9 AM.
Failure number 205.
Overall, the rate of increase slowed, indicating that the average time per attempt was increasing, each attempt getting closer to success, yet more frustrating.
Twice, she’d even managed over 95 consecutive successes before failing, so frustrated that she’d almost vomited blood.
The last time Ivy had felt this frustrated was when the someone interrupted her mission, forcing her to kill Zheng Hang.
This time, she couldn’t vent her frustration. It only intensified her anger.
“Calm down, calm down. I’ll succeed today. Rushing leads to mistakes. Slow down, calm down,” she muttered, taking several deep breaths, returning her fingertips to their original shape and retracting the bone fragments.
Ivy had discovered that her bones seemed to possess a form of memory. Once she had shaped a bone, subsequent attempts were much easier, almost instinctive.
For example,
Shaping her ten fingertips had taken nearly four hours yesterday. Today, it only took half an hour to replicate the same shapes.
She washed her face with cold water, sat on the toilet, and let her frustration subside along with her waste.
Ivy, with dark circles under her eyes, ate breakfast and went out to a shady clinic to buy some needles.
She went to a shady clinic because as a void citizen, she’d have to wait too long at a legitimate clinic. Even just buying needles would require at least a month's wait, and there was no guarantee they’d have any.
Wang Suli had once cut her finger while cooking and had to wait a month to get bandages from the hospital. Eric Ruiz had eventually brought some from the precinct.
Shady clinics had limited supplies, but prices were at least three times higher, increasing with quantity.
What was even stranger was that these clinics were always busy. Lower-class people, while complaining, secretly hoped they wouldn’t be shut down. Those in power would publicly demand crackdowns, but in reality, the consequences were minimal—a small fine.
The owner and doctor of this clinic was called Sha Qing Ming. He was in his fifties, bald, wore wire-rimmed glasses, and liked to observe people with narrowed eyes.
He wore a white coat similar to those worn in hospitals, but his collar was always dirty. His sleeves were always pristine. Ivy had only visited twice, but the incongruity of his appearance was memorable.
A rag doll with only one eye, the other sewn shut, and a wide mouth revealing a long tongue hung from a red string at the entrance.
A weird rag doll at the entrance. This doctor has some strange aesthetic sense, Ivy thought, entering the clinic.
She didn't notice that as her hair brushed against the doll, the doll’s tongue twitched, as if moved by a gust of wind.
“Doctor Sha, I need five needles. Do you have any?” Ivy asked.
Two patients were receiving IV drips. Sha Qing Ming, his eyes half-closed, listened to Ivy’s request.
Sha Qing Ming: “New ones or used ones? New ones are $20 each, used ones are $7.”
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Ivy winced at the exorbitant prices. Even in her previous life, needles weren’t this expensive, and the clinic openly sold used ones. That was excessive.
Ivy took out her wallet, not haggling. “New ones, five, and a bottle of disinfectant alcohol. How much?”
Sha Qing Ming took the items from the cabinet, placing them on the counter. “$138.”
The prices were outrageous. No wonder the void citizens often said they'd rather meet the Black Yama than the White God of Medicine.
The Black Yama referred to the black-clad night watchmen. Seeing them meant you’d become a evil corpse or been affected by dark magic.
The White God of Medicine referred to doctors in white coats.
The Black Yama took lives; the White God of Medicine was even more dangerous.
Ivy didn't want to waste time, so she paid and left, putting her purchases in her backpack. Her previous bag had been burned along with the ashes. This bag was from the precinct, given to Eric Ruiz. Eric found it too small, and Audrey thought it was ugly, so it ended up with Ivy.
Two hours later.
Dozens of patients came and went.
At lunchtime, with no patients left, Sha Qing Ming pulled down the security gate halfway.
Suddenly, he froze, his bald head tilting back until his neck snapped at a 90-degree angle, his head resting against his back. His eyes stared straight at the rag doll.
“What?”
The sound was both old and sharp, like an old man speaking from a bent neck, and like the doll's tongue wagging.
At the same time, Ivy got off the bus after three transfers, arriving at the street filled with martial arts schools.
Like a gym cluster in her past life, this street was home to over a dozen martial arts schools of varying sizes.
Anyone with a bit of common sense would understand that those who could open and sustain a business here must have genuine martial arts skills.
Of course, whether they'd teach you was another matter.
Ivy wasn’t looking for a martial arts master. She simply wanted a busy school with many sparring partners to practice her skills.
Winning or losing wasn’t important; the key was having a place to hone her combat skills.
To be honest, she didn’t know much about the martial arts schools in this area. Because of her poverty, she’d never been to one before.
“???”
Ivy’s face darkened after being rejected by the Shanglong Martial Arts School.
Could you imagine being rejected from a gym because you were too skinny or overweight?
You probably can’t, but Shanglong Martial Arts School rejected Ivy because her constitution didn't meet their standards.
Ivy, refusing to give up, visited several other schools, all of which rejected her, some politely, some condescendingly.
“Even martial arts schools have standards. I guess I’m not good enough,” she muttered, heading to the end of the street, stopping before an old and quiet martial arts school.
Ivy desperately needed to address her combat weaknesses and gain practical experience.
She looked up at the weathered sign: Doukuang (Fighting Frame).
“Fighting Frame? What a childish name. I’m giving you a chance. Don’t disappoint me,” Ivy said, entering with confidence.
If this school refused her, she would have to forge a fake constitution test report.
A minute later.
Ivy walked out, holding a simple membership card, looking dazed.
She'd been accepted.
They hadn’t even asked about her constitution. The receptionist simply recorded her basic information, showing a fleeting look of surprise when she mentioned her job at the incinerator.
The only requirement was a $690 annual fee.
The ease of her acceptance made Ivy suspicious. People were easily fooled.
Ivy turned back to look at the sign, then put away her membership card and left. She’d only come to get the card and clear her head.
“I’ll come back in a couple of days to practice at Doukuang. For now, I need to focus on Crane Claw Technique,” Ivy thought.
The bus ride home took an hour.
As she approached her apartment building, some of the lights on Higher City’s backside began to turn off, and the night grew darker.
Reaching the stairs, her phone vibrated. Ivy stopped, suddenly turning to look behind her, noticing a shadowy figure following her.
“I’m being followed?” Ivy pretended not to notice, turning around.
As she walked upstairs, she scrolled through her messages.
——Boss, I’ve been busy today and haven’t had a chance to reply.
——Boss Si trusts Brother Ban’s judgment but seems wary of him. But in this investigation, it seems he’s completely entrusted the investigation to Brother Ban.
——This is Brother Ban’s revised list.
It wasn’t a photo but a typed list of names separated by commas.
Dong Jia, Li Dan, La Tap, Xiang Shou Ren, Gong Yi, Ivy Ruiz, Sun Xian Gang, Zhang Niu…
Ivy, expressionless, put away her phone, entering her apartment. Her long shadow stretched across the hallway.