Chapter 68: Underground, Used by the Fat Rat (Second Update)

When the nurse shouted, everyone nearby—and even people in other areas—turned their attention to Bian Changxi and the others who had just arrived.

The people arguing with the doctors and nurses rushed over, the first one grabbing Gu Xu’s arm: “Are you a doctor? One of those ability users who can save people? Hurry, hurry, my son’s not going to make it, please save him!”

Gu Xu tried to pull his hand back. “Sorry, I don’t have that ability.”

The family member refused to let go.

The doctor let out a sigh of relief, straightened his clothes, and strode over. “Ah, Captain Gu! You’ve got the wrong person—he’s not a wood-type ability user. But these people behind him…”

He looked at Bian Changxi and the man and woman with her.

“Dr. Lu,” Gu Xu greeted him, then introduced him to Bian Changxi. “This is Dr. Lu Shaoyang, the best surgeon in the military district.”

Lu Shaoyang… Bian Changxi sized him up. She’d heard of him before—back at the Su City base, he was quite a figure. His main achievement was that, although he was a thoroughly trained Western doctor, during the later medicine shortages, he was one of the first to lead the push for growing Chinese medicinal herbs. Unlike other Western doctors, who either fiercely resisted or became despondent, he adapted. So after the wood-type healing system was established, he still held a good position in the medical world.

In person, Lu Shaoyang looked refined and handsome, with a professional, scrutinizing smile. His half-rim glasses made him look trustworthy, but the exhaustion on his face was unmistakable, and his hair was a mess, which took away from his usual poise. His white coat was stained with blood—some fresh, some dried—leaving dark, smeared patches.

Bian Changxi was about to introduce herself when the woman with the explosive hairdo beat her to it: “I’m a wood-type ability user. Where’s the patient? Take me to see him.”

Lu Shaoyang frowned. This arrogant attitude was common among newly arrived wood-types, but now? Every one of them had been knocked down a peg—some stormed off, others just became listless, running errands wherever they were told.

He had long since given up hope for these wood-types. The higher-ups wanted to recruit more, but he didn’t expect much.

But the family members were different. They clung to Sister Dong like she was their last hope, crowding around her and showering her with flattery as they led her to the cubicle.

Lu Shaoyang knew these wood-types were more trouble than help and didn’t dare let them mess around unsupervised, so he hurried after them. Bian Changxi naturally followed to see what was happening.

Gu Xu noticed she ignored him completely, as if he didn’t exist. His gaze darkened, but he followed as well.

This was the outermost cubicle. On makeshift “beds” cobbled together from corrugated cardboard, plastic bags, and tattered clothes, lay one bloodied patient after another. As they walked, Lu Shaoyang spoke in a low voice: “These are the last batch brought in—severely injured in a car accident while fleeing zombies.”

The patient everyone was focused on was a man in his thirties. The glass shards had been removed from his neck and face, and he was on an IV drip. The worst injury was at the back of his head, which was still bleeding despite a rough bandage. It was basically useless—he was already unconscious.

“In this condition, only a craniotomy could save him, but we don’t have the resources for such a major operation.”

In fact, even if they did, it would be extremely risky. In other words, this man had already been given a death sentence.

There was a trace of regret in Lu Shaoyang’s voice.

But with so many patients, so many on the brink, all he could do was feel sorry. The most rational course would be not to even bother with IVs or bandages—medicine and gauze were limited, and every bit used was one less for someone else. This was only the first day since the army arrived—how many more would be injured in the future? They were using up others’ chances to save someone who was already doomed.

It sounded cruel, but it was the truth.

Unfortunately, the family couldn’t accept it and insisted they stay and try to save him.

Lu Shaoyang checked his watch—five minutes wasted already. He signaled to the two nurses to leave and not waste any more time here. If it weren’t for the bad impression it would leave, he would have left too—so many people were still waiting for him. Luckily, he’d already reported the situation, and someone would come soon to handle it.

Meanwhile, the woman with the explosive hairdo was a little intimidated by the severity of the injury. Her earlier bravado faded, and she muttered, “This serious? Even before, this would be a fatal wound, right?”

She wasn’t confident, but she didn’t show it. Rolling up her sleeves, she opened her left hand, and a glossy, slender seedling sprouted from her palm, trembling as it unfurled its leaves.

Everyone gasped in surprise—none of the previous wood-types had done this.

The woman looked a bit smug. She pressed her right hand to the patient’s chest, left hand holding the seedling on top, and began to concentrate, humming with effort. Soon, both her hands took on a greenish tint.

