The moment the operating light went out, Shen Sheng threw the blood-stained surgical instruments into the stainless steel plate. The sound of metal clashing was particularly harsh in the empty corridor at two o'clock in the morning.
He pulled off his mask, revealing the stubble on his pale chin that hadn't been shaved in three days. When the head nurse caught up with the medical record, the man had already turned into the fire escape, and the back of his white coat swept through the green light of the emergency exit.
"Dr. Shen! The patient's family——"
The fire door closed heavily, isolating the thank yous and flowers in another world. Shen Mo took out the crumpled cigarette case and paused when his fingertips touched the lighter. The red whites of his eyes were reflected in the dressing room mirror, like the afterimage burned on the retina by a surgical lamp.
The water pipe suddenly hummed. Silently staring at the rusty vent, something colder than disinfectant entered his nose.
"You smell of death." The black trench coat dripped from the ceiling like asphalt, and the sound of the man's leather heels hitting the floor tiles reminded Silence of the sound of cracking skulls in anatomy class.
Shen Mo hung up his white coat and said, "The psychiatry department is on the third floor of Building B."
The man in the windbreaker raised his hand and held down the locker. The metal door panel dented beneath his palm, emitting the wail of a dying patient monitor. Shen Mo looked at the hand with the jade ring on it, and the fingernails were still stained with dark brown blood scabs.
"The blood of Chongming Bird should not be wasted on suturing wounds." The man suddenly came closer, with strange eyes appearing in his pupils, "The hounds of Dark Night Pavilion have smelled the blood in your blood..."
The silent pen plunged into the opponent's mouth. Ink mixed with blood dripped onto the tiles, hissing and emitting smoke.
