Immortal I Speedrun Supernatural Game

Chapter 423 This is a damp rain that will last a lifetime.
"Hey, this sister is crying."

"Why does she still cry when she's so old? I've never cried!"

The boy with leukemia looked at Jiang Rou, who was shedding a tear, and asked, somewhat puzzled.

The two men standing nearby, Erbadao and Baijun, exchanged bewildered glances. They had no idea why the paper had turned into this state just from the other man's touch.

He just watched silently as Jiang Rou, though she was crying, still wore an expression of neither joy nor sorrow on her face.

A moment later, she slowly got off the hospital bed.

Ignoring the strange expressions on the faces of the three people around him, he walked towards the door on his own.

Bai Jun stepped forward and took her hand, saying with a somewhat serious expression, "Your name is Jiang Rou, right? Yan Shuangying mentioned your name to us."

"Did he tell you what to do next? The situation is a bit urgent now; Yan Shuangying is being hunted down by Dr. Shangguan He."

Upon hearing this, Jiang Rou glanced at Bai Jun.

She raised her hand slightly to wipe away the tears from the corner of her eyes and said softly, "I'm sorry, Mr. Yan didn't tell me anything. He just brought me to the hospital for treatment."

Upon hearing this, Bai Jun frowned, feeling slightly anxious.

No, we're not sisters! We all woke you up, and you're saying you don't know anything?

Is this reasonable?

Is Yan Shuangying really betting everything on this woman? Isn't she just an ordinary islander?
However, Jiang Rou opened the door.

With his back to the crowd, he continued, "But I could feel Mr. Yan's suppressed sadness and unspeakable pain."

“He is a pitiful person just like me…no, perhaps he is even more pitiful than me.”

"Because he has never forgotten this pain."

After saying that, she left the room.

This last sentence left everyone else even more confused.

Erbadao scratched the back of his head and asked uncertainly, "Did Brother Yan'er share her pain with her? But she wasn't in so much pain that she couldn't walk."

Thinking back to the pain that Yan Shuangying had shared with him before...

The searing pain of burning flesh and the excruciating agony of having one's internal organs sacrificed made Erbadao feel his legs go weak.

Is this woman named Jiang Rou really that awesome?
How can someone walk out without batting an eye after experiencing such intense pain?
After thinking for a moment, Bai Jun shook his head and said, "No, Brother Yan must have shared some kind of suffering with her, but it wasn't physical torture, but something else."

After saying this, he quickly chased after her.

The leukemia-stricken boy and the two-skilled swordsmen followed closely behind, since they had no other choice but to see what Jiang Rou was planning to do.

Following that slow but determined figure, the three arrived outside the outpatient department.

Watching Jiang Rou head towards other floors, they suddenly felt somewhat helpless.

Oh no, this girl just woke up and probably doesn't know that she can't go into other places, right?

However, just as they were carrying Jiang Rou out of the maze-like illusion, they heard her whisper at the entrance of that floor:

"Uncle Wang, thank you for your hard work."

“You and Uncle Li were the most dedicated caregivers before. Now that Uncle Li is gone, you should go and get some rest. On behalf of my father, I’m giving you a break.”

After saying that, she went inside.

There was no "ghost wall" phenomenon, as if the cleaning ghost responsible for restricting entry and exit in the building was just a decoration.

This scene left Erbadao speechless, exclaiming that he had seen a ghost.

He didn't see Jiang Rou use any abilities, nor did he see any trace of vengeful ghosts appear in front of her. She just said a few words to the air, and the ghost wall that had trapped him and Bai Jun, two players of the Spirit Disaster, mysteriously disappeared.

Sure enough, there's something wrong with Jiang Rou!

The three continued to follow.

Before long, they arrived at the department responsible for chemotherapy, and Jiang Rou's figure stopped outside the thick glass window.

Then she placed her hand on the glass, as if talking to herself, or as if confiding in someone, and said: "When I first came to the island, I often had to undergo chemotherapy because of my illness. The medication made every strand of hair leave my scalp with pain. My father would always hold my hand by the bedside with his hands that were white from being disinfected and washed countless times. It was very warm."

“He was a chief physician who was revered by countless patients. Every time I had chemotherapy, he could only kneel outside the sterile ward, through the thick glass, and repeat with his mouth over and over again, ‘Hold on, Dad is here.’ His head was pressed against the cold glass, as if he wanted to penetrate this barrier and transfer his own life directly to me.”

"I was in too much pain at the time to feel the deeper sorrow that came with the physical pain."

