Chapter 16: Director Hao Thanks Your Ancestors Eighteen Generations

The doctors and nurses stood in formation, ready for anything, coaxing the leaders, Lin Fan and Old Man Zhang, as if they were children.

These two were regular customers at the mental hospital.

"We want this!" Lin Fan shouted.

"We must have it!" Old Man Zhang declared, head held high, as if afraid others wouldn't know he was also one of the leaders.

The doctors and nurses huddled together, whispering amongst themselves.

"What do they want?"

"Judging by that o—o, it's likely two eggs and a sausage."

"What about the other 0? What's that?"

"I think that 0 is thinner than the o. It must be a quail egg."

"So that's it! They want food!"

Working in a mental hospital had elevated the doctors' and nurses' thinking to a new level. Everything had to be considered in terms of food.

A senior doctor bravely stepped forward, raising his hands for silence. He took a sip of hot water from his thermos, cleared his throat, and said, "We've seen your demands and understand them."

"Rest assured, these can all be met. Each of you will get two cooked eggs, a sausage, and a quail egg."

The other mental patients wandering with Lin Fan and Old Man Zhang cheered.

"Eggs to eat!"

"Sausages to eat!"

"And quail eggs! But what are quail eggs?"

"You're so dumb! Quail eggs are eggs laid by quails."

"Oh, I see."

They had joined Lin Fan and Old Man Zhang's protest, demanding something.

Demanding what?

They didn't know. They didn't know what they needed.

Just following along was enough.

It was fun.

Now, the prospect of getting eggs, sausages, and quail eggs made them very happy.

"We don't want these!" Lin Fan shouted.

"We want this!" Old Man Zhang pointed at the writing on a piece of paper.

The senior doctor was confused. The first few characters on the paper, though crooked, were understandable. But the rest were difficult to decipher. He inquired carefully, "What do you want?"

Lin Fan and Old Man Zhang pointed at the paper. "We want this, this, just this!"

The doctors and nurses were on the verge of a breakdown.

This?

What exactly was "this"? Could they be more specific?

The senior doctor was experienced and skilled in communicating with mental patients. He was confident he could communicate with them without any barriers, smoothly and effectively.

This was the fruit of twenty years of medical practice.

A rich harvest.

Not something young people could learn. They needed time and experience.

"Okay, we can meet your needs, but what exactly are you talking about?" the senior doctor asked.

"This." Lin Fan and Old Man Zhang continued to point at the paper.

"What is this specific thing?"

"It's this."

"Can you be more clear?"

"It's this."

"More clear, please."

"It's this."

…

Gradually, the atmosphere grew quiet. The initially confident senior doctor slowly lost his smile. It wasn't because he was angry, but because he had overestimated his ability to communicate smoothly with mental patients.

Looking at the thermos in his hand, he felt the urge to smash it against his head.

Who am I?

Where am I?

I'm in a mental hospital!

A young nurse comforted him, "Uncle, it's not your fault."

Indeed, it wasn't anyone's fault. It was genuinely difficult to communicate. All they needed to do was clearly state what they wanted, yet they insisted on making it so complicated.

"The director is here."

Director Hao's arrival was undoubtedly a shot in the arm. Here, Director Hao was their faith. To them, there was no mental patient Director Hao couldn't communicate with.

At this moment, Director Hao, with his head full of white hair, walked over with a heavy heart. Seeing the expectant gazes of the doctors and nurses, he slowly straightened his posture, a faint smile appearing on his face.

He conveyed a kind of strength to them.

That strength was called composure.

"Director, Lin Fan and Old Man Zhang need what they've written down, but we don't know what they want. We've asked many times, but they won't say. They just keep saying 'this'," a doctor explained.

Director Hao nodded. "Let me handle this."

Then, Director Hao kept a certain distance from Lin Fan and the others. Although they seemed unarmed, close contact was potentially dangerous. No one knew what might happen.

"What do you want?" Director Hao asked.

"We want this." Lin Fan and Old Man Zhang pointed at the paper.

An ordinary person seeing this scene would definitely break down. Could they just say what they wanted directly? They just kept pointing at the paper, three words, two drawings.

We want o—o, 0.

Damn it.

Who the hell could understand that?

Anyone who could understand it wouldn't be praised for their intelligence. Instead, they'd be quietly assigned a special room in the mental hospital and invited in for a chat. If possible, they'd be given a test and a small certificate, marking a significant entry on their lifelong record of honors.

Director Hao glanced at the paper. "This won't do."

"We want this!" Lin Fan and Old Man Zhang said in unison. At this moment, they were on the same wavelength, united in their demand – they wanted "this."

The other mental patients trailing behind them, unaware of what they were asking for, also chanted, "We want this!"

Director Hao felt utterly exhausted.

His March 1st birthday was a farce. He hadn't properly enjoyed the joy of his birthday.

Thinking about his age…

Thinking about his workplace…

He wondered how many more birthdays he had left.

"Quiet, everyone, please be quiet."

Director Hao regretted his career choice all those years ago.

He had two options:

One was to be a prison warden.

The other was to be the director of a mental hospital.

He chose the mental hospital.

If he had chosen to be a prison warden, even in this situation, it would be easy to handle. He could call the guards, tell them to grab their batons, and… well, you get the picture.

But now…

These were vulnerable people.

How could he resort to violence?

To be honest, Director Hao was afraid. You never knew what a mental patient might do next. If you tried to suppress them with force, they might transform into Superman, turn on the gas stove, calmly light a cigarette, and perish with you.

Or they might grab a knife, cut themselves first to test its sharpness, and then come after you.

These things had happened in the history of mental illness.

True mental patients often hurt themselves before hurting others.

Because they, too, had a thirst for knowledge.

They wanted to know if it hurt.

Seeing the situation spiraling out of control, Director Hao decided to take a step back for the sake of peace.

"Fine, you can have it."

"Xiao Li, go get it for them." Director Hao just wanted to spend his March 1st birthday in peace, return to his office, eat a piece of cake, brew a cup of goji berry and date tea, listen to some music, and lament where all the time had gone…

Doctor Li was bewildered. "Director, get what?"

"The barbell and the sandbag." Director Hao was weary. With so many people in the mental hospital, only he could understand what the patients meant. How tiring it was.

Could anyone come and help him?

Director Hao thanked their ancestors eighteen generations.