Chapter 1

Let me give you all some advice: Don’t donate blood on a whim. Don’t donate blood on a whim. Don’t donate blood on a whim!

Because I donated blood, I became a “walking blood bank.” And my friend… vanished from the world entirely.

During the lockdown, when we all had to wear masks, I lost my job and my relationship fell apart. My life couldn’t have been gloomier.

The moment the small town finally lifted its lockdown, I rushed around looking for work. On my way to an interview, I picked up a flyer offering payment for blood donations:

“Paid blood donation services. Donors must be in good health and have no history of infectious or hereditary disease…”

Short on cash, I decided to see what it was about and went to the donation station.

As soon as I arrived, I wanted to turn around and leave.

The station was in a remote suburb, tucked away in a desolate spot. It was obviously no respectable place to donate blood. The gate was rusted, and the air carried the faint smell of cheap disinfectant. Outside, they kept a huge black dog chained up with a thick iron chain. Its coat was filthy, and it looked vicious.

I couldn’t understand why the staff would keep such a dangerous dog.

The doctor in charge of drawing blood, a man surnamed Yang in his forties, had a blank expression. He led the dog away and listlessly ushered me into the collection room.

When he saw my test results, he stopped short. His voice grew excited.

“You’re Rh-negative? Could I get your phone number? We may be able to work together again.”

I was a little surprised and asked what Rh-negative meant.

Dr. Yang licked his lips with excitement. He said this blood type was also called “panda blood” and was quite rare. He insisted that I leave my number, then handed me a thousand yuan as payment for my first donation.

I’d never imagined my blood could be worth that much. For a few bills bearing Chairman Mao’s face, I happily gave him my contact details.

Finding a job these days was just too hard.

I’d sent out countless résumés, but none got a response. Two weeks later, I’d spent all the money in my pocket. Just as I was worrying about what to do, I received a call from an unfamiliar number.

“Is this Meng Qun? This is Dr. Yang, the one who drew your blood last time.”

I was startled. “What do you need?”

“I’ve just taken on a patient whose blood type is compatible with yours. Could you come in again? I can pay you double this time.”

I badly needed the money. Without thinking it over, I hopped on my electric scooter and headed straight for the station.

When I got there, I parked by the road and was about to go inside when I bumped into a young man coming the other way.

“Sorry—”

I started to apologize, then stopped halfway.

He wasn’t tall, and he was thin, with a mild, scholarly air. His face was as pale as paper.

“It’s fine. Are you here to donate blood too?”

He shook his head, his gaze a little vacant.

“Yes,” I said, nodding. I was about to say more when Dr. Yang poked his head out.

“Meng Qun, come in.”

I had to tell the young man, “Excuse me,” and hurry into the collection room.

After the draw, Dr. Yang handed me a wad of cash and a few packets of blood-enriching supplements. He told me to exercise regularly and take care of my health.

I thanked him and accepted the money, but something felt off.

“Why are you paying me so much this time?”

Dr. Yang smiled. “The patient I’m treating is well-off. He won’t miss the money. But keep this between us. Don’t tell anyone.”

I understood and smiled back as I took the cash and left.

Dr. Yang was worrying too much. I was so poor I was nearly sleeping on the street. Why would I report him for illegally paying people to donate blood?

When I came out, I was about to get on my scooter when the big dog sitting not far away startled me.

It sat motionless by the roadside, its shaggy coat and fixed stare sending a chill through me.

“Dr. Yang really has something wrong with him. Of all things, he keeps a vicious dog to guard the place.”

My scalp prickled. I hurried onto my scooter and rode away.

The money from selling my blood helped me scrape by a little longer, but life didn’t improve much.

After struggling for over half a month, my mother called. My younger brother had gotten into senior high school, and tuition was due next month. Could I send home a little money to help the family through a difficult patch?

After I hung up, I gave a bitter laugh.

I was so poor I could barely feed myself. What could I possibly send home?

With no other choice, I returned to the blood station.

I knew it was bad for my body, but I was too poor to have another option.

Fortunately, I wasn’t the only poor person in the world. By the time I arrived, quite a few people were lined up outside. As I took a number, I spotted the young man from before.

