Chapter 9

The car started moving.

Through the rearview mirror, I watched the police station gate grow smaller and more distant, finally becoming a point of light that disappeared into the night.

Outside the window, this city's thousands of lights were like a silent river.

I sent no messages. I made no calls.

Not because I feared they'd ask me to stay, but because I knew too clearly—no one would ask me to stay anyway.

So be it. From today on, Zachary Spencer had no more weaknesses.

After flying back to New York, I checked into the best hospital.

No information leaked out.

My grandfather's people cleared the entire floor. Even the nurses had to sign confidentiality agreements before being allowed in.

It wasn't the Spencer family being ostentatious—I just didn't want anyone to know where I was.

Especially not the Coles.

Top dermatology experts came to consult on my case, making sure not a single scar would remain on my body.

It wasn't about vanity or saving face.

It was because even the slightest trace proving Frost's existence made me feel sick.

The expert team conducted three consultations. Each time they took dozens of photos and used instruments to scan every inch of burned skin.

Professor Smith, who led the team, was a national authority in burn treatment. After examining my wounds, he frowned for a long time before finally saying:

"Mr. Spencer, your burns weren't treated promptly enough at the time. Some areas have already formed scar tissue. To remove them completely will require at least three laser surgeries."

I said, "Do it. I'll pay whatever it costs."

Professor Smith nodded, then hesitated and asked, "These scars... how did you get them?"

I didn't answer.

He probably read something in my expression and didn't press further.

On the third day of hospitalization, I underwent a comprehensive physical examination.

When the results came out, the attending physician called me to his office with a grave expression.

"Mr. Spencer, your current physical condition isn't very optimistic."

"You're down to one kidney, and that kidney's function indicators have been steadily declining. If we don't find a suitable kidney source soon, within three to five years, you'll likely need long-term dialysis."

I sat in the consultation room, looking at the kidney anatomy diagram on the wall, and suddenly felt like laughing.

I gave my daughter a kidney, and now even my remaining one was failing.

The doctor continued, "The good news is we've registered you in the national organ donation system."

"With Mr. Spencer Senior's network, we could find a matching kidney source within three months at the fastest. However..."

He paused, looking at me.

"However what?"

"However, you need to prepare yourself mentally. After kidney transplant surgery, you'll need to take anti-rejection drugs for life. You can't overwork yourself, can't exercise strenuously, and your immune system will be much weaker than a normal person's."

"Moreover, a second kidney transplant carries much higher risks than the first."

I was silent for a long time.

The sunlight outside was beautiful, shining on the white sheets, so bright it hurt the eyes.

I remembered three years ago, lying on the operating table at another hospital. Before the anesthesia was administered, I looked at Frost one last time.

She stood outside the operating room with no expression on her face.

Before the operating room doors closed, I wanted to say something to her, but the anesthesia had already kicked in. My mouth wouldn't open.

When I woke up, there was a four-inch scar on my side and one less kidney in my body.

Frost sat by the bed. When she saw me wake up, the first thing she said was, "The surgery was quite successful. Emma is in the ICU for observation now."

No "does it hurt." No "thank you."

As if I'd just gone to donate blood—perfectly natural.

"Mr. Spencer?" The doctor called me.

I came back to myself and nodded. "I understand. Schedule the surgery as soon as possible."

As I walked out of the consultation room, I stood in the hallway for a long time.

My phone rang. It was a message from my grandfather:

"Rest up properly. Don't think about useless things. The Spencer bloodline doesn't fall down so easily."

Looking at that message, my nose suddenly stung.

Right. We don't fall down so easily.

I'd already fallen once. I wouldn't fall a second time.

The doctor also said my current physical condition was too poor. Surviving on just one kidney, there would come a day when it exceeded its capacity.

But fortunately, I waited less than three months before finding a suitable kidney source.

The day I came out of the operating room, the old man had been waiting in my hospital room for half a day.

As soon as he saw me, his face darkened.

"Do you know what you did wrong?"