"The box is gone," he whispered.
"What box?"
"The space box that holds the memes." The place where the space box was originally placed was replaced by a box of the same color. It looked very similar, but the clown didn't find it at the first time, "Chang Hui wants to take the meme."
"Ah, but it's a pity that they were a step late." Cui Zuojing felt relieved, "Dong Zheng told me that the meme is called Murphy, and now in his mind, he has successfully made me It's infected, and everyone in your circus probably won't be spared."
"Fortunately, it was one step ahead." The clown held the replaced box in his hand, "This idea is probably proposed by "The Mystery of Worms"."
Cui Zuojing: "Does it want Murphy's remaining power?"
The clown was a little surprised: "Yes, how did you know this? When those things happened, you didn't come to the Pure White Realm, did you?"
"Luohuan told me." Cui Zuojing didn't hide it. He copied Futega and took a sip, almost choked to the point of shedding tears again, "If all you took was the box, then there would be no big problem."
The clown nodded, and the two of them didn't speak for a while. It was also at this moment that the clown realized that Cui Zuojing had really grown a lot after the seal was lifted, and he was no longer the sixteen-year-old child who only reached his chest.
After a while, Cui Zuojing rubbed his face and took two steps swayingly, apparently feeling a little overwhelmed.
The emotion in his chest was so strong, uncontrollable, unbearable, and he wanted to see that person very, very, very much right now.
I don't want to endure anymore.
"Where is Dong Zheng?"
Victor followed behind the dwarf, the audience had all left, the staff was busy cleaning up the venue, bringing the animal actors back to the backstage, and everyone was doing their own thing in an orderly manner.
Victor got in under the drape, where the magician was changing his clothes. He took off his top hat, one arm was disassembled and placed on his leg, and the other held a brush dipped in rosin oil and smeared it. The box next to him was opened, and there were many parts of the puppet's limbs. After taking off the white gloves, the ball joints between his wrists were exposed.
Victor stopped and touched the leg of the magician's trousers with his paws. When the other party looked at him, he said, "Sir, can you help my friend touch the curse of Busby's chair if you have time?"
"That lady." The magician remembered, he bent down and touched Victor's head, and said with a smile, "I'm sorry, I forgot at that time, I'll go right away."
Behind the curtain, another identical magician came out. Thin silk threads were tied at the joints. The faint reflection could only be seen under the white light. He asked Victor where the bird was now and went to her. .
The last time he came to the circus, Victor was still in human form. The magician didn't recognize the white cat he had seen before, and Victor didn't say much. After confirming that the bird would be fine, he continued to follow behind the dwarf.
He was taken to a room different from the rest of the circus.
Bright but not dazzling white lights, spotless equipment and the smell of disinfectant in the air, Victor knew this was an operating room as soon as he entered the door. No place was more familiar to him. He was admitted to the Department of Clinical Medicine of the Moscow State Setonov Medical College. Since then, he has been on the operating table for a full twenty-five years.
The doctor, covered in bandages, stood there and whispered, "Long time no see."
"Long time no see." Victor walked over step by step. There was a man lying on the operating table. Half of his body below the waist was blown off, but he was still alive in pain.
The shadowless lamp shone on his gray face and dilated pupils, and the medical equipment showed various vital signs. Victor just glanced at it and knew that unless the gods descended, or with the ability of modern medicine, this person would be very difficult to save. .
He never said never, as a doctor Victor would not give up any possible hope of life until he was completely declared dead.
"It doesn't matter if he wants to live, even if he becomes a monster."
The doctor said, and opened the freezer on the side. The liquid nitrogen vaporized and released a white mist. The light blue mask covered most of the doctor's face, and only two exposed eyes could be seen, which was ruthless.
In the freezer is the headless body of a white horse.
"He'll be a good actor," murmured the Doctor.
"You want to transplant this thing for him?" Victor stared at the man's wound that had been cleaned up. The severed aorta was very precisely connected to the external catheter to form a blood circulation circuit, and the important internal organs were also safely in the abdominal cavity. Heart beating slightly.
There is no life support device, no blood transfusion to stabilize blood pressure, and no strict disinfection. He even let a cat in. All self-confidence and serious irregular operations stem from the doctor's ability, named "Don't Die".
On his operating table, there will never be patients who die because of their injuries, even if they want to die.
Many freak show actors have been transformed into that look. They were injured for various reasons and agreed to the doctor to save their lives, but they could not choose how they would exist when they came back to life.
"Don't you feel guilty like this?" Victor whispered. "He would rather not ask you when he wakes up and sees himself like that."
