The Immortal of Plague begins by establishing the root of lung fire.

Song You recognized the voice. That afternoon in the hospital conference room, it was this woman who tried to force him to withdraw his report by threatening his future.

"You need to see him for something?" Meng Wenyuan's voice was devoid of emotion.

"There are a few questions that require his cooperation in verifying," Li Man replied, "regarding Dr. Zhang Lihong's sudden illness this afternoon."

"What does this have to do with him? You don't suspect he did it, do you? Song You is now a full-time employee of Ruikang Pharmaceuticals." Meng Wenyuan's tone turned cold. "He has already completed the resignation procedures. What happened at the Second Municipal Hospital has nothing to do with him, and of course, it has even less to do with our company."

"Mr. Meng, Dr. Zhang's condition is very bad right now." Li Man did not back down. "When he is lucid, he keeps calling out Song You's name. He wants to see Song You."

Zhang Lihong coughed up blood, so how could he possibly specifically request to see a resident trainee who had just reported him?

Li Man led her people to the airport with only one goal: to forcibly keep Song You in the country and prevent him from completely losing control.

"Ms. Li," Meng Wenyuan emphasized, "this is an airport. You've brought people to block my employee. Do you have any official documents for assistance, or a summons from the police?"

No one made a sound from the other side.

"Without these things, you have no right to keep us here," Meng Wenyuan said, issuing the order to leave. "We need to board the plane, please make way."

The sound of high heels echoed as she took two steps in place.

"Song You went to the restroom, right?" Li Man's voice changed, no longer feigning politeness. "We'll wait here. He'll come out eventually."

Inside the restroom door.

Song You peered discreetly at the figures outside through the glass door.

Li Man was wearing a black business suit, followed by two burly men in casual clothes with their hands in their pockets, who looked like security company employees.

Meng Wenyuan stood on the opposite side, with several employees of Ruikang Pharmaceutical blocking his way, creating a standoff between the two sides.

Song You's hand was on his suit pocket. Li Man and her group wouldn't shake him off no matter what. Zhang Lihong's relapse didn't make them back down; instead, it provoked their counterattack.

If I go out now, I will inevitably be harassed. With the flight departure time approaching, if a physical conflict breaks out and airport security intervenes, my trip to India will be ruined.

If we directly target the root cause of the problem, it would be too obvious if people fell victim to it repeatedly. The way this world works is still logical. If we were discovered, we would definitely be attacked by everyone. I am not invincible yet.

Moreover, going out to negotiate is pointless. Since Li Man brought people to block them, she must have the intention of forcibly keeping them there. This group of people has extremely low moral standards.

It seems that Meng Wenyuan's planned flight is off; Ruikang Pharmaceuticals' target is too big, and the risks are uncontrollable.

India is a must-go; it's the best place to escape domestic scrutiny and verify the pathology of spiritual practice, but we'll have to take a different route.

He turned around and looked inside the restroom.

There is a louvered ventilation window that opens outwards, located near the ceiling on the upper part of the wall.

Song You stepped onto the edge of the toilet, grabbed the window frame with both hands, and used his arms to pull himself up. Looking past the blinds, he saw a narrow equipment maintenance passageway leading to the interior of the airport.

There were no infrared sensors above the passageway, and no monitoring equipment was found in the corners of the walls.

Without hesitation, Song You pushed open the window, slipped out sideways, and landed silently.

He took out his phone; the screen lit up, showing no unread messages. This phone was linked to his domestic identity information, so as long as it was turned on, cell tower location could track his whereabouts.

Opening his contacts and notes, Song You mentally reviewed Meng Meng and her siblings' numbers, the contact information of several medical school professors, and the publicly available phone numbers of several Indian pharmaceutical contract manufacturers.

Then, he mobilized the outer flames within his chest cavity, and a grayish-white flame shot out, enveloping the phone.

The corrosive properties of the outer flame erupted, carbonizing the plastic casing, melting the metal motherboard into a clump, and turning the screen glass into powder. Within a few dozen breaths, a complete mobile phone was reduced to a pile of junk.

He walked to the drain in the corner of the maintenance passage, shook the things into it, and the water pipe washed them clean, cutting off all possibility of physical tracking.

Stepping out of the maintenance tunnel, the view ahead is expansive; this is the edge of the airport's tarmac.

A night breeze blew by, and distant searchlights swept back and forth. Song You walked along the shadows, searching for transportation to India.

My gaze swept across the tarmac, and a few hundred meters ahead, the Gulfstream business jet was still parked in the same spot, with a few Indians standing and talking beside it at the bottom of the gangway.

It was Bharat and his group; they were also going to Khalidwa, India.

Several baggage transfer vehicles were parked under the belly of the plane, and a few Indians wearing reflective vests were still carrying large pieces of luggage onto the cargo hold.

Song Youting stood in the shadows of the baggage container area, observing their movements.

The moving process was extremely lax; three men huddled together smoking, while two others slowly dragged a huge cardboard box. The Indian boss's personal staff were not present to supervise, revealing the haphazard and disorganized nature of the operation.

This is a golden opportunity.

Song You lowered his center of gravity and used the various equipment placed on the tarmac as cover to avoid the sweeping trajectory of the searchlights, quickly approaching the baggage transfer vehicle that had not yet been fully loaded.

The cart was piled with several wooden crates with exposed splinters, and on top of them was a huge cardboard box, with a half-foot gap between the cardboard box and the wooden planks.

Song You slid sideways under the cart, grabbed the edge of the wooden board with both hands, and barely pressed his body against the bottom of the wooden box. This position was a blind spot, and no one could see that someone was hiding underneath.

"Move this up too." A conversation in English with an Indian accent came from above. It's said that Indians only speak English when they're out in public, and it seems that's really true.

The cart vibrated, and the cardboard box above Song You was lifted up.

"This box is really heavy, what's inside?"

"Who cares, let's finish moving and call it a day."

As the footsteps drew closer, Song You held his breath, his lung fire root circulating steadily within his chest cavity, minimizing the presence of a living person.

The cart was pulled along, its wheels making a rumbling sound as they rolled over the asphalt. Song You gripped the wooden planks tightly with both hands, moving along with the cart.

After moving more than ten meters, the cart stopped, and the sound of airflow coming from above as the hatch opened could be heard.

"One, two, three, go!"

The wooden crate, along with Song You, was lifted off the cart. Song You tightened his abdomen, curled up his legs, and pressed his entire body tightly against the groove at the bottom of the crate.

A feeling of weightlessness followed by the thud of a heavy fall.

The wooden crate was pushed into the aircraft's cargo hold, surrounded by other luggage, making the space cramped.

The footsteps of the staff faded into the distance, and the sound of conversation could be heard outside the warehouse.

"Is everything installed?"

"All done. Close the door."

The heavy warehouse door slowly closed, gradually cutting off the light until only darkness remained.

Song You landed from the bottom of the wooden crate on the metal floor of the warehouse, the air filled with the smells of leather and engine oil.