Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

The ward was deathly silent.

The two stood half a meter apart, staring intently at each other in the dim light.

A few seconds later, Old Scar suddenly moved.

Instead of showing any panic at being exposed, he forced open his chapped lips with great effort, letting out a low, hoarse laugh that sounded like air leaking from his throat.

The laughter aggravated the penetrating wounds in his chest and shoulder, causing his muscles to spasm uncontrollably and cold sweat to instantly break out on his forehead, but he still managed to endure it.

"The old man has a really sharp eye..."

Old Scar was panting heavily, and the feigned weakness in his eyes had completely vanished, leaving only undisguised ruthlessness and ferocity.

"Since you could tell I had blood on my hands, why didn't you take advantage of my unconscious state to go out and call a doctor or the police? Instead, you kindly poured me water?"

Old Scar stared at Song Qingshan, his tone blatantly provocative and challenging, "Aren't you afraid that once I've recovered from this, I'll slit your throat in the middle of the night?"

Song Qingshan sat in the chair, not even blinking.

Faced with the threat of a desperate criminal, his wrinkled old face remained unmoved, and his hands, tucked into his sleeves, remained as steady as a mountain.

Upon hearing this, Song Qingshan let out an undisguised sneer.

"With your current state, where you can't even hold a needle, you think you can scare me?"

Song Qingshan leaned forward slightly, looking down at him with a disdain that seemed to have been forged in a sea of ​​corpses: "Back when I was fighting hand-to-hand with the enemy amidst piles of dead bodies, you were probably still playing in some stinking ditch. A nobody like you, who only dares to resort to underhanded tactics, dares to act tough in front of me?"

Old Scar's eye twitched suddenly, his withered chest heaving, but he didn't reply.

Looking at his forced fierce appearance, Song Qingshan calmly added insult to injury.

Even if you were truly capable, you still couldn't do it.

"This is the VIP ward in the back building, with guards on duty 24 hours a day. If I shout, armed men will rush in from the corridor in less than 20 seconds."

Seeing the old scar's eyes freeze instantly, Song Qingshan coldly uttered the last half of his sentence.

"When that time comes, your body, riddled with so many wounds, won't even be able to get out of bed; you'll be held down on this hospital bed."

Upon hearing this, Old Scar's pale face finally twitched uncontrollably.

The fierce glint that had been forced deep in his eyes deflated instantly, like a punctured balloon.

Old Scar swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

His stiff facial muscles twitched with difficulty, managing to force out an extremely unnatural, awkward smile that was worse than a grimace.

"Old man..."

"I was just joking with you, please don't take it to heart."

Song Qingshan did not laugh.

Those deep old eyes remained as calm as a stagnant pool, offering neither mockery nor exposure, but simply watching the desperate man on the hospital bed, who resembled a stray dog.

The ward fell silent again, with only the sound of rain pouring down outside the window.

Song Qingshan leaned back comfortably in his chair.

His hands, tucked inside his old military overcoat, never left his pockets, as if he were chatting with a passerby seeking shelter from the rain.

"I'm just idling around anyway."

Song Qingshan looked at him and said calmly, "Tell me, tell me about yourself."

Old Scar's Adam's apple bobbed as he avoided the old man's gaze, which seemed to see right through him.

There was no point in making up lies in front of this old fox, but he also didn't want to recall the specific details of how that madman bit off his finger.

"There's not much to say."

Old Scar stared at the yellowed ceiling, his voice hoarse and dry: "He's just a guy trying to make a living in the underworld. This time he was blind, offended a powerful figure he couldn't afford to offend, and lost everything. It's that simple."

Song Qingshan wasn't interested in the specifics of how he was stabbed.

"Just trying to make a living."

Song Qingshan leaned back in his chair, pondering these four words: "At this age, in earlier years, he would at least be a key worker in the factory, mentoring apprentices. At the very least, he would be a strong laborer who could work in the fields, supporting his family. Even though the outside world has changed and life is tougher now, as long as he's still alive, if he's willing to put in the hard work, he can sweep the streets, carry heavy loads at the docks, or set up a shoe repair stall under the overpass, and he can always earn a decent living."

"At this age, you should have a wife and children. Why don't you eat proper, clean food, finding it too hard to chew, and insist on carrying that kind of blood-stained bowl that's stained with other people's lives?"

Upon hearing this, Old Scar let out a snicker, which aggravated his wound and made him gasp in pain.

"Wife and children?"

Old Scar's chest heaved, his eyes revealing a numbness that seemed to say, "That thing is too expensive. My worthless life can't afford it."

He took a deep breath and continued staring at the ceiling.

"I'm just a naturally cheap person. I can't stand the hardship of farming and toiling for a living, and I don't want to do manual labor. Before Liberation, I was dishonest and did some shady business. I was caught and criticized. After Liberation, because of my family's bad background and class status, I couldn't hold my head up anywhere. Later, the world changed, but I still didn't want to do that kind of backbreaking work."

"And what about your parents?"

"My father died long ago."

Old Scar let out a dry, whistling laugh that tugged at his wound, causing him to gasp in pain: "There's only my old mother left at home, and a little sister."

Song Qingshan said calmly, "So you're serving them this blood-stained rice to feed them?"

"Support them?"

Old Scar seemed to have heard the biggest joke in the world. His chest trembled violently, and a cold and selfish smile appeared on his cracked lips: "Old man, I don't like spouting nonsense to glorify myself. I do these childless and destructive businesses just for my own pleasure and to have money to spend."

He stared intently at the yellowed ceiling, without a trace of remorse in his eyes.

"What do I care how they live? My mother curses me to die soon every day, and my sister is even worse off because of me. Because of a scoundrel like me, her reputation in the surrounding area is ruined. People point fingers and curse her behind her back. She was almost forty before she finally managed to marry a widower that no one wanted."

Old Scar swallowed a mouthful of bloody saliva, his voice hoarse yet filled with a righteous malice.

"I'm a rotten person, rotten from head to toe. I do despicable things not for anyone else, but for myself."

The ward was deathly silent.

Song Qingshan did not respond.

Faced with Old Scar's unvarnished, even extremely vicious, confession, the old man's weathered face showed no emotion; he simply watched him quietly.

After a long while, Song Qingshan finally spoke slowly.

"Why are you suddenly being so candid?"

"This isn't like the way people act. Now that things have come to this, why not tell a few lies out of desperation? Or at least try to cover it up, make yourself sound more pitiful, so I might take pity on you and spare your life?"

Upon hearing this, Old Scar forced out an extremely bleak, dry laugh.

"Can it be kept secret?"

Old Scar stared at Song Qingshan, his bloodshot eyes revealing a desperate clarity: "From the moment you saw through my secrets at a glance and sealed off all my escape routes with just a few words, I knew I had completely lost to you."

He gasped for breath, which aggravated the penetrating wound in his shoulder, causing his facial muscles to twitch in pain.

"You're someone who's truly been through thick and thin, you can't tolerate any nonsense. My little tricks that fool laymen are nothing but a fart to you. If I continue to spout nonsense and play the victim, I'll just be treating you like an idiot and making myself uncomfortable."

Old Scar turned his head to the side in despair, staring at the dim wall, his voice hoarse to the extreme.

"Besides, even if I were capable of deceiving you, what good would it do?"

Old Scar gave a self-deprecating tug at his chapped lips, his voice tinged with a resigned, nihilistic air: "Someone like you, who can't tolerate any injustice, would you let a blood-stained wretch like me leave this room?"

"Since it's a dead end either way, I might as well say everything, at least I can get my tongue out for now."