As she spoke, she stared intently for a few seconds. This was the first time Jiang Rou had observed the area where she was undergoing chemotherapy from this angle.

I used to lie inside.

Standing here is my father, Jiang Sze.

A moment later, she turned and left.

I walked toward the office building not far away.

Slowly arriving at the door of Shangguan He's office, where Wu Wang had previously been, Shangguan He, a patient whose memories had been altered and who had forgotten the betting ceremony, was huddled inside, smashing things in despair.

Hearing the jingling sound coming from inside the door, she looked ahead.

Jiang Rou ultimately did not open the door to Shangguan He's office, but instead went to the door of her father's office in front of her.

Reach out and turn the doorknob.

A figure walked out of the door and stood in front of her. The person was not very tall, about 1.7 meters, with a bald head and the few remaining strands of hair were grayish-white. Wrinkles were also clearly etched on his face.

His appearance would be unremarkable anywhere, except for his eyes, which revealed a sharp glint beyond his years.

"dad……"

Jiang Rou's voice was slightly choked up.

A slight smile appeared on the other person's face as they raised their hand, seemingly wanting to pat Jiang Rou's head.

Unexpectedly, he appeared as if he were a phantom projection, passing directly through Jiang Rou's body, as if he had completed some mission, and finally disappeared into the moonlight.

The three people who had followed from a distance were dumbfounded by this scene.

The boy with leukemia, in particular, who had met Dr. Jiang Sze-tse, felt a chill run down his spine.

He knew that Jiang Sze had been euthanized by Dr. Shangguan He just two days ago!
Why is there a Dr. Jiang here?

Jiang Rou offered no explanation and instead went into her father's office.

This office was very different from Shangguan He's. In addition to a normal desk, computer, and some paper documents, there were also many personal items, and even a single bed in the corner.

It appears that Dr. Jiang Sze-tse often spends the night in his office.

Jiang Rou went to the kettle, which had clearly been unused for a long time but for some reason was still free of dust. She skillfully filled it with water and boiled it to make a cup of black coffee that she had taken out of the drawer.

I sat behind my desk, holding a coffee cup.

The three people walked in tentatively.

She chatted on and on as if talking about everyday things: "My dad has a ceramic mug that I gave him. There's a tiny chip on the rim. When we were in the hospital, he used to use this mug to drink strong, bitter black coffee and then read through a thick stack of medical journals in the sunlight."

Clearly, she was referring to the cup that Wu Wang had seen on the balcony of Jiang Sze's residence.

It was this cup that led him to the secret chamber filled with the belief of "suffering".

Unfortunately, the cup wasn't in the office, so she had to just use any plastic cup to make the brew.

"Although my dad was allocated a house on the island, he often stayed out all night because of his patients, so he simply set up a bed in his office."

"He is a good doctor."

“When I’m in the hospital, I often come to my dad’s office to keep him company, or take a nap on this bed.”

The strong, bitter aroma of the coffee in her hand was a familiar background scent that Jiang Rou had grown accustomed to. Now, only the monotonous hissing of a kettle boiling filled the air, an emptiness that made her uneasy.

Jiang Rou subconsciously took a sip of her coffee, then looked at the coat rack by the door.

There should have been a white lab coat there, faded from washing, unevenly white, but always perfectly ironed, casually draped over the shoulders.

My father always took off his white coat and draped it there, as if to shed his fatigue and the smell of disinfectant.

Sometimes his white coat pockets would be bulging, and he might pull out a few fruit candies for her to eat after her afternoon nap, or some pastry he had casually taken from the restaurant.

Now, the coat rack is empty, with only a few lonely hooks remaining.

Speaking of which, my father always carried a peculiar mixed smell—a base of strong disinfectant from the hospital, a faint trace of iodine on his fingertips, plus a clean, sun-dried cotton smell on his body.

However, now, there is only a faint fragrance in the office, and that special smell cannot be smelled at all.

It was as if it was constantly reminding Jiang Rou that her father was no longer alive.

Jiang Rou seemed oblivious to the intense heat of the freshly brewed coffee in her hand, and took another large gulp.

It was very bitter, so bitter that she frowned.

I used to see my father drink this stuff every day, how come I never saw him frown?
In a daze, Jiang Rou recalled the scene of Jiang Size's euthanasia.

Her father always wore a pained expression, an emotion that Jiang Rou, as an islander at the time, could not understand.

But now she seems to understand.

That was not a conditioned response to the fear of death or physical pain.

Because his father's eyes were on him the whole time, and the meaning in his eyes was quite clear—he was in pain that he would never see him again, and in pain that he would not even grieve for his departure.

