Mastering the Sword Manual, sweeping across the globe

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The scene cuts back to the studio. Harris puts his headphones back on and nods slightly to the camera.

"Viewers, we continue to follow the live feed from the 13th floor of Y City Cancer Hospital. According to our reports, Quedexia plans to visit all 22 patients tonight. We've already seen the first patient's condition; now let's turn our attention to the next ward."

The second ward.

Patient information card pops up: Liu Guilan, female, 71 years old, from Qingxi County, X Province. Late-stage lung cancer with brain metastases. Expert panel opinion: The tumor has invaded both lung lobes and multiple intracranial metastases; it has progressed despite whole-brain radiotherapy; current treatments are ineffective.

My husband passed away three years ago.

Only his daughter, who was in her forties and worked as a primary school teacher in the county town, was by his bedside.

She sat on a folding chair by the bed, clutching a string of prayer beads in her hand, her lips moving slightly, but no sound came out.

Zhang Qiliang asked two questions.

The old man shook his head, then nodded.

The gray hairs were drawn out, very faint, as if they had been almost completely consumed by illness.

The old man's breathing calmed down, and the daughter stopped making the rosary in her hand, clenched it in her palm, lowered her head and leaned over the edge of the bed, her shoulders trembling slightly.

The fifth ward.

Patient Information: Zhao Guoqiang, male, 58 years old, from Anhe County, X Province. Late-stage esophageal cancer, complete obstruction, unable to eat. Expert Panel Opinion: The tumor has invaded the tracheal membrane, making stent placement impossible; nutritional support is no longer sufficient to maintain weight; multiple organ function is beginning to fail.

Two sons stood by the bed.

The eldest son was in his early thirties, wearing a construction site uniform with the cuffs rolled up, revealing an old scar on his forearm. The younger son was younger and stood at the foot of the bed.

Upon seeing Zhang Qiliang enter, the two of them grinned at the same time.

The eldest son rubbed his hands, looking bewildered, while the younger son... offered Zhang Qiliang a cigarette.

Zhang Qiliang smiled and took it, then tucked it behind his ear.

Two rounds of questioning.

Shake head.

nod.

The gray threads took longer to be drawn out than the previous ones, and were so thick they looked as if they were being pulled out inch by inch from deep within the body.

The eldest son's hands were clenched into fists at his sides, while the younger son lowered his head and stared at the ground.

The gray threads have all been collected.

The old man let out a very soft sigh.

The eldest son's fist loosened, and the younger son's shoulders slumped.

The seventh ward.

Patient information card pops up: Chen Zhiyuan, male, 32 years old, from Anren County, X Province. Leukemia, relapsed after transplantation. Expert panel opinion: The success rate of a second transplant is less than 5%; current salvage chemotherapy is ineffective; there are no effective treatment options.

Harris lowered his voice: "This is the youngest patient tonight. Thirty-two years old. His son was just four years old when he was diagnosed."

In the picture, a thin young man is lying on a hospital bed.

His hair had all fallen out, and the skin on his face was so thin that you could see the bluish veins underneath, but his eyes were open, and he looked at Zhang Qiliang as he walked in, his eyes filled with light.

A young woman, around twenty-five or twenty-six years old, was sitting by the bed. She was wearing a light pink cardigan, her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she was wearing light makeup.

Upon seeing Zhang Qiliang, the woman immediately stood up, clasped her hands together in front of her, her fingers intertwined, then loosened, then intertwined again.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, but the corners of her mouth were slightly upturned, as if she wanted to laugh, or as if she was afraid that laughing would be inappropriate.

A little boy, about four or five years old, stood beside the woman's knees. He wore a blue suit jacket with a bow tie at the collar, and his hair was neatly combed with a little hair gel on each side, making it sparkle.

The little boy looked up at Zhang Qiliang, then lowered his head, put his hands behind his back, rubbed his toes on the floor, then raised his head again, grinned, and showed a sweet smile.

"Hello, Uncle." His voice was crisp and bright.

Zhang Qiliang looked down at him and smiled, "Hello."

The little boy turned and glanced back at his mother.

The young woman nodded slightly, her lips curving into a wider smile, though her eyes were still red.

The little boy turned around, pulled his hand out from behind his back, and clutched a flower in his hand—a red carnation, its petals slightly wrinkled, as if it had been squeezed for a long time.

He held the flower above his head, stood on tiptoe, and handed it to Zhang Qiliang.

