Night was as thick as undissolved ink.
On the outskirts of Jiangcheng, an abandoned sanatorium that had stood empty for decades crouched silently among the overgrown hills, like a beast lurking in the darkness. The five characters spelling out “Crimson Sanatorium” on its rusted iron gates looked unnervingly sinister in the pale moonlight.
Lin Ye stood before the gates, pulling his faded old coat tighter around himself.
The chill of an early autumn night in Jiangcheng was already biting, but it was nothing compared to the deep, bone-cold dread in his heart.
His phone screen still showed the message the doctor had sent that afternoon: [Mr. Lin Ye, your mother's condition has worsened again. Her heart stent surgery must be arranged as soon as possible. The cost will be around 500,000 yuan. Please prepare the money as soon as you can. We can't wait any longer.]
500,000 yuan.
