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墨書 Inktalez
Before long, the nurse wheeled the patient out.
The girl, wrapped in bandages, breathed steadily; she had likely escaped life-threatening danger. However, she remained under anesthesia and had not yet regained consciousness.
I accompanied him as we took the patient to the intensive care unit.
This unit was specially designed for high-profile individuals, equipped with backup medical devices. Notably, the bed was fitted with secure straps to restrain the patient's limbs.
This was to prevent patients with mental illnesses or suicidal tendencies from harming themselves.
The nurse helped the girl onto the bed, hung an IV bag, and then left the room.
The Imperial Army pushed everyone out, taking a chair and sitting by the door. Anyone wishing to enter or exit had to gain his permission.
He seemed genuinely concerned about the patient's fate, and I was curious about his relationship with the girl.
But I was even more intrigued by what he mentioned regarding Ksitigarbha.
Could there really be someone in our hospital who would kill patients? It seemed unlikely.
Those who worked here were either monks or devoted nuns, all compassionate individuals.
How could such good people bear to harm a defenseless patient?
Moreover, Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva is known for traversing hell; if a murderer were to liken themselves to this figure, they must believe that our hospital, which also serves as a temple, is akin to the torturous Avici Hell.
It was unimaginable.
But perhaps a madman cannot be reasoned with.
If there truly is someone called "Ksitigarbha," and he intends to kill this girl, what methods would he employ?
First, he cannot use a method that would lead to death from severe injuries. Many patients are on the brink of life and death; with just a slight push, it is quite easy for them to slip into the realm of death.
However, this approach would be ineffective in this case. The injuries the girl sustained are all non-lethal. The burns and scalds on her skin, the fractures in her bones, while painful, do not pose a threat to her life.
A severed tongue, in modern medicine, is not considered a major issue. The killer would not be able to disguise the patient's death as a result of failed resuscitation.
Secondly, he cannot resort to medical malpractice.
The management system in hospitals is quite strict. A bottle of medication taken from the storeroom and brought to the ward, whether administered orally or injected, is monitored at every step by designated personnel, and each procedure requires signatures from those involved.
If that serial killer were to switch medications or inject toxins into saline solution, it would be discovered. Even if it went unnoticed initially, a subsequent review would reveal who should be held accountable.
I believe that since this person claims to be "Ksitigarbha," his intention is merely to assist patients in passing away, and he would not resort to methods that implicate others.
Thirdly, could he disguise the patient's death as a suicide? After all, the patient bit off her tongue and was sent to intensive care; there might be indications of suicidal tendencies. However, her limbs are restrained, rendering her unable to move.
I have observed closely; the girl does not even have nails on her fingers. It can be said that there is not a single hard object on her body that could be used for suicide.
It is impossible for her to commit suicide, and thus she cannot be made to appear as though she did.
Finally, if someone claiming to be "Ksitigarbha" wishes to approach the girl, they must go through that man known as "Imperial Army."
I do not believe that "Imperial Army" is an easy target to deceive.
Compared to the demons and gods, I find the "Imperial Army" even more terrifying — this is also the reason I have been hesitant to ask questions.
I stood at the door of the intensive care unit, my heart filled with indecision, unsure whether to knock and enter or simply walk away.
At that moment, I heard someone from inside speaking.
"You won't die; we will save you." He seemed to be comforting the girl, yet it felt like he was emphasizing a certain determination. "You won't be able to speak anymore. It's alright; there are other ways to express yourself. We have plenty of time."
Suddenly, his tone became urgent as a sharp ringing sound pierced through the room.
It was the emergency alarm, indicating a change in her condition that required immediate attention.
The "Imperial Army" yanked the door open and, upon seeing me still standing there, shouted, "What are you standing there for? Hurry and get a doctor!"
I peeked past him at the patient; the girl's eyes were tightly shut, but her expression was peaceful.
"She doesn't seem to have any symptoms," I remarked.
The "Imperial Army" cursed under his breath in frustration and replied, "Look at how she's biting her lower lip; that's her unique expression of pain. This action only occurs when she's in great distress. I know it well."
Is he really such a meticulous man? How does he even know this girl's subtle signs of suffering?
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