“Uncle,” he said earnestly, “I wish you good health.”

Zhang Qiliang took the flowers and twirled them in his hand.

"Thank you."

Zhang Qiliang walked to the bedside.

"Chen Zhiyuan?"

The young man on the bed nodded.

His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but then he swallowed it back.

"The first question—have you ever done anything immoral or heinous in your life?"

The young man shook his head. Slowly, but with certainty.

Zhang Qiliang looked into his eyes.

"The second question—would you be willing to give up all your possessions for this treatment opportunity?"

The young woman by the bed tightened her grip, and the knuckles of the hand resting on her son's shoulder turned white.

The little boy looked up at his mother, then at Zhang Qiliang, then at his father on the bed, his lips pursed, obediently remaining silent.

The young man nodded.

Zhang Qiliang looked into his eyes.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds...

Four seconds. Five seconds. Six seconds...

“This…” Harris’s voice was a little confused: “Quedexia’s gaze seems to have lasted far longer than the average duration…”

The scene only shows the warm light of the ward and a young man standing by the bed.

Seven seconds.

Zhang Qiliang straightened up and shook his head.

"Okay, then forget it."

With that, Zhang Qiliang turned and walked towards the ward door.

The ward was silent for a second.

The young woman's smile remained on her face, and she blinked, as if she hadn't understood.

The little boy looked up, glancing at the doorway, then at his mother, then at his father on the bed. He had already given away the flowers, and his hands were now empty, unsure of where to put them.

"Mom?" His voice was very soft.

The young woman didn't answer. She stood there, her hand still on her son's shoulder, the same smile on her face.

The young man on the bed opened his eyes, which were filled with disbelief.

"What... happened to me?"

No one answered.

"Ming-ge? What's wrong with me?"

no respond.

"Ming-ge! Wh...wh...what do you mean?!"

The young man's voice began to tremble and tighten, as if something was stuck in his throat.

"Ma Xiaoming!"

The young man on the bed propped himself up on one side, his eyes bloodshot, and veins bulging from his thin neck.

"Are you sick!"

Zhang Qiliang didn't even turn his head.

"Zeng Keke, are you an idiot? Help me catch...help me bring Ming back!!!"

The woman seemed to wake from a dream and quickly took a step.

As Zhang Qiliang stepped out, two uniformed men stepped across from either side, coldly blocking the doorway.

The eighth ward.

The ninth ward.

The tenth ward.

The eleventh ward.

The twelfth ward.

Patient Information: Liu Defu, male, 61 years old, from Anhe County, X Province. Advanced colorectal cancer with multiple metastases to the liver and lungs. Expert Panel Opinion: All chemotherapy regimens have failed; anti-angiogenic therapy is ineffective; intestinal obstruction cannot be relieved.

A young man in his early twenties was sitting by the bed; he was his nephew.

When Zhang Qiliang asked, the old man first shook his head, then nodded.

When the treatment ended, the young man stood up, knelt down in front of Zhang Qiliang, and kowtowed.

Zhang Qiliang reached out and helped him up.

The young man didn't get up; he lay on the ground, his shoulders shaking, and he made no sound.

The camera cuts back to the studio.

A laptop computer has been added to the host's table.

Harris glanced down at the screen, then looked up again, his expression becoming more serious.

"Dear viewers, just now we obtained some information through independent channels. It should be noted that this information has not yet been officially confirmed."

"According to unverified information, the seventh patient tonight—Mr. Chen Zhiyuan—transferred 1.27 million yuan in cash to his wife's personal account in multiple installments after receiving notification of his successful admission to the Cancer Hospital of X Province. At the same time, the ownership of two properties registered under his name was transferred to his five-year-old son's name before his admission."

There was a two-second silence in the studio.

Harris took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and put them back on.

"We continue to monitor the thirteenth ward."

112 Y City Household Registration

Switzerland, on the shores of Lake Geneva.

The meeting had been going on for three hours in an unmarked private villa.

The long table was made of a single piece of walnut wood, transported directly from a forest in northern Italy. Each person had only one glass of water in front of them—the glass was a hand-blown product from a small workshop in Austria, with walls so thin that it was almost weightless.

Seven people were sitting on one side of the long table.

Three lawyers, two private wealth advisors, one business advisor, and a former diplomat who, after retiring, does "advisory work that is not convenient to disclose" in Geneva.

There was only one person sitting on the other side.