Chapter 4
When it was time to donate, I made an excuse to get the nurse out of the room and stayed in the donation cubicle alone for a while.
I used this opportunity to secretly mark the blood bag, a small mark only I would recognize.
After the donation, I told Scarlett I wanted to visit the blood bank to understand how the blood was stored.
She seemed a bit nervous but still agreed.
“The blood bank staff are all very professional, so you don’t need to worry,” she said as we walked.
“I’m just curious. I want to see how my blood is preserved,” I replied.
She couldn’t argue with me and had no choice but to take me there.
At the blood bank, the administrator greeted us warmly.
I pretended to browse casually, but I was actually looking for the bag of blood I had just donated.
Soon, I found it in a special storage area.
To my shock, the blood in this area was all labeled “special purposes.”
And the price tags displayed numbers far exceeding the value of normal blood.
“What are these blood units used for?” I asked the administrator, pointing to the area.
The administrator glanced at Scarlett, seemingly seeking her approval.
Scarlett subtly shook her head.
The administrator then said, “These are for certain special medical projects. I’m not entirely clear on the specifics myself.”
I nodded, not pressing further.
But in my heart, I understood. This was Scarlett’s transit station for her blood transactions.
After leaving the blood bank, I suggested to Scarlett that I wanted to see the patients who had received transfusions.
Especially the eight-year-old boy and the pregnant woman she had mentioned earlier.
“They’re not convenient for visits right now. The doctor said they need an absolutely quiet environment,” Scarlett refused my request.
“Then I’ll just glance from afar, I won’t go into the room,” I insisted.
Scarlett grew increasingly uncomfortable: “Leo, why are you asking so many questions today? Usually, you just go straight home after donating.”
“I just want to confirm that my blood truly helped someone,” I said, looking into her eyes.
Eventually, she led me to the pediatric ward.
We walked around the corridor, but I didn’t see the eight-year-old leukemia patient she mentioned.
“He might have been transferred to another department,” Scarlett explained.
“What about the pregnant woman?” I pressed.
“She’s already been discharged. She’s recovering well,” Scarlett’s answers became increasingly evasive.
My anger simmered, but I kept my composure on the surface.
On the way home, I decided to investigate this matter thoroughly.
That evening, while Scarlett was showering, I secretly checked her phone.
In her SnapChat chat history, I found numerous conversations between her and Jax, the contents of which left me reeling.
“Made over a hundred grand this month again, thanks to my good husband, haha.”
“He’s still so gullible, just make up a story and he buys it.”
“What do you think he’d do if he found out his blood was being sold to rich old women for anti-aging treatments? He’d probably lose his mind, right?”
“Who cares? As long as we’re making money.”
Seeing these chat logs, my hands trembled.
It turned out that all the blood I had donated over the years had been sold by her to wealthy individuals pursuing eternal youth, for what they called “rejuvenation transfusions.”
What infuriated me even more was how they mocked me in their chats, treating my kindness as a weakness to be exploited.
I continued to scroll down, finding even more outrageous content.
They weren’t just selling my blood; they were planning how to extract even more value.
“Next time, make him donate more. His body’s robust anyway.”
“I think three times a month isn’t enough. Can we increase it to four?”
“Be careful not to kill him, or we’ll lose our cash cow.”
“Don’t worry, I’m a doctor. I know what I’m doing.”
At this point, I could no longer control my emotions.