Bian Changxi narrowed her eyes slightly. Not bad—this woman’s ability was stronger than the others here. If she hadn’t shown off by manifesting the seedling, her energy might have been more focused and effective.

Every wood-type had one of these seedlings—Bian Changxi did too. It was the core of the wood-type’s power, though most users weren’t aware of it yet. There was no need to manifest it when channeling energy, since it was just a form that gathered energy and maintaining it consumed a lot.

Besides, Bian Changxi had a feeling this patient couldn’t be saved.

Sure enough, after a while, the external wounds closed up a bit, but the patient showed no real improvement. The woman’s face turned pale, sweat beading on her forehead.

The family’s hope turned to disappointment. The patient’s mother asked anxiously, “Can you do it or not?”

The woman snapped, “What are you rushing me for? Your son’s injuries are too severe—if you think you can do better, go ahead!”

Someone nearby sneered, “Yeah, right. I don’t think you’re capable at all. All these wood-types brag about how amazing they are, but when it comes down to it, it’s clear who’s got real skills. You’re no better than the rest. Pfft, calling yourself some kind of angel in white for the new era.”

The voice was loud, and other wood-types nearby looked embarrassed.

Coincidentally, in the next cubicle, a wood-type girl was helping bandage a wound. She must have been distracted, because her bandaging was too light, and the patient cried out, shoving her away: “Get lost! Can’t even bandage a wound—what kind of ability user are you? Not even as good as a regular nurse!”

Since the apocalypse, the privileged status of ability users had left countless ordinary people feeling resentful.

If ability users really were that amazing, people would have to accept it. But if it turned out they weren’t so special, there’d be backlash.

It wasn’t just wood-types facing this—other newly awakened abilities were weak at first too. But most of the others were combat abilities, or, like the water-type, had high status from the start because of the drinking water issue. Wood-types, on the other hand, hadn’t yet shown their importance and weren’t powerful enough to inspire awe. Plus, today’s events had given them a collective chance to “lose face.”

Wood-types should have been quietly building up their strength, waiting until the new post-apocalyptic power system was established before stepping in as “rescuers” and buffers, showing the huge potential of humanity’s new abilities—not just to fight and destroy, but to heal.

But instead, wood-types had been pushed to the front lines first. In a way, these wood-type ability users had shattered people’s expectations and reverence for abilities.

The woman with the explosive hairdo couldn’t turn things around. Humiliated and angry, she jumped up and shouted, “You want to argue? You think you’re so great?”

Lu Shaoyang, helpless, turned to Gu Xu. “Captain Gu, what do you think…?” He assumed the woman was with Gu Xu, since they’d arrived together.

Gu Xu said, “These two came with me, so they must have some skills.”

The military had recruited wood-types from all over the new district, but the way they arrived reflected their status. Those who came by car had military connections—like Bian Changxi, who was treated politely by the soldiers thanks to Gu Xu. Otherwise, they’d have just dragged her upstairs, maybe even made her walk.

Gu Xu’s words were a reminder to Lu Shaoyang not to brush off these two, but also a way to distance himself.

Lu Shaoyang understood, asked the soldier who’d brought them, and his face darkened. They were from Colonel Yue Fushan’s side, and apparently had close ties. Yue Fushan was the commander’s right-hand man.

So much red tape just to save a life—Lu Shaoyang felt a headache coming on, but forced himself to discuss with the woman: “Maybe we should let the other person try?”

He didn’t think to ask Gu Xu—if these two weren’t with him, then who was?

At that moment, Bian Changxi was distracted by another patient.

“Pfft—” On another “bed” in the same cubicle, a man suddenly coughed up a mouthful of dark blood. He was already covered in blood, his own vomit soaking him. A long steel rod was skewered diagonally through his chest, blood still oozing from the wound. He looked even worse off than the man with the head injury.

Worse still, there was no one at his side—not even to wipe away the blood or hang an IV.

Amid the chaos, he was left to die alone. Bian Changxi stood before him. He seemed to see a shadow, struggling to open his eyes, gasping for breath as if he might choke at any moment, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes—who knew why he was crying.

Bian Changxi grabbed a nurse who was about to leave and asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

The nurse shook her head with pity. “The steel rod pierced his aorta and esophagus, damaged his lungs, and caused a pneumothorax. There’s nothing we can do.”

Bian Changxi crouched down and took the patient’s hand. There were no black or green dots—just a purely physical injury. But his life energy was almost gone."