I founded Tantric Buddhism in London

In a closed, windowless room, the air seemed too heavy to flow.

The walls are painted pure white, filled with colors like the white snow of late winter.

The shining white light was so blinding that it was hard to open your eyes.

The pungent disinfectant smell rushed into the nasal cavity and seemed to fill the lungs.

Lying on his back on the cold table, there were several strange monsters in mortal clothes standing around him. They held sharp blades and gradually surrounded the flesh and blood body on the table.

The first thing to bear the brunt was a humanoid monster with exploding muscles. Its body was so burly that the white doctor's uniform was so bulging that it almost shattered. A ferocious blade-like claw protruded between the exposed elbow joint and metacarpal bone. Bone Spur holds a piece of wet cloth in his palm the size of a cattail fan, and the cloth is filled with a sweet smell.

It was Nello Backus, my old man in the 5th Berkshire Brigade Fusiliers.

Nero covered his mouth and nose with a sweet-smelling cloth, and a certain intoxicating breath poured into his body along with his breathing. His stomach spasmed instinctively, and his lungs contracted to expel the harmful gas... Watson used powerful His spiritual will suppressed the resistance of his body. He relaxed his muscles and skin, allowing earthly knives to easily cut through the hard skin that had metamorphosed many times and cut the fibers of flesh and blood.

One, two, three, four, five... fourteen, fifteen.

He counted the time silently in his mind. The extremely volatile chloroform gas was mixed with other additives. The anesthesia effect quickly came to his head, and his eyelids were as heavy as lead... He could still hold on, but he didn't want to. Hold on.

Watson relaxed his mind and allowed the effect of anesthesia to capture him. He lowered his eyes and fell into darkness, seeming to be in a coma.

Before his vision was completely dimmed, he saw the monster as tall as a mountain slowly walking towards him. The sharp black hairs on its body pierced the white surgical clothes, and the long hair on its face drowned the petite body. Cotton mask, only those eyes that are pregnant with blazing thunder are bursting with intense light.

Watson was probably asleep.

However, his spirit converged and hid with the covert fluttering of the wings of the moth in his skull. He still maintained a clear consciousness and could still feel his life body, the residence of his soul, and the condition of his physical body in this world.

He felt the tip of the sharp knife pressed against his thigh, and the cold foreign body feeling penetrated into the flesh and blood. The seemingly tough fibers were completely unable to stop the attack of the sharp metal. As if under the command of Moses, the flesh and blood separated to both sides, exposing the internally broken tibial nerve. .

Then the monsters stopped moving, allowing the vitality of life to flow along the open wounds.

Watson felt some kind of cold breath covering his thighs, and at the same time, there seemed to be a chorus of chants and the beating of drum instruments in his ears.

The chanting was low, and the drumming rhythm was steady, dong dong, dong dong, stop, dong dong, stop... The rhythm was neither fast nor slow. It sounded at a fixed position every second, and the rhythm was like the beating of a heart.

The sound of heart beats from all directions echoed in the small operating room, like mountains moving toward him.

Although the rhythm and beat remain unchanged, each drum beat becomes heavier and more powerful, almost comparable to the roaring thunder in the sky.

Watson only felt that his heart seemed to be resonating with this rhythmic beat. Every pump of his heart became more and more powerful, almost about to swell and burst out of his chest.

Wisps of pure vitality were squeezed out from the beating of the heart. Under the guidance of the drumming, they adhered to the high-speed flowing blood, avoiding the knife wounds and gun scars along the way, and rushed straight to the open thighs.

Like the rain nourishing the dry rhizome, the broken nerve threads seemed to be rejuvenated. The cells on both sides of the cross-section were growing rapidly, stretching out tiny granulations that were difficult to detect with the naked eye, as if two small hands were holding each other tightly.

The index fingers touched, the middle fingers hooked, and the ring fingers entwined... It seemed that the broken nerves were about to be completely healed, but the pulsating drumming sound stopped abruptly.

The heart lost its guiding resonance, and the vitality that surged out was helpless. After half of the repair, it was no longer able to continue. It could only dissipate between the thigh muscles, and with the rapid suturing movements, the separated flesh and blood were accelerated to come together.

Watson knew that the treatment had ended and understood the other party's intention, which was simply to use this as an excuse to further strengthen his desire to recover from his old illness, but he still remained silent, pretending to be unconscious, and waited. The effect of the medicine wears off.

At approximately the twenty-seventh second of the thirty-fifth minute that he was silently counting in his mind, Watson felt that the effects of the medicine in his body began to dissipate significantly. He trembled his eyelids slightly, preparing to wake up.

At thirty-nine minutes and thirty-one seconds, he started to raise his fingers.

At forty-two minutes and nine seconds, Watson opened his eyes drowsily, and immediately felt the dazzling light shining down on him, and he couldn't help but squint his eyes.

"Sir, you're awake."

Nero Bacchus, who was waiting on the side, was the first to notice Chief John's condition. He got up from the small stool where he was resting temporarily, and hurriedly stepped forward to raise the head of the operating table so that Watson could sit up comfortably.

"Nelo..."

Watson looked around the operating room. Only Nello Bacchus and Winfrey Morgan were left here. The rest of the nurse assistants had left... but he smelled a familiar smell remaining in the room. The smell of human blood.

But it didn't come from his own wound, but from another human being... Who was bleeding?

He looked anxiously at Dr. Winfress, who had just stood up, and asked eagerly: "Mr. Morgan, is my operation still a success?"

When Winfres heard this, he showed a somewhat regretful expression, "I'm sorry, Mr. John, your condition has been delayed for too long..."

When Watson heard this, it was as if he had been struck by a bolt from the blue. His face suddenly turned gloomy, a look of disappointment clung to his face, and he let out a long, depressed sigh. "well……"

Winfreth suddenly said: "The delay has been too long, so that the root of the disease has penetrated deep into the bone marrow. We can only temporarily alleviate the condition. If we want to fully recover, we will have to perform at least one more operation."

Watson's eyes suddenly brightened up, and uncontrollable joy crept onto his face. He grinned unconsciously, and his voice was so excited that his voice was trembling.

"Really?! Mr. Morgan, you didn't lie to me?! I only need one more surgery and I hope to be completely healed and become a normal person with sound legs and feet?!"

"No, no, no, Mr. John, you misunderstood. What I said is that it needs to be done at least one more time, not just one more time... However, as long as you rest peacefully and gradually strengthen your body, your condition is indeed likely to be cured. Even if you can’t run freely, you can at least walk like a normal person without the aid of crutches.”

Watson's eyes were a little moist because he saw the dawn of hope. His lips trembled, opened and closed slightly, as if he wanted to speak but couldn't find a sentence that could express his inner gratitude at this moment.

In the end, with tears in his eyes, he struggled to reach out his hands, hold Winfrey Morgan tightly, and rock up and down heavily.

"Thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Morgan!!!"

"Your great kindness, I, John Watson, will never forget it in my life. If there is anything I can do to help you in the future, just ask!"

"As long as it doesn't go against the interests of the country, even if it means killing...ahem, even if it's desperate, I will definitely complete it for you!!!"

Winfrey showed a satisfied smile, gently patted John's shoulder, and comforted:

"Oh, Mr. John, you are too polite. Saving patients is what we doctors should do... You should have a good rest first. We will see how your recovery is after a while, and then we will carry out the next operation."

"Nello, please send Mr. John back to the inpatient department first. Remember to arrange a cleaner ward."

"Yes, Dean Winfrey."

Nello moved the happy old officer into a wheelchair and pushed him to the upper-class ward that had been arranged.

But behind him, which John couldn't see, he showed a hint of guilt.