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墨書 Inktalez
I studied medicine in college, and during my first dissection class, the subject was a female cadaver who was less than zero years old (later I learned from senior students that due to the current shortage of cadavers, we usually used aged ones). She had long limbs and a curvy figure, and she was quite pretty. Most importantly, she was not wearing any clothes... This sight made all the boys' blood rush, and they scrambled to be the second assistant to the teacher.
The first assistant is traditionally the class leader, and their job is demanding; they must maintain intense focus. At a gesture or glance from the teacher, they need to pass the required tools without any spare energy to look elsewhere. In contrast, the second assistant has a much easier role, only needing to lend a hand when the first assistant is overwhelmed, essentially providing the best vantage point for observation.
While everyone else was clamoring to get involved, I managed to appear relatively calm, which caught the teacher's eye, and I was chosen as the second assistant. Later, the class leader asked if I was pretending to be uninterested to attract the teacher's attention. I genuinely wasn't; I think I had zoned out thinking about something else.
In any case, this "privilege" that all the boys in class desperately wanted ended up falling into my lap by chance. It was my first time seeing an adult woman's naked body; it would be a lie to say I wasn't excited. However, knowing it was a cold corpse made it feel wrong to think further. So throughout the dissection process, I managed to keep my composure until something strange happened at the end.
According to protocol, the first suturing should be demonstrated by the instructor. However, when we reached the abdominal suturing stage, the teacher suddenly instructed me and the class leader to complete it together. For us medical students, this was basic skill; as long as we followed the steps carefully, it shouldn't be difficult. But since we had only practiced theory until now, facing a real situation made me a bit anxious.
I still remember what the teacher said at that moment: "Come on, you have to take your first step sooner or later. If you can't even handle a corpse now, how will you save lives in the future? Not just strangers but also your loved ones!"
The class leader moved first. I couldn't appear hesitant in front of her, so I picked up the surgical needle. Just as my needle was about to pierce through and prepare for suturing, suddenly, the stomach of the female corpse twitched.
The twitch itself wasn't strong; if everyone hadn't been focused on what was happening beneath our surgical needle, we probably wouldn't have noticed it at all. But once it was seen, it became a big deal—everyone's faces turned pale as cold sweat dripped down their foreheads. Their eyes were glued to that twitching stomach; the entire dissection room fell into an eerie silence where even drops of sweat hitting the floor could be heard clearly.
I wanted to pull my hand away from her abdomen, but no matter how hard I tried or how much I commanded myself mentally, those pale hands in plastic gloves felt like they weren't mine at all—they remained frozen in place and unresponsive.
Time ticked by endlessly until finally one girl reacted and started screaming before bolting out of the classroom. Within five seconds, everyone had fled.
I felt like a surgeon in the middle of an operation facing an unexpected crisis; I still held onto that surgical needle while the wound remained partially open. The sense of duty and responsibility as a doctor compelled me to stand there like a nail and continue with my surgery.
This is what the class monitor told me later. At that time, I was shining, like a Nightingale. Upon hearing this, I felt a wave of guilt wash over me because I was indeed stunned and terrified; otherwise, I would have run away long ago.
At that moment, only the teacher, the class monitor, and I remained in the classroom. The teacher was on the phone notifying the grade director and the Security Department while instructing us not to move and to maintain the scene as it was.
I remember very clearly that when the class monitor and I each inserted our needles from the top and bottom of the incision, everything happened so quickly that neither of us had time to pull back. Our bodies were still bent over in the position we had taken while suturing. This meant we were just a hair's breadth away from that fresh, pulsating stomach.
The lethal force of such close, unprotected contact was overwhelming. Even I, who had grown up listening to my master tell stories about the Ox Demon and Snake God, couldn't handle it; let alone the class monitor, who was just an ordinary girl.
Just as the teacher was calling the Security Department, the class monitor's hand, which was gripping the Holding Needle Holder, suddenly trembled. With a sharp sound, the Surgical Needle pierced into the stomach, splattering a few drops of foul-smelling fluid onto my face. The class monitor let out a high-pitched scream and released her grip; her body recoiled like a tightly wound spring and crashed backward onto a desk, sending medical instruments clattering to the floor. "It's... it's... it's a snake..."
A chill ran down my spine at her words, and my hair stood on end as images of staring into Ditouqing's eyes flashed before me. My knees buckled, and I felt myself wanting to collapse. At that moment, the teacher grabbed the class monitor's discarded Holding Needle Holder and pulled it out. A foul substance mixed with black blood oozed from a thumb-sized crack, smelling so terrible it made me want to vomit.
In my daze, I vaguely heard the teacher say, "... scissors."
My mind was already in a fog; I had no idea what I was doing but somehow found myself handing over a pair of scissors. Following that crack, the scissors quickly opened up a larger gash. Then I passed over a Tweezer and a Tray. I watched as the Tweezer pinched something inside the stomach twice before quickly pulling out a writhing Red Tongue about six centimeters long, which landed with a thud on the tray.
After this incident, I couldn't eat a single bite for three days; every time I tried to eat, I would throw up—even drinking water made me feel nauseous.
Later, I heard from someone in the Security Department that this woman had been a murderer. While kissing her boyfriend, she had somehow bitten off his tongue at its root before committing suicide by cutting her wrist. This event left an enormous shadow on my young mind; even now, I've never kissed a girl.
But that's straying off-topic; let's get back to what matters.
At that time, when Old Qiao pulled out that thing from his hand, it triggered memories of my school experience. However, what Old Qiao held was much thicker and larger; just the tip of it was as thick as a utility pole—definitely not human tissue.
There were still some black, suction cup-like things on the tip of the tongue, oozing out slime. I couldn't help it; as I watched, I suddenly vomited. A Li was equally disgusted and yelled at Old Qiao, "What are you grabbing it for? Let go!"
Old Qiao replied anxiously, "A Li, it's not me grabbing it; it's grabbing me!" He leaned to one side, and with a loud thud, his shoulder slammed against the wall as his entire arm was pulled in by that tongue.
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