Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups Chapter 1379 - 666

Nine o’clock in the morning.

The sunlight slipped over the tops of the shelterbelt trees and slanted down onto the asphalt road leading to the foot of the mountain.

Wearing a black T-shirt, Fang Cheng hitched up the blue canvas shoulder bag on his left shoulder, hefted the heavy carry bag in his right hand, and stood before a wide wrought-iron gate.

On the marble pillar beside the gate hung a white plaque with black characters—"West Mountain Green Valley Sanatorium."

Letting his gaze pass over the imposing gate and the staggered buildings in the front yard, he could faintly see the stretching West Mountain Main Peak behind the sanatorium.

On the surface this place looked like a high-end convalescent club, but in fact it belonged to an important unit under the Special Search Team’s logistics system.

Several guards with live ammunition stood outside the sentry booth, faces solemn, eyes sweeping warily over passing pedestrians and vehicles.

After finishing his morning training today, Fang Cheng had showered at home, eaten breakfast, then gone out and hailed a taxi directly here to report in.

As for his own Land Rover SUV, he had lent it to his uncle for errands.

Because the apartment building over at Jinshui Fish Market had been completely renovated.

His uncle happened to be taking Jiang Yun, Fatty Hu, and that group of new members over today to get familiar with the Illuminati’s new headquarters location.

Speaking of which, as an underground organization running in an orderly fashion, now that the Illuminati’s manpower was gradually increasing, they really did need to find time to purchase a few more vehicles.

So that members could get around and carry out missions in daily life; they couldn’t rely on taxis or crammed buses every time they moved.

Fang Cheng reined in his thoughts, set the carry bag at his feet, then took the Special Search Team credentials and personnel transfer order from his shoulder bag and handed them over together.

The guard on duty carefully checked the photo and seals, and after confirming everything was correct, returned the documents with both hands.

Then he raised his hand in a salute and turned to press the barrier gate switch.

Fang Cheng put away his credentials, picked up his bag, and stepped through the gate.

Once inside, it felt as if the bustle outside had been instantly cut off by an invisible barrier.

The sanatorium was built against the mountain, and the grounds inside were exceptionally spacious.

Several rows of low red-brick buildings in an early Republican style were laid out with pleasing irregularity among the lush trees.

Tall dawn redwoods and camphor trees lined both sides of the road, their overlapping branches casting great patches of deep shade on the asphalt.

The air was filled with the austere freshness of pine needles, and if one sniffed carefully, there was also a faint hint of disinfectant.

By the garden lawn in the distance, a few wounded in striped hospital gowns sat on wooden benches in the sun.

Others, leaning on crutches, moved slowly under the trees, doing rehabilitation training.

The entire compound carried a natural sense of tranquility and peace, far removed from the dust and noise of the world.

Following the guidance of the signs, Fang Cheng walked while observing his surroundings.

According to the address on the transfer order, he passed two artificial lakes and came to a stop in front of a building more than half-covered in climbing ivy.

"Building No. 3, this is the place."

Looking at the five-story red-brick building in front of him, Fang Cheng then stepped into the lobby and went up the stairs to the second floor.

The corridor walls were painted half-height in light green, and the terrazzo floor beneath was swept spotless.

Two nurses in white coats, carrying stainless steel trays and wearing flat shoes, hurried past him.

Not far away, an orderly was pushing a wounded man in a wheelchair toward the elevator; the wheelchair rattled dully over the floor.

Following the room numbers along the way, Fang Cheng finally stopped in front of an office at the end of the corridor.

On the acrylic sign beside the door were a few bold-faced characters: Department of Traditional Medical Rehabilitation.

The red-pine door was half ajar, and a heavy smell of burning mugwort drifted faintly out.

Fang Cheng raised his hand and bent his knuckles to knock lightly twice on the door panel.

There was no response from inside.

He applied a bit more force and knocked twice again, then pushed open half the door and called:

"Excuse me, is anyone here?"

As he spoke, he lifted his eyes and looked into the room.

This office was quite large, laid out very much like a traditional Chinese medicine clinic outside.

Along the left wall were three treatment beds in a row, each separated by a sky-blue curtain.

On the other side stood several tall medicine cabinets, their dark lacquer showing their age.

The snow-white walls all around were covered with dense diagrams of human meridians and acupoints.

Behind the desk near the window, an elderly man with graying hair was bowing his head, holding a magnifying glass and studying a medication list.

Hearing the sound, the old man slowly raised his head and pushed his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Eh? Are you here to see a doctor or pick up medicine? If you’re here for therapy, go lie down on that bed over there first and wait for Xiaolin to come back."

The old man’s voice carried a raspy weakness, as if his breath were insufficient.

Fang Cheng walked over with his bag and laid the transfer order flat on the desk.

"Hello, I’m the new rehabilitation therapist reporting in today, Fang Cheng."

"Ah?"

The old man stared blankly for a while, then tossed down the magnifying glass, picked up the transfer order, and brought it close to his eyes to read carefully.

About half a minute later, his wrinkled old face suddenly crinkled into a chrysanthemum-like smile.

"Oh, oh, I remember now, they called up from above a couple of days ago, said they were assigning a new guy over. Your name is... Xiao Chen, right?"

"My name is Fang Cheng."

"Right, right, Fang Cheng. How old are you?"

The old man took off his reading glasses and wiped them on the hem of his clothes.

"Twenty-four."

"Twenty-four is good, young and strong. Where are you living now?"

"Wanghu Town."

"Wanghu Town is a good place, not far from here, backed by mountains and facing water."

The old man nodded with a squinting smile and pointed at an empty desk opposite.

"You’ll sit there. The drawers should all be empty; you can handle the stuff as you like. Oh right, what did you say your name was just now?"