9 a.m.

205th failure.

Overall, the frequency of failures has slowed, indicating that each attempt takes longer, each time getting closer to success, yet more frustrating.

Twice he even exceeded 95 consecutive tries, only to be interrupted, so infuriated that he could almost vomit blood.

The last time Feng Mu was this angry was when the system activation task was forced to stop, and he killed the culprit Zheng Hang.

This time, he couldn't kill himself to vent, only getting angrier.

"Calm down, calm down, I'll definitely succeed today. The more anxious I get, the more likely I am to make mistakes. Let's take a break, calm the mood."

Feng Mu took several deep breaths, controlling his finger bones to return to their normal state, retracting them back into the fingertips.

Last night, while sculpting the finger bones, Feng Mu discovered that his bones seemed to have some memory function.

Deforming them into a shape repeatedly, the next time when reshaping them identically, it's almost automatic without much thought, somewhat akin to muscle memory.

For example,

Last night it took him nearly 4 hours to sculpt ten finger bones; today, it might only take half an hour to restore them to identical forms.

He went to the restroom, washed his face with cold water, sat down on the toilet, and flushed away the bad mood along with the waste.

With slightly hazy dark circles under his eyes, Feng Mu finished breakfast, left home, and headed to a black clinic two blocks away to buy some syringe needles.

The reason he went to a black clinic is because he is a Blank Person, requiring long queues at formal medical institutions.

Even if it's not for a consultation, just to buy some syringes, one must queue for at least a month and still might not be able to purchase them.

Wang Xiuli cut her finger while cooking last time, and buying gauze at the hospital required queuing for a month. Naturally, she couldn't buy any. By the time she could, the scar had healed; Feng Ju ended up bringing some home from the Patrol Office.

Medical items available at black clinics are relatively limited, priced at least three times higher, and the more one buys, the more expensive they become.

What's more outrageous is that these black clinics always operate smoothly. The lower-class people harshly criticize them yet sincerely wish they won't get shut down, and those in power repeatedly declare inspections on the news, but ultimately, it's all thunder without rain, ending with perfunctory fines.

The owner and doctor of the black clinic is Ge Qingming, in his fifties, bald, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and often looking at people with a sidelong glance.

Usually, inside the clinic, he wears a hospital-style white coat with a dirty collar, yet clean cuffs. With this outfit, although Feng Mu has only been there twice, he's quite impressed by Ge Qingming's peculiar aura.

On the clinic door, a cloth doll is hung with a red string, having only one eye, the other eye has a thread unraveling, its mouth wide open, with a long tongue sticking out.

"Hanging a strange cloth doll on the door, truly an eccentric doctor with odd taste."

Feng Mu internally scoffed, pushing the door open and entering.

He didn't notice that when his hair accidentally brushed against the cloth doll, the tongue of the doll moved slightly, as if blown by the wind.

"Doctor Ge, I'd like 5 syringes, do you have them?"

Two patients were receiving intravenous drip in the clinic, and Ge Qingming raised his eyelids slightly as Feng Mu approached with his inquiry.

Ge Qingming: "Do you want new ones or recycled ones? New ones are 150 each, second-hand ones are 50 each."

Feng Mu's face tightened, astonished at the price of the syringes. Such a basic syringe from his past life is sold at such a high price—and they are openly priced with second-hand goods, it's simply absurd.

Feng Mu pulled out his wallet, without bargaining: "New ones, 5 pieces, plus a bottle of antiseptic alcohol. How much?"

Ge Qingming took out the items Feng Mu wanted from the cupboard, piled them on the table, and pushed them over: "1000."

The exaggerated price explains why the most often cited saying among Blank People is: better meet Black Yama than White Death God.

Black Yama refers to the Night Watcher's black robe, seeing it means you've mutated into Calamity Corpses or have been possessed by evil spirits.

White Death God refers to the white lab coat.

Black Yama takes lives, but White Death God takes even more.

Feng Mu didn't want to waste words with Ge Qingming, he paid up and took his items, packed them into his shoulder bag, and left.

His previous backpack was burned with the ashes, and this cloth bag was issued to Feng Ju by the Patrol Office. Feng Ju found its capacity too small to hold anything, Feng Yuhuai found it ugly, so it ended up in Feng Mu's hands.

