I Am Your Natural Enemy

Wen Yan listened to the beeping on the phone, hung up satisfied.

The Scorching Sun Department naturally didn't care about an extra ten or twenty grand in monthly expenses; that small sum could even get Gauss Weil to come work, take up the banner of the hospice department, and make the Virtue City First Hospital's hospice ward get rave reviews.

And they could conveniently solve the employment problem for dozens of people in a whole department.

No matter how you looked at it, it was a solid win.

In that hospice department, Wen Yan could tell at a glance that a lot of people there were injured retirees, some even quite young.

Letting them work elsewhere definitely wouldn't be easy, and there weren't even that many desk jobs in the Scorching Sun Department anyway.

Plus, some of the desk jobs were actually pretty demanding; these people might not even handle it well.

Everyone here knew what was up; they all understood these folks had retired because of injuries from the Scorching Sun Department, so there wasn't much drama between them.

Letting people who've faced life and death work here also means they'd have an easier time understanding the feelings of terminal patients.

In the end, they'd all been through storms; everyone kind of knew the score and could get along just fine with Gauss, the so-called professional.

It's just, these guys are seriously ruthless.

Wen Yan thought it was Gauss treating the whole department to dinner—spending a couple thousand was understandable.

Turned out, it was just the few people who'd worked together these last few days who went.

They straight up blew through more than half a month of Gauss's salary—those rascals really didn't hold back.

Wen Yan never expected Gauss to pay him back for the money he lent, but spending five grand every two days, now that he really couldn't handle.

Anyway, he'd already spoken to the Minister, and the Minister had agreed, so whatever.

Back to work—he entered the office, and saw the director sitting on a stone bench downstairs, sunbathing. When he saw Wen Yan, the director happily waved.

"Hey, isn't this Wen Yan, the top gun from the Scorching Sun Department? What brings you to our little funeral home today?"

"Director, if I don't show up, you're not happy either! You just wish I'd hang around here every day and never leave, huh?"

The director was speechless—honestly, it was true.

He really wished Wen Yan never had to set foot here; whenever something happened that needed Wen Yan at the funeral home, it was never good. A single incident could blow through enough funds to pay Wen Yan's salary for a decade.

He'd actually rather Wen Yan didn't come by—let everything stay boring and uneventful, they'd just pay Wen Yan his usual salary every month and be done with it.

This was one of those rare points of agreement across the entire funeral home.

Even the employees hoped to see Wen Yan slacking off every day—at least it proved nothing was up and things were peaceful.

If Wen Yan was around all day and hadn't even found a spot to practice boxing, then everyone knew they had to stay alert.

Before, people used to check if Old Zhang was drinking that day.

If there was a bottle of liquor on Old Zhang's little office desk, it meant all was well that day; if not, everyone should take it easy.

But Old Zhang wasn't all that reliable—Wen Yan's signals were spot on.

Colleagues at the funeral home, seeing Wen Yan lazing around, sitting in the courtyard with the director, sipping tea and chatting, blatantly acting like he wasn't working, actually felt an odd sense of relief.

"Did Pei Tugou head out?"

"Yeah, he's out on a field job. That guy's really something—if he keeps working like this, his salary plus bonuses this month will be at least triple mine."

"And being capable is a bad thing?"

"Hell no! I wish all the staff were this capable—hardworking and reliable, with everyone making several times my pay. Of course, except for you."

Wen Yan rolled his eyes and fished a bag of tea leaves from his backpack, handing it to the director.

"I don't know tea, Director, but here, try this."

"Hey, you really splurged, huh?" The director didn't even pretend to be polite, just accepted it directly.

As Wen Yan was about to leave, the director called out again.

"Good timing you're here—when you head out later, swing by the hospital. There's a potential client who needs you to check in."

"Huh? Director, since when are you fighting business with those funeral shops?" Wen Yan was shocked.

"Nah, it's that someone in the hospital's already brain dead—basically gone.

Right now, only the machines are keeping his vital signs going.

He signed a body donation agreement while he was alive—said he wanted to donate his body.

And now his family has decided to let him go—today's the day.

By the rules, if he fits, he can donate.

And what he wrote himself was, he loved teaching people but wasn't any good and quick to anger, so he didn't want to ruin anyone's future.

If possible, after death, he wanted to be a cadaver teacher—at least he'd be much better at it than when he was alive.

So, someone needs to check if that's doable; if it works, of course we want to help fulfill his wish.

If it doesn't, then we'll bring him over here.

Since you're free anyway, I won't trouble anyone else."

"It's almost noon, will I have time?"

"No rush—the weather's cooling down, and the family picked an auspicious time, two thirty this afternoon. Just remember and go."

"Alright, got it. But don't expect me to spot anything—I'm really not qualified for this stuff."

"You just need to show up as our funeral home's representative."

Wen Yan agreed, and continued playing the loafer at work.

He dropped by the body processing department and gave Big Sister Ye a set of skin care cosmetics.