Chapter 64 Preface, 'People do not fear death, so why should they be frightened by it?'
Time: August 1, 2003, Weather: Overcast Summer Pre-note: ['Hell on Earth']
The place was filled with the smell of disinfectant. Everyone was wearing masks and clothes that had not been washed in who knows how many days, standing uncomfortably in the aisle.
There was no loud noise or commotion here.
Although there were dozens of people in the corridor, it was surprisingly quiet. Only the sound of footsteps could slightly dispel the biting chill in people's hearts.
It is heaven and hell.
My name is Song Si, and I am sitting on a public chair in the hospital.
Around him were a few middle-aged men who looked uneasy.
I know, they are just like me.
How is it the same? It’s the same as waiting to die.
I have worked as a miner and an electrician, but no matter where I am, I am like a blade of grass.
I am like a blade of grass on the roadside. No one will care about me. If I become an eyesore or hinder the growth of crops, then I will be cut down.
However, I can't delay the growth of crops.
Because the grass is yellow and the leaves are withered.
If someone had noticed it earlier and treated it slightly, my grass might have survived, but it is no longer viable now. The disease has deep roots in the soil.
Who cares about a dead grass on the roadside? The farmer's wife carefully takes care of the crops that can produce food and bring harvest, not the grass that serves as fertilizer for the land.
The people next to me are also grass, just like me, withered and yellow weeds.
"This shouldn't happen. How could the money be gone so quickly? I just paid it this morning. How could it be so fast?"
A man said this, holding the payment notice in his hand and muttering to himself.
He was sick, leukemia, but it was incurable. He knew that his final outcome would be death, so he chose to leave money for his daughter's medical treatment.
I know him, he is the president of the mutual aid association.
A mutual aid society is a place where a group of patients help each other.
But it's nothing more than a consolation, just to give myself psychological comfort.
No one in this world can guarantee that a disease of this severity can be cured.
Even if there is a place to cure it, it is not something that a blade of grass can enjoy.
Only wheat, sorghum and rice will do.
I understand this, but I don't understand why I can't get what I deserve. "What does the court say?"
A sick man spoke to another sick man.
"The trial hasn't started yet. It won't start until two months later. What about you?"
"I'm still fighting the lawsuit. Their lawyers are very good, but the public interest lawyers said there's nothing they can do."
Another sick man spoke with a look of despair on his face.
I know that his name is Sun Lai. He has no other ideas. He, like me and everyone else, wants to get back what he deserves, such as some money.
He had advanced lung cancer, which had been delayed from the middle stage to the late stage. During this period, he had been asking the factory for money, but had received no response.
He said that he reached the point of death because of the toxic gases in the factory and it was a work-related injury.
The factory said that it was caused by his own smoking and poor lifestyle, and the factory was willing to provide humanitarian aid.
Five hundred dollars in humanitarian aid.
It was then that I realized that humanitarianism was so cheap.
There was a leukemia patient there, also a factory worker. He said the disease was caused by a gas leak in the factory and applied for work injury compensation. He didn't tell me the result.
But I know that this is how the world is.
You won’t get what you deserve, but what you don’t deserve will always come to you.
"Why?"
Suddenly, someone uttered three words.
I looked around to see who had asked the question, but couldn't find anyone, and then I realized it was me who had asked the question.
No one answered.
My mind was clear, but my eyes were red. I thought I was rational, but my eyes were red. I thought I was unprecedentedly calm, but I felt a obsession sprouting in my heart.
I asked again.
“Why?!”
Still no one answered, and their eyes turned red, not knowing why.
But this time, I have an answer.
Protests, formal channels, grovelling, these are the channels for the common man.
I am not an ordinary person.
How can a blade of grass get through the path of an ordinary person? Of course, what restrictions do the rules that bind people have on grass? So. I have to change my path.
This is a chemical factory, a very profitable one that earns thousands of dollars a day.
The workers work ten times harder, and the factory gets ten times the profit, but only needs to give them less than 10%.
The boss here is Zhou Dapeng.
"Brother Peng, what should we do with those people?"
"Who are they? Those sickly people?"
"Yes, according to regulations, the factory should provide hundreds of thousands of yuan in work injury compensation."
"Hundreds of thousands of dollars, and they can be cured?"
Zhou Dapeng asked back, with a look of dissatisfaction on his face.
The person next to him paused, thought about it for a moment, and then shook his head.
“It can’t be cured.”
Please...collect 6_9_book_bar (Six//Nine//Book//bar)
“Is this unbelievable?!”
"If the disease can't be cured, why give money? Is it charity?"
Zhou Dapeng smiled, with a hint of contempt in his eyes.
"Why give them money if they can't cure you? They are just a bunch of common people. Isn't it a waste to waste hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars on a bunch of dead people?"
"We are saving energy, freeing up medicine for hospitals, and making a contribution to society!"
“They should thank us!”
Zhou Dapeng said truthfully and took a sip of tea.
This is what he thinks is the way to make money.
It's called saving money and increasing revenue, saving unnecessary expenses.
He felt that it was a waste to give hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars to a group of dead people. On the contrary, he could make more profit by using the money to buy materials himself.
This is a good deal.
As for human lives, are they considered human beings? "What about the court?"
The man asked hesitantly again.
"What if they sue us?"
"Sue? Sue me."
Zhou Dapeng was full of disdain, "What a bunch of damn sick people, even my dog lives better than them, what can they do?"
"Just file a lawsuit. If you wait for two months and are too sick to get out of bed, who will appear in court?"
"If I delay it for three to five years and die of illness, will anyone sue me?!"
The man paused, not expecting a rebuttal.
After a long while, he said:
"What about the sewage discharge? Brother Peng, aren't you afraid that the court will sentence you?"
Zhou Dapeng waved his hand nonchalantly.
"The fine is only a few dollars, twenty thousand? I can make it back in two days!"
"You guys, you have to know that human life is worthless!"
Zhou Dapeng said so.
What kind of waves could a bunch of insignificant people cause? At most, he would just return the money to them, and he could even earn a lot of interest.
Even so, they are actually happy after getting what they deserve, and they even feel like they have won, not knowing that this is what they deserve.
Zhou Dapeng thought complacently.
October 4, 2003.
afternoon.
Six people broke into Zhou Dapeng's house. Zhou Dapeng opened his eyes in horror and saw six devils.
The devil was hideous and terrifying, looking nothing like a human, like a bloodthirsty beast.
Scarlet eyes stared at him.
"I was wrong, I was wrong, don't kill me, I will give you whatever you want, money, I know you are short of money, I have money, I will give you money"
“I don’t want any money.”
The six devils had ferocious faces and held their butcher knives high in their hands.
“I want you dead!!!”
('Hell on Earth Case') (Case closed!)
(End of this chapter)