Joy of Life - V1P
Prologue: Nice Guys Finish Last
1- A Child of the Tanmai
2- The Truman Show
3- The Legacy Book
4- Studies and Ghost Stories
5- The Noctural Visitor
6- Master Wu Zhu
7- Master Fei Jie
8- Grandmasters and Divine Temple
9- Overpowering Bàdào Zhenqi
10- The Sea Salt Merchant
11- Farewell for now, Master Fei Jie
12- Mail Order and Newspapers
13- Radish Strands
14- Housekeeper Zhou
15- Ay-ya-ya-yaaa
JOY OF LIFE
Prologue
Nice Guys Finish Last
Fan Shen fought to keep his eyes open. He glanced at his fingers, trying to tally the meaningful milestones in his life, but his slender right hand, thin like chopsticks, could only count to five. With a sigh, he conceded defeat.
The scent of hospital medicine was overwhelmingly strong. Just the other day, the elderly man in the bed next to him had passed away, and soon enough, he feared he would be following suit.
He had fallen victim to a rare condition caused by the loss of nerve cells in the brain, leading to a gradual loss of muscle control that robbed him of strength in his muscles, named Multiple System Atrophy (MSA). It felt like something straight out of a romance novel—an affliction where, without timely medical care, one could lose the ability to even burp or fart, left only with the power to cry.
“But I’m not a romantic hero,” Fan Shen muttered. Unfortunately, his jaw no longer functioned properly, rendering his words a mere series of indistinct sounds.
He gazed at his middle finger, filled with self-pity, and thought, I’m still a virgin, damn it!
He had accomplished nothing remarkable in his life, aside from helping elderly ladies cross the street, giving up his bus seat, being a good neighbor, and letting classmates copy his answers during tests. Fan Shen embodied the archetypal nice guy, feeling utterly useless.
His old parents had passed away long ago, and with no siblings or relatives, he found himself alone in the hospital, waiting for the end of his life.
The scent of hospital medicine was overwhelmingly strong. Just the other day, the elderly man in the bed next to him had passed away, and soon enough, he feared he would be following suit.
He had fallen victim to a rare condition caused by the loss of nerve cells in the brain, leading to a gradual loss of muscle control that robbed him of strength in his muscles, named Multiple System Atrophy (MSA). It felt like something straight out of a romance novel—an affliction where, without timely medical care, one could lose the ability to even burp or fart, left only with the power to cry.
“But I’m not a romantic hero,” Fan Shen muttered. Unfortunately, his jaw no longer functioned properly, rendering his words a mere series of indistinct sounds.
He gazed at his middle finger, filled with self-pity, and thought, I’m still a virgin, damn it!
He had accomplished nothing remarkable in his life, aside from helping elderly ladies cross the street, giving up his bus seat, being a good neighbor, and letting classmates copy his answers during tests. Fan Shen embodied the archetypal nice guy, feeling utterly useless.
His old parents had passed away long ago, and with no siblings or relatives, he found himself alone in the hospital, waiting for the end of his life.
Nice guys finish last, he mused.
As night fell, Fan Shen noticed his throat muscles weakening in the quiet loneliness. They could no longer tighten or loosen, and his breathing was becoming shallow, as an elastic band stretched too far.
He wondered where that attentive young nurse had gone. Instead, next to him was an elderly woman with pity in her eyes as she talked on and on.
Am I really going to die? His fear of death mixed with a desire for life, stirring emotions within him that he had never felt before. The thought that his last moments might be spent with this old woman rather than the cute nurse he had been hoping to see only deepened his sadness.
Feeling miserable, Fan Shen’s eyelids drooped as he cast a hazy gaze at the black curtain hanging over the hospital ward window, blocking out the sunshine. Life felt incredibly lonely, he thought...
As night fell, Fan Shen noticed his throat muscles weakening in the quiet loneliness. They could no longer tighten or loosen, and his breathing was becoming shallow, as an elastic band stretched too far.
He wondered where that attentive young nurse had gone. Instead, next to him was an elderly woman with pity in her eyes as she talked on and on.
Am I really going to die? His fear of death mixed with a desire for life, stirring emotions within him that he had never felt before. The thought that his last moments might be spent with this old woman rather than the cute nurse he had been hoping to see only deepened his sadness.
Feeling miserable, Fan Shen’s eyelids drooped as he cast a hazy gaze at the black curtain hanging over the hospital ward window, blocking out the sunshine. Life felt incredibly lonely, he thought...
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
A single droplet trickled from the corner of his eye, and he instinctively licked the tear that had reached his lips. To his astonishment, his tears tasted salty with a hint of something fishy. It dawned on him that the hospital seldom bathed him. Could it be that even his tears had begun to carry an unpleasant odor?
His unsettling thoughts enveloped him, and he found himself cursing his own vulnerability. Look at you! Tears streaming down your face! Do you still believe you’re a hero?
But soon, he sensed that something was amiss. Why could he still extend his tongue to wipe away the tears? The doctor had told him he lost the ability to move it long ago. Now, the tongue was nothing more than a means of sliding down his throat, blocking his airway; he had become one of the rare few to perish by swallowing his own tongue.
After a few moments, he discovered it was easier to open his eyes. His field of vision widened, and his sight became clearer than it had been before he fell ill. The scene before him was bright and distinct, revealing something made of bamboo.
Confused, Fan Shen pushed aside the bamboo rods and was met with an astonishing scene: a dozen figures stood ominously, dressed in black from head to toe. Each figure wielded a sharp object, raised high as they clashed!
He stared in disbelief, unsure whether he was dreaming or experiencing a bizarre near-death episode. Instinctively, he recoiled and raised his hands to shield his face, behaving as anyone would in such a predicament, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand.
“Argh.” The sound of unending agony filled the air.
A chorus of groans followed, leading to a dreadful silence. Fan Shen felt a wave of unease wash over him. He cautiously separated two fingers from the hand he used to shield his face, peeking through the small gap.
He realized bamboo stalks were in front of him, like those used to make the basket. Enlarging the space through the holes, he could see a dozen or so corpses lying on the ground, blood pouring onto the floor, the stench of it filling the air. He saw it, and the terror rendered him temporarily unable to move.
He suddenly reflected on his own hands. Could they move now? Had he truly recovered? What on earth had he just witnessed? Was it just a dream? If he were to wake up, would he find himself back in bed, paralyzed once again, waiting for death to come? If that were the case, he might as well never awake again. He decided to test himself by opening and closing his fingers, blinking a few times, and moving his tongue from side to side. Then he abruptly halted. His hands were indeed moving; he could blink, and so could his tongue.
The realization that he might still be dreaming filled him with sadness, and he wiped away the tears on his face, leaving streaks behind. He pulled his hand back and gazed at it in disbelief.
It was stained with blood.
The liquid that had trickled from the corner of his eye was someone else's blood that had splattered onto him.
Fan Shen stared listlessly at his hands, his heart racing. These aren't my hands!
Before him were a set of tiny, plump hands stained with blood. They looked like flowers blossoming in a slaughterhouse—certainly not the hands of an adult.
He was overcome with shock, his mind adrift in conflicting emotions; he could only stare blankly, gripped by a sudden terror that consumed him entirely.
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