"I'm not like you, I just think it's funny." The doctor put the horse's body on the operating table and marked where every blood vessel and nerve should correspond. "So I never call myself a doctor."
He paused, looked at Victor, and his voice was filled with uncontrollable excitement: "Watching a brand new creature being born in his hands is as happy as the creator."
Victor didn't speak, he stared silently at the Doctor, who clearly saw disapproval and harsh condemnation in his amber pupils.
The doctor smiled. Holding the forceps, he squatted down and touched Victor's head. He tilted his head and asked, "So what do you want to do? Watch him die? What's the difference between this and killing him? He So if you don't want to die, what right do you have to deprive him of his right to live?"
He sneered, stood up, and pointed to the place on the operating table specially prepared for Victor.
"Come and help."
Hearing the sound of the forceps colliding with each other, Victor finally jumped up.
Skin, flesh, bones, blood vessels, nerves, internal organs.
Everything was in front of Victor's eyes again. The last time he saw this on the operating table was ten years ago.
He is just a cat now and can't really help. He can only stand by and watch, while reminding the doctor who has never received systematic medical study that blood vessels cannot be sutured like this.
Of course, the doctor can't listen, and he has the ability, even if he has rough seams like sewing clothes, it will not break.
Victor saw his forehead twitching. If this was his student, he would have been kicked out of the classroom long ago.
The man on the operating table had fallen into an anesthesia coma, and the white horse's body was gradually stitched together with his. Victor recalled the many operations he had done. The patient was lying on his operating table, under the shadowless lamp, there was a life , someone died.
If only I had this ability, I wouldn't have put down the instruments so many times, walked out of the operating room, and shook my head sadly at the relatives who were waiting anxiously outside.
Victor didn't watch the doctor's operation. He stared at the patient's pale face and mutilated body. His nose was full of blood, and the long-lost question appeared again.
What is life
For the first time sitting in the bright classroom of Setonov College, the old professor with white hair and beard asked such a question to the young students in the audience.
Earlier, Victor first thought of this question when he was chopping wood with his father in the Siberian pine forest and seeing frozen birds in the snow.
What is life
He thought about it for 40 years. He listened to his daughter's first cry when he was born outside the delivery room, sent away his father who died unexpectedly, watched countless joys and sorrows, and finally ushered in his own death.
There has been no answer.
After that, he came to this post-death world. Whether as a senior surgeon with precision surgery, or a pilgrim with medical ability, Victor became the most popular type of people in the pure white world without any suspense. , In the face of the olive branch extended by countless teams, he chose an unremarkable team, which surprised people.
There was a German who wasn't very strict, a math teacher who couldn't help himself, and a cowardly kid who was only sixteen years old.
He put on a beak mask in Zone IX and became a plague doctor. With his ability and excellent professionalism, he saved many injured pilgrims in boxes. He was the most solid backing of the afternoon tea party team.
He was stopped at midnight in the palace corridor and turned into a cat, and he left the pure white world with Cui Zuojing and became a cat raised by a teenager who never grew up.
The cat's body was getting old, and the old body made it difficult for him to move and confused, until the boy hugged him and returned to the pure white world again.
He is alive again.
They have met new friends and found old friends, and they have always carried immortal dreams and longings in their hearts. He was shattered by Pan's palm at the Doll's House, and when he was about to die, he broke through the first seal and truly gained the power of "body".
But Victor never understood what life was all about.
It is said that only by walking on the edge of life and death can one realize the true meaning of life.
But still do not understand.
Victor gradually realizes that he may never find the answer, because not all questions have exact answers.
The eyes gradually blurred, and only the man's closed eyes remained. In the distraction before the anesthesia, there was still a desperate desire to live.
A faint purple light emerged from the white cat.
My mind suddenly returned to the summer of eighteen.
"Victor Vladimir Morozov." The old professor on the stage stared at the young man standing up in a hurry, looking at him with panicked violet pupils, and asked, "What do you think life is? ?"
The classmates who didn't know each other all stared at the unlucky bastard who was lit up on the first day of school, and waited quietly for his answer with a good-looking expression.
"I don't know, teacher." After a few hesitations, Victor heard his youthful voice piercing through time thirty-eight years later. Unlike the professor's standard Moscow accent, he seemed to hear the deepest Siberia in his pronunciation. The whistling of the wind and snow in the pine forest, and the whining of the frozen birds that he had buried in the snow.
"I haven't been able to answer such a deep question... but I don't think it can be defined."