Chapter 385 - 335: Mai Mingle: The Patient’s Meal

Chapter 385: Chapter 335: Mai Mingle: The Patient’s Meal

The treatment had been underway for a while.

Dr. Nate had gone in and out several times, fetching surgical and sterilizing tools, disposable supplies, and even wheeling a machine of unknown purpose into the exam room...

Mai Mingle sized him up, both openly and furtively, but she couldn’t see anything different about him.

’If something had really gone wrong, he couldn’t possibly be this calm, could he?’

She had no idea what she would see when the exam room door finally opened.

Mai Mingle wrung her hands together. When she heard footsteps approaching the door from inside, followed by the sound of it being pulled open—she squeezed her eyes shut.

Dr. Nate emerged, stood in the hallway, and called out to the three of them, "Hey, he’s awake."

The three of them were startled. None of them had expected Ivan to regain consciousness so quickly.

"He’s weak," Dr. Nate said, turning back into the room. Only his voice carried into the hallway. "You’d better get him a wheelchair, or you’ll have to carry him out."

Dr. Nate wasn’t joking. He wanted Ivan discharged immediately and wouldn’t let him stay a minute longer. The moment the man woke up, the doctor was already bustling about, ready to collect his fee and send them on their way.

Mai Mingle steadied her breathing, picked up the bag with the change of clothes, and entered the exam room while Dr. Nate went to get the wheelchair.

The thick, cloying stench of the sea was now mixed with the smells of disinfectant and medicine. The moment she stepped through the door, it was like a punch to the chest.

"...Ivan?" Standing by the bed, she resisted the urge to cover her nose and, barely daring to open her mouth, asked in a low voice.

The young man grunted groggily and managed to pry one eyelid halfway open.

Even though Dr. Nate had said he was awake, Mai Mingle couldn’t help but be startled—it was probably the same shock the first moviegoers in history felt when they saw people in pictures, who by all rights should have been still, suddenly move.

"You’re..." Ivan opened his bloodless, fleshy lips and rasped, "You saved me?"

"Can you get up?" Mai Mingle asked, chancing it. "Do you have any family? I can contact them for you."

"I... I can’t remember..."

Ivan’s eyes swiveled, his pupils looking as if they were steeped in jaundiced water as they slowly swam toward Mai Mingle. "My memory... it’s a complete blank..."

"It’s probably the traumatic shock impacting his brain," Dr. Nate’s voice said abruptly from the doorway. "This isn’t something I can treat. Take him home and let him rest up—"

As he spoke, Mai Mingle turned her head and saw him wheeling a wheelchair inside.

Dr. Nate lowered his head as he spoke, a shadow obscuring the top half of his face, leaving only his mouth visible. "...and see if he recovers."

That unplaceable sense of unease from before returned.

’What’s wrong with Dr. Nate’s mouth?’

She couldn’t just stand there lost in thought, so Mai Mingle made a mental note. Seeing Hai Luwei and Emily follow them in, the exam room suddenly felt overwhelmingly crowded, yet she quietly breathed a sigh of relief.

"You can come recuperate at my place for now," Mai Mingle said, signaling for Hai Luwei to help her get Ivan into the wheelchair. "Once you remember where you live and who your family is, I’ll take you home."

Ivan glanced at her. He was so weak his facial muscles had gone slack, and Mai Mingle couldn’t read his expression.

With a patient in a wheelchair, the group made their way downstairs, hailed a cab, and navigated with some difficulty through the increasingly busy streets of Blackmoor City, finally bringing Ivan back to Mai Mingle’s home.

She really didn’t know where to put a grown man like him. The storage room was too cluttered to be cleared out on short notice, so Mai Mingle had no choice but to settle him on the sofa.

The journey had taken its toll on the newly-awakened Ivan, and he soon fell unconscious again. She hadn’t even had the chance to ask if he wanted a drink of water.

"Whoa,"

Though it was just an ordinary old apartment, Hai Luwei acted as if he’d walked into an amusement park, craning his neck to look at her decor. "I remember seeing these when I was a kid! Oh man, this magazine went out of print ages ago, right? Whoa, from 1999... You know, I’ve never actually used a phone with an answering machine. I only ever saw my parents use one..."

"Have some boundaries," Emily chided him.

"We’ve been through life and death together. That’s different from you," Hai Luwei said, his face falling. "And didn’t you just go grab a chair from one of the rooms yourself?"

"That’s because I’m staying to help keep an eye on this guy," Emily said, jerking her chin toward Ivan on the sofa. "I’ll leave when he goes back to his own home."

Mai Mingle’s head was about to explode.

With three extra people, there was barely room to turn around. If Emily stayed too, Mai Mingle felt like she’d be the one moving out. She pleaded and cajoled, promised up and down, agreed to let Emily bring her weapons later, and even called a locksmith right then and there to add a lock to her bedroom door. Only then was Emily grudgingly satisfied.

"If anything happens, you call me immediately," Emily said, her expression stern. "I’ll have the weapons here within an hour. Be careful."