Two hours later.

A dozen or so patients had come and gone from the black clinic.

When lunchtime arrived, Ge Qingming cleared out the patients, walked to the entrance, raising a hand to pull the shutter halfway down.

Suddenly, his half-bent waist stiffened, his bald head bent back until it was folded at a 90-degree angle, reaching the back, with both slanted eyes staring straight at the dangling cloth doll.

"Hmm?"

The old voice was deep yet slightly crisp, like it came through the curved neck, or maybe it was the voice of the doll moving its tongue.

At the same time, Feng Mu took three bus transfers and got off at the street lined with martial arts halls.

It's akin to gyms clustering together in his past life; on Martial Arts Street there are nearly a dozen martial arts halls of various sizes.

No need for investigation, anyone with a trace of common sense knows that those who dare run martial arts halls here, and stay operating, are backed by genuine skills.

Of course, whether they pass on knowledge or whether you can learn it is another matter.

Feng Mu wasn't there to apprentice; he purely wanted to find a martial arts hall with lots of students, where he could occasionally spar with them, testing his fists and feet.

Win or lose, it doesn't matter. What's important is having a fixed place where he can frequently hone his combat skill packs.

Honestly, he doesn't know much about the martial arts halls in this world; his tight budget has kept him from ever stepping inside.

"???"

The Azure Dragon Martial Arts Hall curtly rejected Feng Mu at the door.

Can you imagine being turned away from a gym house for being too slender or having too high body fat?

You can't imagine it, but the Azure Dragon Martial Arts Hall rejected his application for not meeting their standards of Root Bone.

Feng Mu was undeterred; he went to several more martial arts halls in succession, all similarly turned him away, though some with contempt, others politely.

"These martial arts halls have thresholds; well, my apologies for aiming too high."

Grinding his teeth, Feng Mu turned around and headed towards the end of the street, stopping in front of the most dilapidated and sparsely populated martial arts hall.

Feng Mu still wasn't ready to give up. Filling the gaps in combat skills and accumulating pseudo-real combat experience is extremely important to him.

Looking up, he saw the slightly peeling plaque—Douqiong.

"Douqiong, such a melodramatic name. I'll give you a chance; hope you appreciate it." Feng Mu took a deep breath, entering full of momentum.

If this martial arts hall refuses him again, he'll have to figure out a way to forge a Root Bone assessment slip.

15 minutes later.

Feng Mu walked out holding an ordinary membership card, somewhat dazed.

Success.

They didn't ask about Root Bone; the attendants only recorded his basic information, and when noting he was an Incinerator Worker, a fleeting surprise flashed across their faces.

Beyond that, just collecting a 5000 ordinary annual fee and giving him a membership notice.

The ease was unbelievable, making Feng Mu reflect on whether he was being duped.

Human nature is to doubt when things are both too difficult and too easy.

Feng Mu glanced back at the plaque, then pocketed the membership card and left. Today was merely to get a card, relax, and reboot his mind.

"I'll have more free time in a couple of days to use Douqiong's experience packs; for now, let's head back—I'll definitely master [Crane Claw Skill] tonight!" Feng Mu thought to himself.

A one-hour bus ride back.

Returning to the neighborhood, the tail lights of the Upper City gradually extinguished, dimming the night sky halfway.

As he reached the staircase entrance, his phone vibrated in his pants pocket; Feng Mu paused, suddenly turned his head to notice a stealthy figure trailing him from a distance.

"Am I being followed?" Feng Mu pretended not to notice, turning his head back.

He continued up the stairs while swiping to check the message.

——Boss, it's been busy today, I haven't found a suitable chance to reply.

——Boss Zheng relies heavily on Bin's brain, yet seems somewhat wary of Bin. But for this recent investigation, Boss Zheng seems entirely trusting, letting Bin conduct it freely.

——Oh, and here's the new list marked by Bin.

It's not a photo but text editing, so it only contains a long string of name information separated by commas.

Dong Jia, Li Gan, Luo Ji, Xiang Shuren, Gong Yi, Feng Mu, Sun Xuan'ang, Jiang Erniu...

Feng Mu locked his phone screen blankly, sliding it back into his pants pocket, pulling open the light from the living room door, casting a long shadow in the corridor.

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