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30 years pa.s.sed and my underground construction was completed.
Of course, it was still very much different from the original Blemish of Time.
My Blemish of Time could already accommodate 300 people, but I still don't take off my protective gears when I enter the place.
For the past 30 years, Dahai had been managing and keeping my Blemish of Time in order while I make sure that this whole affair stays a secret and recruit more wealthy people.
Dahai and I made improvements in the protective gears and have successfully ma.s.s produced them before hiring more staff.
Dahai suggested that I disguise myself as a doctor, walk around the chemotherapy rooms, and use the idea of postponing death to get patients to our Blemish of Time.
This method worked like a charm. Dying patients entered our Blemish of Time and regained a bit of vitality.
Dahai allocated them to alternate between work and rest so that our business could continue expanding.
Of course, there was only one outcome. The air in Blemish of Time could only maintain, and not improve, the condition of organs. As such, sudden deaths were still inevitable.
When that happens, Dahai would manage their funerals. It was still a win-win situation since patients usually get a few extra years of life, something that they were extremely thankful for. We hadn't gotten any resistance.
Of course, patients with slightly better conditions would work with protective gears and only remove them when their body worsened.
This staff management strategy saved us a huge cost, although I was initially against the idea.
"You're only promising to slow their deterioration. It's all that we can do for them," Dahai had told me.
I also created a simple transportation system with discarded materials from a private airport. The system was made from conveyor belts, which made portage easy.
One belt carried goods into Blemish of Time while the other carried trash out.
Express delivery was something that never failed to amaze me. There was a kiosk in the village that was about to close down so I acquired it and used it as a s.h.i.+eld.
There were tons of deliveries coming into the village from outside every day, which made sense since everything could be found on the Internet.
And the newly rich were always willing to pay much more for the goods compared to those in the outside world.
We had a site of our own and we accepted unlimited orders. Of course, inspections had to be strict to ensure that no one divulged the secret of Blemish of Time.
As a result, we would always know what our clients purchase and charge our processing fees accordingly. If they refuse to pay, they won't receive their goods.
Basically, we earned crazy profits just from rent and service fees alone.
Everything ran in order for the past 30 years, but our clients were still cautious.
Dahai asked me almost every day to take off my protective gears, but I told him every time that I still had things to settle outside.
I was almost 50 by then.
Days pa.s.sed and Dahai became increasingly impatient.
On his 130th birthday, he had specially requested for my company.
I sat down with him and noticed that his 130-year-old face looked younger than mine.
After blowing out the candles, he cut a piece of cake and offered it to me.
"Next time," I declined.
"When? When, exactly, are you going to come in?" he asked.
It was getting crazy difficult to avoid this topic so I repeated those usual words: "I still have things to settle outside."
"Get someone to do it for you. Just offer him immortality and I'm sure he'll do anything for you. Come in, quick," Dahai insisted, grabbing hold of my protective gears.
"Won't you worry about having a stranger manage things outside?" I questioned.
"Just find someone reliable! You're almost 50, no? You're gonna regret this when you're past your prime. Plus, you're not giving me a sense of security by delaying your entrance."
"What are you afraid of? Me running away?" I laughed.
"No, it's not that. I just feel that our business is big enough now. Join me and we can enjoy life, won't that be great? The money will continue coming in even if you join me now."
I was convinced that Dahai was worried about me abandoning him. Becoming like him was the only way to let his guard down.
"Alright, alright. I'll join you next month and I will be living in unit 1, just beside yours," I responded perfunctorily.
Dahai nodded smilingly.
I had my reasons for not wanting to go in. When I first heard Grandfather talking about the marvel that is Blemish of Time, it was curiosity that drove me toward the quest for the secret behind immortality.
After knowing that the key was a gra.s.s that produced such severe side effects, my interest in it vanished completely.
I had planned to delay my entrance for as long as I could. I wanted it to be my last resort if I ever get diagnosed with cancer or organ failure.
I slept in the kiosk at night and worked as the shop owner in the day.
The kiosk was in the village and the entrance to Blemish of Time was outside of the village.
One day, in the kiosk, an alarm threw me out of my slumber.
I opened my eyes to see a lit red light right at the bottom of the panel.
Other lights covered small issues like electrical power imbalance and so on, but the bottommost light symbolized the inductor at the entrance of Blemish of Time.
Something had gone wrong.
I took out a hunting gun from a drawer.
I fished out my satellite phone and gave Dahai a call.
He did not pick up.
With my gun, I ran out of the kiosk toward the village exit, hoping that it was just a small matter.
Something similar had happened before when a newly broke man tried to leave Blemish of Time but suffocated immediately upon taking a step out.
When I was near the exit, I started hearing helicopters.
They're here.
I hid behind the fence and watched as large batches of armed men barge into the entrance of Blemish of Time.
In order to prevent violent fights from occurring within, we had prohibited the possession of firearms inside. The citizens wouldn't able to resist the armed men.
It was then that I noticed that these soldiers weren't wearing any protective gears.