’...If I had children and grandchildren of my own, maybe this is what they’d be like, constantly worrying about me over every little thing.’

The moment Mai Mingle closed the door, she was suddenly struck by the feeling that she was an incredibly lucky person.

She had been alone for most of her life, like a weed slowly withering away in a dusty corner. But now, in the twilight of her years, she had not only seen the light again and been given a second chance at life, but she also had... ’Should I call them friends?’

’I don’t know. Friends don’t fuss over each other like they’re their own children, do they?’

With a heart full of gratitude, even the sight of Ivan became much more pleasant.

’Who knows? Maybe once he recovers, he’ll turn out to be a normal, healthy, and likable young man.’

Mai Mingle prepared water and medicine for him, then went to make lunch, preparing a separate bowl of chicken noodle soup for her patient. The stove hadn’t been lit in several years, but the gas, surprisingly, still worked. This was the first time since becoming a Hunter that she had fallen back into a daily routine.

An hour or two after Emily dropped off a large bag of assorted weapons—that girl really wasn’t afraid of getting stopped by the police—Ivan finally awoke from his deep sleep.

Mai Mingle was sitting in a rocking chair with a book open on her lap, but her mind had long since wandered. As she sat there, she started to feel a little uncomfortable. The right side of her face felt hot, as if ants were crawling on it.

She reached up and touched her face a few times, but there was nothing there.

To her right was the sofa where Ivan lay, fast asleep.

Mai Mingle turned her head and saw Ivan, eyes shut tight, completely still.

She didn’t move either, simply staring at him for a while.

Under her gaze, after an unknown amount of time, Ivan stirred slightly, let out a groan, and slowly opened his eyes.

Their eyes met.

"You’re awake?" Mai Mingle swallowed the words she had been about to say. "You remember me, right?"

Ivan seemed to try to smile, but his cheek muscles didn’t contract enough, making it look more like a twitch. "I remember... you saved me."

"Do you remember how or when you fell in the water?" she asked hopefully.

The Illusion Report had told her to help Ivan get back on the right track—’Surely that doesn’t mean I have to restore his memory too? God knows how long that would take.’

Sure enough, Ivan shook his head. "I don’t remember anything."

"I made you something to eat, I’ll go get it," Mai Mingle said, getting up. "There’s water on the table. Take your medicine after you eat."

"...Thank you,"

When she returned, Ivan had already sat up on the sofa, one arm in a sling. His eyes followed her hand as she set down the soup bowl, his gaze seemingly swimming right into the chicken broth. "I was just getting hungry."

Despite saying he was hungry, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to eat. He picked up the spoon, gave the soup a couple of stirs, then stopped, still sitting bolt upright.

"Are you not sitting comfortably?" Mai Mingle asked.

The sofa was almost the same height as the coffee table, so anyone eating there would have to hunch over. At first, she thought Ivan’s injuries were preventing him from bending down, but then she remembered his torso hadn’t been injured.

"No, it’s comfortable. I’m fine."

Ivan looked at the spoon hovering in mid-air, then down at the soup bowl on the coffee table. Finally, he looked at Mai Mingle.

"Then eat," Mai Mingle encouraged.

Ivan plunged the spoon into the soup, gripping its handle like the hilt of a dagger. He scooped up a spoonful as if he were digging up dirt. He remained bolt upright, forcing the spoon to travel in a long arc through the air to meet his mouth.

"Can you not bend your back?" Mai Mingle asked.

With his mouth half-open and the spoon paused before his face, Ivan glanced at her. "You don’t need to worry about me. I’m used to eating this way."

Mai Mingle coughed and turned back toward the rocking chair. It was only three or four steps away, but before she could even sit down, Ivan spoke from behind her. "I’m full."

Mai Mingle spun around.

For a split second, she thought she’d see an empty bowl—but of course, that was impossible.

It had only been a minute or two since she’d brought out the chicken soup. Of course, the bowl was still full.

"I don’t have much of an appetite. A few bites are enough," Ivan explained, his eyes fixed on her. "It’s probably because of my injuries."

Mai Mingle didn’t press him.

"Then take your medicine and rest. I’ll go tidy up the kitchen."

She carried the bowl of chicken noodle soup, which looked completely untouched, back to the kitchen, the wooden floorboards creaking under her feet.

The old-fashioned kitchen wasn’t an open-plan design; it had walls and a door. She deliberately left the door ajar, leaving a crack.

She turned on the tap, placed a pot in the sink with a thud, pulled open a drawer, tapped a fork against a bowl... Amidst the various noises, Mai Mingle quietly crept back to the door and glanced into the living room.

Ivan was still sitting bolt upright on the sofa, slowly opening his mouth.

Then closing it.

He felt his jaw muscle, seemed to think for a moment, then opened and closed his mouth again.

This time, the muscle in his cheek flexed.

Ivan seemed satisfied. He nodded and repeated the motion a few more times.

Mai Mingle froze for a few seconds. The hairs on her arms stood on end before her brain even understood what it was seeing—the chilling realization dawned a moment later.

’...Ivan was practicing how to chew.’