Chapter 30: Peering and Pursuit

9:00 AM.
The 205th failure.
Overall, the rate of failure has slowed down, which means each attempt is taking longer, and I am getting closer to success each time. That makes it even more infuriating.
There were two instances where I exceeded 95 consecutive repetitions only to have it break; I was so angry I could have vomited blood.
The last time Feng Mu was this angry was when his system activation mission was forcibly interrupted, leading him to kill the culprit, Zheng Hang.
This time, he couldn't kill himself to vent his frustration, which only added to his rage.
"Calm down, calm down. I will definitely succeed today. The more anxious I am, the easier it is to make mistakes. Take a moment to steady your mood."
Feng Mu took several deep breaths, forcing his finger bones to return to their original state and retracting them into his fingertips.
While carving his finger bones last night, Feng Mu discovered that his bones seemed to possess a form of memory.
Once he deformed and molded them into a specific shape enough times, he no longer needed to consciously think about it the next time he wanted to recreate that same shape. It was somewhat akin to muscle memory.
For example, it took him nearly four hours to carve his ten finger bones last night, but today, he could likely restore them to the exact same state in just half an hour.
He went to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water, then sat on the toilet, trying to flush his bad mood away along with his waste.
With bleary, dark-rimmed eyes, Feng Mu finished breakfast and headed out to a black-market clinic two streets away to buy some injection needles.
He went to the underground clinic because he was a "Blank Citizen," and going to a legitimate medical institution would require waiting in a long line.
Even if it wasn't for a consultation—just to buy syringes—one would have to wait at least a month, and even then, there was no guarantee of securing any.
Last time Wang Xiuli cut her finger while cooking, she had to wait a month just to buy gauze at the hospital. Of course, she didn't end up buying it; by the time it was her turn, the wound had already healed. In the end, Feng Ju brought some home from the precinct.
The medical supplies available at the black-market clinic were relatively limited, and the prices were at least triple the standard rate, increasing with the quantity purchased.
What was even more absurd was that the clinic had always operated successfully. While the people at the bottom might curse it, they didn't actually want it shut down. As for those above, despite their repeated pronouncements in the news about cracking down, it was always all thunder and no rain, ending in a perfunctory fine.
The owner and physician of the clinic was named Ge Qingming—a man in his fifties, bald, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and fond of looking at people with a slanted gaze.
He always wore a hospital-style white coat in the clinic; the collar was filthy, yet the cuffs were spotless. Given his overall appearance, even though Feng Mu had only been there twice, he had a deep impression of his incongruous aura.
A rag doll hung from the clinic door with a red string. It had only one eye; the other had come unstitched, and its mouth was split open, revealing a long tongue sticking out.
"Hanging a weird rag doll on the door—truly a weird physician with a weird aesthetic," Feng Mu muttered to himself before pushing the door open and walking in.
He didn't notice that the moment his hair brushed against the rag doll, the tongue sticking out of it twitched, as if caught by a breeze.
"Dr. Ge, I want five syringes. Do you have any?"
There were two patients receiving intravenous drips in the clinic. Ge Qingming was sitting at his desk; he lifted his eyelids slightly when he heard Feng Mu approach.
Ge Qingming replied, "Do you want new ones or recycled ones? New ones are 150 each, second-hand are 50 each."

