As they walked, the stench grew so thick that it felt like a physical weight pressing against their chests. Several people in the back of the group started gagging. The foul, corpse-like odor was so concentrated that anyone who had never smelled something like it before couldn't help but throw up on the spot.
Jing Shu, however, had survived through a year of that super stinky rotten-egg disaster in her previous life. She was long past being fazed by the scent of decay. She kept a straight face, calmly took a protective mask from her pocket, and slipped it over her nose and mouth. Then she handed out a few extras to the pharmacists from the Wu City Medicinal Herb Association walking beside her. The last thing she wanted was for her team members to begin fainting before the competition officially started.
When they finally reached the designated site, the scene was far worse than anything Jing Shu had imagined. Even from a distance, the ragged cries of agony echoed through the cavernous air.
The abandoned stadium was massive. The central field had been divided into rows upon rows of makeshift beds, and each one was packed with people. The sea of metal cots and thin mattresses stretched so far that she couldn't even see the end of the line.
How many people were trapped here?
The first batch of patients they had seen earlier in the hall had at least been able to scream and curse at the pharmacists. However, most of the people here could barely move. They lay on the ground, groaning weakly as their bodies wasted away. Only a few let out the occasional sharp, high-pitched scream of pain that sliced through the low hum of the ward.
These were all people parasitized by the bugs.
By now, anyone from the Medicinal Herb Association who still didn't realize what this third round of the competition was about would have to be completely brain-dead. It wasn't hard to guess the purpose of this grim setting.
But with their current medicinal means, all the associations could really do was intervene with temporary measures. The available medicines weren't doing much to halt the internal destruction. Doctors weaved constantly between the infected, their faces pale with exhaustion as they did what they could to offer comfort.
The sound of medical monitors beeped endlessly through the hall, a frantic, electronic heartbeat. Emergency calls broke out twice in just a few minutes. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on. No one knew when another patient might die from total organ failure or some other sudden, internal collapse.
After so many years in the apocalypse, most deaths had been quick. You either dropped dead right away, or people found your frozen corpse later. It was rare to see suffering stretched out like this, with people screaming and dying piece by piece as the parasites consumed them.
Jing Shu narrowed her eyes, her gaze sweeping over the suffering. Memories from her past life flickered through her mind: all those times she had trembled in the face of disaster, praying it would end soon, and praying she could simply live on for one more day. Her parents were still alive back then, and she hadn't dared to die and leave them. She had wanted to become strong, but fate hadn't allowed it at the time. Other than quietly following behind China's corrupt and struggling government, there had been no lifeline left for people like her.
They had been just like these people are now: struggling, desperate, and clinging to life because there was still family or still unfinished wishes. Those who had lost the will to live had already gone, freed early from the torment.
She exhaled softly behind her mask. For the first time, she truly felt that her decision in this life had been right. Meeting the Spirit Spring early and cultivating those countless Bodhi trees had changed everything for her and those around her.
But the chief judge didn't stop walking. He led the group toward the back of the stadium.
"Isn't it here?" someone asked, looking at the thousands of beds.
"No, we need to go further back," an official replied.
"Back there? What is in the rear section?"
"This area is only one part of the parasite patients. Behind it, there's another section. It's the children's zone."
The group finally understood.
A lot of kids had been infected too, so they had been placed in a separate area to minimize the trauma for both the young and the old. But the atmosphere there was eerie and far more haunting. The children lay quietly on the ground or on small cots, looking like they were simply asleep. Unlike the adult ward, there were no frantic cries and no loud moans.
If it weren't for the occasional doctor checking vitals and the faint, steady beeping of the ECG monitors, people might have thought these kids were already gone.
The chief judge finally stopped. "These children are the future of our country. Use whatever means you have. Start your treatments with them. Save as many as you can."
Another judge added, "Normally, we would follow strict procedures: trial runs, record checks, and all that. But our medicine is short, and the time is even tighter. We can't afford to drag this out any longer. Kids aren't like adults. Even with Bodhi and rare anesthetics keeping them alive for now, they won't last much longer. We will go straight to treatment."
Minister Zhao wiped the moisture from the corner of his eyes. "This third round is simple. Our new drug formulas will be published as reference data for everyone on the digital boards. From here on, you can use any means necessary—even crimson energy sources you have obtained from other channels. What we are testing this time is your ability to suppress the parasites. The higher the suppression rate, the better your final score."
Charts and data flashed on the large screens: pharmaceutical compositions, ratios, and test results. The current highest suppression rate stood at eighty-six percent. With the R&D Epidemic Prevention Department's data and the rare materials gathered in recent days, most associations seemed confident.
The chief judge glanced at Jing Shu again, his expression visibly emotional. Lao Zhao had claimed her formula could reach a ninety-nine percent suppression rate. He didn't think Lao Zhao was lying, but he couldn't help feeling nervous anyway.
"All right then, the third round starts now. Do your best. The final result depends on your suppression rate."
"Grandpa! Grandpa! I'm here!"
A thin, clear voice broke through the low hum of the room. A pair of dark eyes stared in their direction. They were sharp, aware, and far too knowing for a child. The small boy tilted his head slightly, as if he were seeing right through the pretenses of the adults.
"Er Qiu, what are you doing awake?" The chief judge hurried forward, his eyes glancing anxiously at the doctor by the bedside.
The little boy wiped the oil-slick sweat off his forehead and shook his head weakly. "Grandpa, I refused the anesthesia. I'm scared that if I go under, I won't ever wake up again. I'm scared that I will never see this beautiful world anymore."
Even the battle-hardened old veteran, Boss Zhang, couldn't hold back his tears. This was his own grandson.
"You are lying, Grandpa," a skinny boy beside the bed suddenly shouted. "He said he wanted to save the medicine for the other kids. He said he could handle the pain himself."
Boss Zhang nodded slightly, then shot the other boy a sharp look. "And you, Tie Dan? Why are you awake too?"
"It's my fault Er Qiu is like this! If I hadn't given him that red nematode to eat back then, he wouldn't be infected! If he isn't taking the medicine, then neither am I!"
"Good boys, both of you," Boss Zhang whispered. He lowered his head, quietly brushing away the wetness at the corner of his eye.
That was when Jing Shu arrived with the Wu City pharmacists. Minister Zhao brightened and introduced them quickly to the group. "Xiao Jing, let me introduce you. This little one is Boss Zhang's grandson; his nickname is Er Qiu. The boy beside him is his best friend, Tie Dan."
Jing Shu crouched down beside the low cot with a gentle smile. Seeing the boy's pale face and the sweat streaming down it from the sheer effort of enduring the pain, she couldn't help but stroke his head. He was only ten, yet he was already so strong and sensible that it made her chest feel heavy. "So your name is Er Qiu, huh? I'm Jing Shu. I know a kid called Niu Yaben who is just as smart as you. When you are better, I will introduce you two, all right? Oh, and you too, Tie Dan. You can all play together."
Er Qiu's cracked lips curved into a faint, hopeful smile. "If that day ever comes, I'll be really happy."
That was when Wang Danai pulled out her secret batch of black pills.