Polluted Jianghu: 新年少鹏

Yuexia laughs. "We'd get money and weibo followers, and when you get down to it, that's what's the most important. Ow." She clutches her stomach, face contorted in pain. "You know, this sucks a lot more than I imagined. Half of the time I'm bored, the other half I'm trying not to kill everyone in the building, and the other half we're getting beat. Wait, that's three halves. Anyway, the point is, this crime stuff is a lot less exciting than I thought. Do you even make enough money for this to be worth it?"

The answer was always yes. Despite everything. You would choose this life, stumbling around Jing Jin Ji with half your bones broken and no stable income. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Yuexia looks away.

"Sorry, did I say something?"

"You had a little weird smile on your face. Would be cute, if you weren't beat to hell."

"Oh shit, really?" A hand goes to your face. Man, that does remind you. You have no earthly clue what you actually look like.

Yuexia squints. "Is that a whiff of reactionary narcissism I see?"

You quash it. "No such thing."

The city is stirring to life. Dawn tinges the horizon a faint rose red. The sound of car horns echo in the distance. This might be a problem. More people means more bystanders. And more bystanders means… "Oh, dang." Your leg is bleeding again. Damned thing. You thought that the bindings would have worked. "Apparently my dad's taking an extra week for his thing." You rolled the bloody pant leg past your knee and set to retying the loose bandages again. "Oh well. At least I'll have the apartment to myself for another week. What about you? Anything going on in your life?" Yuexia looks up from her phone.

"Uh. Blood loss?"

Red stains your fingers. A familiar sight. Better get used to it, kid.

"Oh, right, the amnesia." She hits herself in the side of the head. "Forget it, then. Let's just wait."

Something shakes loose. A cough rattles your chest. "I think I was…" overseeing a transaction. There's a guy here, some Japanese. After you finish the business in Xi'an, take the product to him. Oh, shit. Motherfucker. Are you fucking your customer, for whatever drug triad you worked for? Your eyes slam open. "Did Oogami complain about something? Maybe not having enough produce?" There is a tinge of urgency in your voice, something Yuexia picks up on.

"I… think? He was mad about something, that's for sure. Complaining about the snakeheads, anyway."

Okay. You measure your breathing. There's a hundred drug smugglers in the underworld. Every two bit seperatist inevitably turn to manufacturing white powder to fund themselves. Every shithead boonie gang turns to heroin to numb the pain. By numbers alone it's not that likely you got shitfaced and snorted half of Oogami's next import. It could be for everyone, right? Right. "Is there something up?" A car rounds the street. It's painted eggshell blue. The name of the company peers out from years of scratches. The woman turns and looks at you, offering you a hand. You take it. She hauls you standing, using your staff as a cane.

"No." You shake your head. "No, it's nothing."

"Suit yourself." She's not convinced, but she opens the door for you anyway.

The driver takes one look at you. You take one look at him. He shuts up and drives. You like him.

It is still dark when the cab stops in front of Jingshan Street, in front of the only storefront that still has lights on- a meagre string of repurposed christmas lights framing a red S and F. The car speeds off as soon as Yuexia helped you off. "I can't believe it," she says, staring up at the screen playing a loop of a needle entering skin. That can't be a good advertisement. "An acupuncture clinic? They're all frauds."

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye. "What?" Yuexia stares back.

"Nothing." You hobble up the stairs. There's voices inside, a low murmur of conversation and the muted chatter of a late night stream. You slam the doorbell and a camera blinks on.

"Who's this?" a tinny voice asks.

"A customer. Open up."

"Password?"

Shit. You look at Yuexia. She shrugs. Okay, improvise. "I have money and a sucking leg wound," you try.

"Ha! Just messing with you."

The door swings open. A rush of warm air breezes past your face as- hey, that's Ouyang Meng, sipping from a mug of something steaming. Behind her you see a thinner figure, looking at you from a medical chair in front of a television. "Hey, you're that guy from Sunflower. Why do you still have bandages on? The swelling should be down by now."

Yuexia barges in front of you. "Apparently, it's like a fashion statement or something. Yuexia. Flay recommended us."

"Fuuuck. Luoluo can we ignore this?"