Feng Mu’s face twitched at the price of the syringes. To think that the kind of syringe he knew from his past life could sell for so much—and that they even openly sold used ones—was simply outrageous.
Feng Mu took out his wallet without haggling: "Five new ones, plus a bottle of disinfectant alcohol. How much?"
Ge Qingming pulled the items from a cabinet, piled them on the desk, and pushed them forward: "1,000."
Such an exorbitant price. No wonder the most common saying among Blank Citizens was: "Better to meet the Black Yama than the White Reaper."
The "Black Yama" referred to the black robes of the Night Watchmen; seeing those robes meant you had either mutated into a Calamity Corpse or had been tainted by an evil spirit.
The "White Reaper" referred to the white coat.
The Black Yama takes your life, but the White Reaper takes even more.
Feng Mu didn't want to waste words with Ge Qingming. He paid, took the goods, stowed them in his shoulder bag, and left.
His previous backpack had been burned along with the ashes; this cloth bag was one issued to Feng Ju by the precinct. Feng Ju thought it was too small to hold anything, and Feng Yuhuai thought it was ugly, so it had ended up with him.
Two hours later.
A dozen or so patients had come and gone from the black-market clinic.
When it was time for the lunch break, Ge Qingming cleared out the patients, walked to the door, and pulled the rolling shutter down halfway.
Suddenly, his body, bent halfway, froze. His bald head tilted back until his neck bent at a 90-degree angle, his occiput touching his back, allowing his slanted eyes to stare directly at the hanging rag doll.
"Eh?"
The voice was old, deep, yet slightly shrill, as if it were emanating from the bowed, arched neck of an old man, or perhaps the doll-like voice of the rag doll flicking its tongue.
At the same time, Feng Mu had taken three buses and arrived at Martial Arts Street.
Just as gyms tended to cluster together in his past life, there were over a dozen martial arts schools, large and small, stationed along this street.
No investigation was needed; anyone with a brain knew that those who dared to open a martial arts school here and manage to stay in business must have some real skills under their belts.
Of course, whether they would teach you and whether you could actually learn were different matters.
Feng Mu hadn't come to apprentice; he simply wanted to find a school with plenty of students so he could spar with them in his spare time and test his combat skills.
Winning or losing didn't matter; what mattered was having a fixed location where he could frequently grind for combat experience.
To be honest, he didn't know much about the martial arts schools in this world; due to a lack of funds, he had never stepped foot in one.
"???"
Feng Mu, rejected by the Canglong Martial Arts School, felt a vein throb in his forehead.
Can you imagine going to a gym to sign up for a membership only to be turned away because you're too skinny or your body fat is too high?
You couldn't imagine it, but the Canglong Martial Arts School had rejected his membership request on the grounds that his "root bone" quality wasn't up to standard.
Feng Mu refused to believe it. He tried several more schools, only to be turned away by every single one—some with contempt, others with politeness.
"To think that even mere martial arts schools would set up such barriers. Fine, I suppose I’m not worthy of your greatness."

Feng Mu gritted his teeth, turned around, and walked toward the end of the street, stopping in front of a school with the oldest decor and the sparsest, most desolate crowd inside.
Feng Mu was still unwilling to give up. Compensating for his combat weaknesses and accumulating "pseudo-real" combat experience was vital for him.
He looked up at the paint-chipped plaque—"Douqiong."
"Douqiong, is it? The name is quite 'chuunibyou.' I'll give you a chance; I hope you don't refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit." Feng Mu took a deep breath and walked in with full momentum.
If this school didn't take him, he would have to find a way to forge a root bone examination report.
Fifteen minutes later.
Feng Mu walked out, clutching a generic membership card, his expression somewhat dazed.
It was done.
They hadn't even asked about his root bones. The staff member who processed the card simply registered his basic information, showing a fleeting moment of surprise when noting he was a cremator.
Other than that, they took the 5,000-yuan annual membership fee and gave him a membership information pamphlet.
It was so smoothly unbelievable that Feng Mu had to reflect on whether he had been scammed.
People really are fickle; things are either too hard or too easy, and either way, they start to doubt.
Feng Mu looked back at the plaque once more before putting the card away and leaving. He had only come out today to get a card and, incidentally, to clear his head.
"I'll come back in a couple of days to grind for experience at Douqiong. For now, I'll head back. Tonight, I will definitely master [Crane Claw Technique]!" Feng Mu thought to himself.
The return trip by bus took an hour.
When he reached his residential complex, some of the lights in the Upper City were already dimming, and the night sky had faded by half.
As he reached the stairwell, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Feng Mu paused, suddenly turning his head to look back, discovering a sneaky figure following him from a distance.
"Am I being followed?" Feng Mu pretended not to notice and turned his head back.
He scrolled through his messages as he walked up the stairs.
—Boss, I've been a bit busy today and haven't found a suitable opportunity to reply.
—Boss Zheng relies heavily on Brother Bin's brain, but he also seems a bit wary of him. However, regarding this latest investigation, Boss Zheng seems to trust Brother Bin completely and has given him free rein.
—By the way, here is the new list Brother Bin has finalized.
It wasn't a photo, but text, so it was just a long string of names separated by commas.
Dong Jia, Li Gan, Luo Ji, Xiang Shuren, Gong Yi, Feng Mu, Sun Xuan'ang, Jiang Erniu...
Feng Mu turned off his phone screen without expression, put it back in his pocket, and the light spilling from the living room door cast a long, slanted shadow down the hallway.