He looked even worse than last time, his face paler still. He was sitting in a corner, soaking up the sun.

I went over and sat beside him.

“Hey, you look awful. You’re still here to donate blood?”

He looked up, recognized me, and gave an awkward smile without saying much.

I guessed he was in trouble too.

These days, earning enough to eat was no easy thing.

There were still plenty of people ahead of us, so I sat down beside him and struck up a desultory conversation. His name was Zhao Lei. He’d just graduated from college that year, but couldn’t find suitable work and was getting by on food-delivery jobs.

“The economy’s been awful this year. A lot of restaurants have gone under. I couldn’t find another job, so I’ve had to sell blood just to cover living expenses.”

“None of us has it easy,” I said.

I took a drag from my cigarette and told him my situation wasn’t much better.

Around this time last year, my family still had our home and car. We were more or less middle class.

Then the pandemic hit. My company went bankrupt in no time, and the bank repossessed our house and auctioned it off.

There were plenty of people like me. Many couldn’t take it and bought standing-room train tickets home in the middle of the night. I stayed in the big city, struggling on, because I was too proud to leave.

Maybe it was because we were in the same boat, but Zhao Lei and I got along well. He even offered to exchange contact information.

After Zhao Lei had his blood drawn, his face grew even paler, and he had to lean against the wall as he walked.

Worried something was wrong, I steadied him and asked, “How much blood have you sold to end up like this?”

He said nothing, only shook his head and walked away quietly.

I was about to follow him, but Dr. Yang called my name, so I had to let him go.

In the collection room, Dr. Yang didn’t start the draw right away. Instead, he asked about my financial situation.

I was confused. Why was he asking me about that?

Dr. Yang cleared his throat. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’d like to sign you to a regular contract. I’ll pay you a set amount every month, and you won’t have to come in every few days. We can just schedule it.”

Could something that good really happen?

I was astonished by the thick stack of papers Dr. Yang handed me.

He adjusted his glasses. “Your blood type is rather unusual. This is just a way for us to take better care of you. Whether you sign or not is up to you.”

I desperately needed the money. I knew it wasn’t a long-term solution, but I gritted my teeth and signed the thick contract.

Dr. Yang was delighted. He stood up and shook my hand, reminding me to exercise regularly once I got home. He added that if I ever ran into trouble, I could ask him for help.

His sudden warmth left me a little bewildered.

The station was doing so well, with so many people coming to sell their blood every day. Why was he paying special attention to me?

It was late by the time I left. I was about to go when I saw a crowd gathered nearby, whispering about something.

Curious, I asked a middle-aged man what had happened.

He glanced at me. “You haven’t heard? A woman who used to come here to sell blood has been missing for days. The police found her body in a remote place. Her organs had all been removed. They say it was horrific…”

“What?” I was stunned. I hurriedly asked whether the killer had been caught.

The man shook his head. “How could it happen that fast? There have already been three similar cases this year. No one knows what the killer is after.”

By the time the crowd dispersed, it was completely dark.

I got on my electric scooter to head home, only to discover the damn thing had run out of battery.

“Damn it!”

I swore in frustration, then pushed it to the roadside to hail a taxi.

It took a long time for one to stop. I loaded my scooter into the trunk and sat in the passenger seat, dozing off.

The driver was quite talkative. He glanced at me and curled his lip.

“Young man, you went to that place to sell blood, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “Yeah. How did you know?”

“I often pick up passengers around here. Of course I know.”

The driver gave a dry laugh, then glanced at the needle mark on my arm.

“That blood station isn’t legitimate. You’d better not go there again.”

What was he getting at?

I asked in surprise, “What isn’t legitimate about it?”

“Haha…”

He didn’t answer. He only laughed mysteriously.

When we reached my apartment building, I was about to take out my wallet, but the driver stopped me and waved it away.

“Kid, I’m not charging you this time. But remember—don’t go to places like that too often!”

I nodded and said, “Okay,” but something about it bothered me. His words felt strange.

I’d only sold some blood. I hadn’t robbed anyone. The police couldn’t police every little thing.