“Don’t call me ‘Auntie,’ call me ‘Sister.'” The female doctor walked out without looking back. “You seem quite mature for your age, which I appreciate. Just call me something nice a few times. Later, when you see your own back and feel devastated, I can comfort you a bit.”

Li Cu stumbled after the female doctor into the office. The pain in his back was quite uncomfortable.

There was no sofa in the office, only a bed. The female doctor gestured for him to sit, and he had no choice but to comply. At that moment, he noticed the doctor’s nameplate hanging on the coat rack.

Liang Wan.

“Sister Liang,” he asked casually, “What department are you in?”

“Why do you care?” Liang Wan replied with a strong Beijing accent, as she pulled a large envelope from the drawer and handed it to him. “Take your time pulling it out, but you can’t scream. No matter how strange it is, you have to endure it.”

Li Cu nodded, his heart suddenly racing. He thought, could it really be that exaggerated? Did he have a big poop or some kind of Crayon Shin-chan graffiti tattooed on his back?

Anyway, since he had the envelope in hand, he didn’t care about his demeanor anymore. He quickly opened it and reached inside, feeling a few thin sheets of paper. Pulling them out, he discovered several printed color photographs.

The moment he pulled them out, he caught a glimpse of the envelope’s header and realized it wasn’t from the hospital, which made him slow down his extraction.

However, even slowing down, when he saw the photos, Li Cu was still stunned. In that instant, he couldn’t believe that the back in the pictures was his own. But he didn’t scream; the images on the photos held his gaze tightly, and a chill crept up from his feet. He suddenly realized that there was a good reason Liang Wan didn’t want him to look immediately.

The photos were clearly taken at the scene; his back was covered in blood. The amount of blood was enough to make him feel nauseous. Being relatively thin, there was hardly any flesh on his back, making the wounds appear even more terrifying, as if the bones were visible.

But he knew the wounds weren’t that deep; if they were, he definitely wouldn’t be able to get up and walk now.

If he were to describe in detail, there were many aspects of the wounds that could be elaborated on, but Li Cu’s attention was quickly drawn to the shape formed by all the wounds. Everything else faded away.

At first glance, he saw that the wounds on his back formed the outline of a hand.

And not just any hand; this hand had seven fingers. Inside the hand’s outline, he saw countless tiny characters. He couldn’t recognize any of them because they were too small, and many of the strokes were very simple—definitely not Chinese characters.

It was unimaginable what that man had done to him after he lost consciousness, what kind of perversion could lead someone to carve so many tiny marks on his back.

“This person… is a pervert?” Li Cu murmured. “Damn it, why not just draw a picture of the Qingming Festival on my back?”

“No, he is definitely not,” Liang Wan looked at him with a hint of pity. “You don’t know who this person is, do you?”