi’s back prevent him from covering up; he can only cover himself from the waist down.

The doctor extends the blanket further down and carefully lifts Yaen Chi’s shirt.

The wrapped gauze is soaked in several places, ink stains blotched like splattered water, looking shocking.

“Use scissors to cut the shirt.”

The doctor glances at Yaen Chi, “Are you sure?”

“Cut it, wearing it is troublesome.”

Yaen Chi props himself up with his arms, turning his head to sweep his gaze toward the two nurses behind, his lips curl slightly, releasing a lightly mocking chuckle, “There aren’t any women here, what am I worried about?”

The doctor’s hands pause momentarily, but only for an instant, quickly resuming as usual.

He detects that Yaen Chi is probing, deliberately avoiding the question.

Yaen Chi merely mentions it casually, indifferent, understanding that he’s tested enough during this period; these people only discuss his injuries with him, remaining tight-lipped about anything else, resembling programmed robots. Asking a few more questions hardly piqued his interest.

Yet, their medical skills are decent. During surgery, he fainted from pain multiple times, but during his few moments of consciousness, he silently gauged their technique, finding it approximately on par with Xu Shu’s.

As for the drugs used, Yaen Chi is unaware.

The labels on the bottles have been ripped off.

Bottles of water with varying colors.

He doesn’t know whether they’re toxic or not, whether they are truly treating his injuries or administering poison; all remains unknown.

But he has no choice.

At the time, trapped in a pincer attack by Lan Yue and his father, Yaen Chi originally had the chance to flee, but he turned back, determined to save Lan Yue’s Little Wife. Protecting her as he dove, the explosive heat wave thrust against his back, failing to evade, leaving him on the brink of death.

Afterward, he vividly remembers being taken away by Dark Snake.

Since emerging from the operating room, he’s been confined to this room throughout.