When Dr. Shangguan He covered his father with a white cloth after his father's euthanasia.

The pale hand slipped from the edge and hung limply at the bottom.

Those were hands I knew so well—hands that had gently stroked my forehead countless times to check my temperature; hands that had written clear and powerful words on prescription slips countless times with a pen; hands that had precisely controlled surgical instruments under the operating lights countless times; and hands that had held my pale and thin hands after treatment countless times, continuously transmitting the will to live to me.

Now, however, it is cold and stiff.

A trace of dark, unwashable iodine residue remained on my fingertips.

After that, when Dr. Shangguan He was handling his father's body, he handed him a strange object—

It was a small, colorful ring.

He said he found it under his father's wedding ring, which he wore on his ring finger.

I recognized myself very quickly.

This is a "ring" I clumsily made for my father with colorful rubber bands when I was a child; it's childish and rough.

He once wore it on his hand with a smile, jokingly calling it "a gift from the little princess."

Later, when he was plagued by illness, he had long forgotten about it, but his father always wore it, hiding it under his wedding ring.

My mother died during childbirth. My father once said that my mother and I were the most important people to him.

He didn't lie.

He wore the most important keepsakes of the two people he loved in this life on his hand until the last moment of his life.

Jiang Rou suddenly remembered all of this.

My eyes started to get wet again.

She placed the coffee cup on the table.

Reaching into the drawer of his desk, he pulled out a cold, sculpted metal object with a etched, memory-like curve—a small, silver-cased stethoscope.

Then, mimicking his memory of his father, he gently inserted the earplug into his ear and placed the other end against his left chest.

The world was suddenly cut off, leaving only the hollow echo in my chest—

dong dong...

dong dong...

dong dong...

That was the rhythm that her father had given her pulsating within Jiang Rou's body.

Strong and powerful, the blood rushing through the ventricles echoes the ceaseless flow of life.

The echoes of her father's focused surgical skills, the exhaustion from working late into the night, and the anxiety of gazing at herself through the sterile ward glass resonated.

Warm liquid finally welled up in her eyes uncontrollably, and tears silently slid down her cheeks and dripped onto Jiang Rou's white clothes, spreading out dark dots.

Perhaps it was due to some kind of treatment by Dr. Shangguan He, or perhaps it was that string that once sensed her father's anxiety, joy, and even exhaustion.

After his illness worsened and he was riddled with holes by chemotherapy drugs, he completely broke down.

Jiang Rou felt that she had become a vessel containing the life that her father had sacrificed, yet she was unable to grieve for him.

But now, as his fingertips repeatedly rubbed the smooth, cool metal casing of the stethoscope, as if he could touch the fingerprints that remained in his hand.

Something broke.

The thick membrane that separated Jiang Rou from her sorrow was completely soaked and melted by this belated warmth that originated from the details of life itself.

The death of a loved one is not a raging flood, but rather a lifetime of damp, gloomy rain.

Now Jiang Rou finally felt the dampness of the rain, which pulled her out of her false happiness and made her see the real pain.

This is also proof that she is alive.

But his father will never come back.

"Mr. Yan, thank you."

Her voice, already choked with tears, became choked with sobs, and her expression changed from indifferent to one of weeping uncontrollably. She gripped the stethoscope and spoke in a low, hoarse voice.

"Thank you for letting me feel that love can be so heavy and so painful."

"But I really don't want to forget! I don't want my true feelings for my loved ones to be drowned out! I don't want to lose the feeling of being alive again!"

"Mr. Yan! What should I do?!"

Seeing Jiang Rou suddenly break down like this, the three people at the door were even more at a loss.

They didn't even know whether they should go in to comfort her, let alone tell Jiang Rou what to do next.

Just then, the handwriting written by Wu Wang on the white paper torn from the last page of Jiang Szeze's notebook in Jiang Rou's hand began to fade.

Blood-red patterns were continuously painted on it.

In the end, a beautiful picture was created.

That was the image of Jiang Rou sitting behind her desk, wearing a stethoscope and listening to her own heartbeat.

The only difference is that Jiang Rou in this picture is wearing a familiar white coat, just like her father is seeing a patient, as if he is telling her what to do next.

This is a tool that Jiang Sze uses to contact other believers of the Lord of Suffering.

The text contains portraits of the "Prince of Thorns," the former "High Priestess of Pain" Lilith, and other followers of Pain.

Now, Jiang Rou has also appeared here.

She was acknowledged by suffering.

The balance of happiness on Happiness Island has been broken!

(End of this chapter)