The smell of disinfectant in the hospital corridor always has a pungent coolness, as if it is draining the last bit of warmth from people's bone marrow.
Chen Feng stared at the thermal paper in his hand that had just been spit out from the payment machine. There was still a bit of residual warmth on the edge, but the numbers on it made him feel as if he had fallen into an ice cellar.
Fifty thousand, four hundred and thirty-two yuan.
That is Chen Yao's "life money" for the next week.
Every beat of the ventilator in the intensive care unit was precisely harvesting the last few crumpled bills in his pocket.
Dr. Chen, this is the deadline.