"No!" presumably Luoluo shouts, rising from the chair. "Get him in, what are you thinking?"

You are reminded that Ouyang Meng is probably not an actual doctor but some super poison assassin person when she lifts you bodily like a sack of potatoes and brings you into the clinic. And clinic is the right word. Past the waiting room there's an inner room that just exudes this sterile, disinfected air. Sheer white floors. Sheer white walls and sheer white shelves that has the smell of musty old traditional medicine shops all over. Meng slowly lowers you into the chair that Luoluo- no, Zhi Luolan, there's a name plate in front of the door- was sitting in.

"Looks pretty bad," Ouyang comments with a detached air, snapping on a pair of gloves. "Pretty heavy bleeding, but the knife missed the important vessels at least. I'm going to pack the wound with a biological substrate and sew it up."

"Is it going to stop me from moving?"

"Yep. Day, tops. Luo? Thanks." She pries open the wound with forceps, swabbing it down with a wad of disinfectant.

"Am I gonna get painkillers or what?" It burns, holy crap. You get stabbed with a needle in your upper thigh. Suddenly you don't feel anything down that point. "Wow, thanks."

"That doesn't sound very enthusiastic." The rattle of an IV stand. A thin needle in Zhi Luolan's hand, another on your veins. Measuring your pulse. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, gimmie a bit to stitch him up." Oh, wow. You squint at the knee. The wound is a little mouth closing around a mouthful of red jelly. Stitch by stitch it closes. "Alright, give it to 'im." There's a pinch from your elbow as the needle from the blood pack- wait.

"Is this universal?" you ask.

"Ye. They churn this shit out like crackers." Ouyang Meng stands up. "Now, let's talk price."

"Can't you do it for the proletariat?"

"The proletariat owes me at least a hundred. That blood pack is ten, the gel is fifty. The rest is for my labor."

Yuexia laughs at you. "She called your acupuncture clinic a fraud," you point at her. That shuts her up.

Zhi Luolan shrugs. "It is, you know. It's a front. I do try to do my best if someone actually has a problem but it's just there to…"

"Tax evasion!" Ouyang Meng sings, a clipboard in her hands. "Right. Price aside, you. Your body, in polite terms, is totally fucked."

"It's not that bad," Zhi offers.

"It's totally that bad. I'm the one with the degree here. Let me give my diagnosis, kay?" Zhi makes a florid gesture and smiles. "Okay. Your blood contains dangerously high levels of toxins. Did you down the entire pillbox I gave you? Yes? Thought so. On top of that, you've been in one high stress state or another. There's good odds of you dying of a cardiac arrest before the week is out, and also, your muscles are probably more made up of scar tissue than flesh."

"Scar tissue is flesh," you point out. "Got it. I'm near death or at least incapacitation. Is there good news?"

Zhi Luolan takes the stage, elbowing Ouyang Meng behind her. "The good news is that your meridians are clear. Tip top condition. As a matter of fact, you probably have more internal strength than…" she stops, puts a finger to her lips. "Let's say you're in the upper three. A bit lower than Dan Surname's strongest, maaaybe on the same level as Wu Manor's uppers?"

"Ha!" you shout out, jabbing a finger in Yuexia's face.

"W-well, that doesn't matter. You're all bluster and no muster!" she shoots back. "All you do is get beat up and last longer!"

"Doesn't matter. First boldness, second strength, third kung fu! I got the first two in spades."

"Alright, alright." Ouyang's back in the conversation, splitting the river of a burgeoning argument with her clipboard. "As I see it, if you want to be on your feet, you have two options. First, you take some pills I've been working on. Incredibly unsafe. Mostly made out of cinnabar. But it might rejuvenate your body. I'll also give you a purgative so you can barf out all the poison in your bloodstream."

"Or," the thinner woman sweeps in, "I can boost your internal energy. You'd have to breathe in a specific way all day tomorrow, but by the end of it you should be moooostly back to normal. Or, your poor heart might just give out. It's very cardio-intensive."

Your Daily Apple…
[]- Poison Me: Absolutely nothing wrong with taking the drugs.
[]- Dragon River: Maybe chemicals aren't the answer to everything?
[]- Why Not Two?: Gimmie both. Down the shady pills and have Zhi stab you until you feel better.