Old Wang strode into the hospital, a black leather bag tucked under his arm. Passersby glanced at him, not because he was handsome, but because the pimples around his eyes were truly disgusting.
He was long used to these looks. He believed these people were envious of his wealth, seeing his gold jewelry, the thick gold chain around his neck, and the luxury car key dangling from his waist. He was the image of success in their eyes, he thought.
He arrived at the registration desk. The female clerk, startled by his face, almost screamed. Her professionalism, however, reminded her to maintain composure; to cry out would be disrespectful.
She aspired to be a doctor, a healer, but lacking the necessary skills, she was relegated to the registration desk. Still, she believed that even as a clerk, she was serving the people.
"Miss, looking at my condition, which department should I go to?" Old Wang asked, pulling out his money.
The hospital had so many departments, and he couldn't quite articulate his ailment. He considered himself a clean-living man, utterly devoted, never even touching his shrew of a wife.
The clerk examined him closely, momentarily feeling like a doctor. "I suggest you see a dermatologist. This could be a rare form of acne."
Old Wang had no idea what acne was. As long as it wasn't hemorrhoids, he was fine.
"Thanks, miss."
He took the slip and headed upstairs, his black bag still under his arm. Passing a polished stainless steel wall, he stopped, spat on his hands, rubbed them together, and habitually smoothed his sparse hair.
He wasn't fond of his balding head. He'd once consulted a hair restoration specialist, hoping for rejuvenation. But seeing the specialist was also bald, he'd left without a word. If the expert couldn't fix his own baldness, how could he treat others?
He arrived at the dermatology department. The room was empty except for a doctor playing on his computer.
Old Wang walked in. "Doctor, could you take a look at what's growing around my eyes?"
The doctor, in his forties, put down his mouse. Startled by the patient's face, he said, "Have a seat. Let me take a look."
Old Wang's condition was complex. An average person might simply comment, "Your acne is pretty bad; you should get a girlfriend."
The doctor leaned in, examining Old Wang's face closely. With twenty years of experience, he felt nauseated. It wasn't that he hadn't seen acne before, but this was particularly disturbing. It looked as if something was moving inside the pimples.
Perhaps it was just his imagination. Such dense clusters could create an optical illusion.
"Have you engaged in any unsanitary practices recently?"
"Absolutely not! I'm a very upright man, clean-living. Places like KTVs, bathhouses, bars – I never go to those places."
"What do you usually eat?"
"Just normal food. Nothing extravagant, but I do love salmon. I eat at least six servings a day… Hey, doctor, what are you doing?"
Old Wang panicked as the doctor put on gloves. Was he going to start squeezing right then and there?
"Don't be nervous," the doctor said. "I just want to see what's inside. If it's just ordinary pus, it's nothing serious. I'll prescribe some medication. But if it's something else, you might need a blood test."
"No, no, please don't! I tried squeezing them myself, and the pain nearly killed me." Old Wang waved his hands, retreating. "What I squeezed out was a green, viscous liquid. It was truly disgusting. And I've been feeling discomfort in my abdomen and heart area. It's very unpleasant."
The doctor froze, his hands suspended in mid-air. Green, viscous liquid? What in the world was that? Could it be some infectious disease? Even if the patient agreed now, he wouldn't dare squeeze those things. It was too frightening.
"You need to get a blood test and an X-ray to see what's going on. I've never encountered symptoms like yours in all my years of practice," the doctor admitted honestly. The patient's face was truly alarming.
Old Wang sighed. The same old routine: blood tests, X-rays. How much would all this cost? Did they think his money grew on trees?
He had no choice. He left dermatology and paid for the expedited blood test and X-ray, which would be ready in an hour.
He decided to visit Xiao Li. He had introduced his young girlfriend to Xiao Li out of necessity. His wife at home was fierce; if she found out about the pregnancy, she'd kill them both.
He figured Xiao Li was intelligent enough and had the makings of a devoted partner. It would be a good deal for him to take over. After all, it was Old Wang's child; even if Xiao Li wanted to raise it, he had to prove himself worthy.
Crucially, Xiao Li lived nearby. While Xiao Li was at work, Old Wang, as the "neighbor," could visit his home and "help out."
The inpatient ward was in the next building, just a short walk away.
Reaching the ground floor of the inpatient building, Old Wang leaned against a pillar, eyes closed, feeling unwell. His face itched intensely, something seemed to be moving around inside him, and his temperature was rising, as if he were burning.
He shook his head, trying to stay conscious. Opening his eyes, his vision blurred. He felt terrible.
"Oh, right, I need to see Xiao Li. Why am I here?"
He stumbled towards the inpatient building.
Passersby steered clear of him. He looked strange, drooling viscous saliva, staggering into the elevator.
"Ah!"
The people inside the elevator recoiled in terror, screaming.
"Don't scream," Old Wang mumbled, head down, pressing the elevator button. His voice was hoarse. He felt awful.
The pimples around his eyes were bursting, oozing green, viscous liquid. They weren't pimples; they were eyes.
"This is so uncomfortable," he turned, his expression grotesque. "Can you help me see what's wrong with my face? It's so itchy and uncomfortable. So uncomfortable."
The people huddled in the corner of the elevator shrieked.
"Help! Help!"
Inside the hospital room:
"Why hasn't Uncle Wang arrived yet?" Li Ang wondered. He was eager to thank him. If it weren't for Uncle Wang's introduction, he would never have met such a wonderful girlfriend.
The woman coughed, her face flushed, her temperature elevated, and her energy depleted.
"What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?" Li Ang asked, concerned, seeing his girlfriend's sudden coughing fit and listlessness.
This was the woman he loved, who had been caring for him in the hospital, bringing him fragrant chicken soup every day, even if it sometimes lacked chicken legs. But those details were unimportant.
"It's nothing. Just a little uncomfortable," she replied.
Li Ang felt a pang of distress. He'd wanted to tell her to stop eating ice cream at night, that it wasn't good for her health. But he hadn't. It was her only indulgence, and he loved her too much to deprive her of it.