The smell of hospital disinfectant water made my brain hurt.
I floated in the corner of the ceiling, looking at the man holding the spicy hotpot bowl on the hospital bed, feeling a little doubtful about life.
"Sister Jin, please confirm, this is your 99th mission target." The voice of the system's "Mr. Regret" rang in my head, as calm as broadcasting a weather forecast, "Lu Yiyan, 27 years old, has advanced gastric cancer. The expected survival time is no more than three days. Regret level: SSS level."
SSS level.
I have been working in this industry for 3,000 years, and the most ruthless person I have ever seen was only SS-level. When the general massacred the city and cried his heart out, the system gave him an S+.
"What specific regrets?" I asked.
"The client believes that he has never made anyone truly happy in his life. Including himself."
I raised my eyebrows and looked at the man again.
He was sucking on the hot and sour rice noodles, and tears were streaming down his cheeks. He didn't know whether they were spicy or painful. He was so thin that he had no facial features, and the hospital gown hung on his body like a clothes pole, but he was very serious about eating and would not let go of a single vermicelli.
This picture is somewhat strange.
