Academia and Business
The air in the laboratory always carries a peculiar smell. The pungent odor of disinfectant, the slightly sweet or bitter scent of various chemical reagents, the indescribable fishy smell of cell culture media resembling expired broth, and the faint smell of ozone and heated plastic emitted when the equipment is running. All of these blend together to create a unique, tense yet strangely familiar background atmosphere characteristic of the biomedical research field.
Kong Xiang was "immersed" in this atmosphere. Wearing a white lab coat, sterile gloves, and goggles, he was bent over in front of the biosafety cabinet, carefully transferring a pale pink liquid from a 1.5 ml centrifuge tube to a small well in a 96-well plate through the thick glass using a slender pipette. The moment the pipette tip touched the liquid surface, his wrist was as steady as a precision machine. The fan at the top of the biosafety cabinet emitted a low hum, carrying away any contamination that might have been produced by his every breath.
"Group 72... OK, done." He straightened up and let out a soft sigh of relief, but his body still maintained the caution characteristic of researchers, avoiding any strenuous movements. He glanced at the timer beside him; there were still forty-seven minutes left until the end of this group's apoptosis-inducing experiment. The data... still didn't look ideal; the fluorescent labeling signal of a certain key pathway was so weak that it was almost invisible, not matching the expected model.
He was a little annoyed, but not in a frantic way. It was more of a numb frustration, a feeling of "I have to optimize the conditions again, redesign the controls, explain things to my advisor again, and then stay up all night again." That's scientific research, especially for a project like his that involves complex cellular signaling networks. Failure is the norm, success is the exception.
He took off his gloves, threw them into the designated biohazard waste bin, and rubbed his hands with hand sanitizer. Then he walked to his small table in the corner of the lab, pulled out a chair, sat down, and picked up his phone. Several unread messages appeared on the screen: a classmate inviting him to dinner, his advisor tagging everyone in the group chat to remind them of next week's group meeting, and a short message from his uncle. "Tomorrow morning at eight, usual place, two 'urgent' items, can you come?"
"Urgent order" was their code word, usually meaning the body was in relatively "fresh" condition, or the client was in a hurry, and the payment would be higher accordingly. Kong Xiang raised an eyebrow and replied with a "received" emoji.
After replying, he subconsciously, almost habitually, sank his consciousness into that exclusive space connected with Lin Feng. In the past few days, every time he broke from experiments or returned from "working" outside, he couldn't help but want to "chat with his boss." No one in the lab could understand the sense of separation he felt, shuttling between high-end academia and the gray area of death, and his boss Lin Feng, was the only one who both knew his "suicide squad" identity and was willing to listen to him recount these absurd daily routines.
"Boss? Is the boss there? Are you busy?" Kong Xiang's thoughts were transmitted, carrying a bit of frustration from the unsuccessful experiment, mixed with a vague anticipation of the new "business" after seeing his uncle's message.
After a while, Lin Feng's response came, calm and as usual. "No rush. Go ahead."
"Hey boss, I have to tell you, my experiment has stalled again!" Kong Xiang immediately launched into a rant, his mental "voice" filled with emotion. "I'm researching a specific cell damage repair pathway, trying to see if I could simulate a more efficient 'start switch' in vitro. And what happened? After I administered the inducer I designed, a lot of cells died, but the repair signaling pathway I needed is like it's asleep, it just won't light up! Can you believe it?"
He went on and on about the details of the experiment's failure, using various technical terms mixed with complaints. Lin Feng listened quietly, occasionally responding with a simple mental fluctuation indicating that he was listening.
After complaining for a while, Kong Xiang's tone suddenly changed, taking on a strange excitement. "But boss, don't you think it's interesting? During the day, I'm here using sophisticated instruments worth hundreds of thousands or even millions, tending to cells that are more precious than gold, researching the most cutting-edge repair mechanisms of human life. But at night or on weekends, I'm out there fiddling with those 'raw materials' that have completely lost their lives and have already begun to decompose. Putting these two things together, isn't it particularly... magical realism?"
"A little," Lin Feng replied.
"More than just a little!" Kong Xiang's mind raced. "Sometimes, after teaching a cadaver dissection observation class to students (our major has this elective, and I'm a teaching assistant), or after returning from a 'work site,' my hands still feel that... tactile sensation. Returning to the lab and looking at those dividing and proliferating living cells in the petri dish, I get a particularly eerie feeling. You feel that life and death are actually separated by a very, very thin membrane. On one side is a precise, fragile order, constantly trying to maintain and repair itself; on the other side is chaos after the complete collapse of that order, returning to the most basic material composition."
"Moreover," he paused, his tone becoming more serious, "Handling corpses has truly given me an extremely intuitive, 'firsthand' understanding of the human body's structure, the texture of tissues, and the morphological changes of different parts at different stages of death. This is far more profound than looking at anatomical atlases or plastic models. For example, I know what a real fat layer feels like when cut open, I know the subtle differences in color and firmness of different organs after they lose blood perfusion, and I can even roughly infer the time and position of death by observing the distribution and extent of livor mortis. This knowledge may seem unrelated to my cell repair research, but sometimes, when thinking about overall tissue damage and regeneration, this macroscopic, tangible understanding provides unexpected perspectives. My supervisor once praised me, saying that my 'understanding of biological tissues is very down-to-earth.' If he knew where I got this 'down-to-earth' knowledge from, he'd probably faint from shock, haha!"
He laughed first, a mischievous smugness in his mind.
"How exactly does your uncle's 'business' operate?" Lin Feng asked at the opportune moment, steer the conversation toward the "supply chain" part that Zhang Gang had requested.
"Oh, this!" Kong Xiang immediately perked up and began to describe in detail, his tone as practiced as if he were giving a project presentation. "First, let's talk about the 'sources.' The most stable sources are definitely the slums, homeless communities, and drug-ridden neighborhoods in big cities. In these places, 'unidentified people' appear almost every few days—overdose, gang fights, freezing or starving to death, or simply dying at home from chronic illnesses that no one cares for them. The police and municipal departments find dealing with these cases a burden, so they'd love to have a 'professional company' like ours take over. In addition, some hospitals or forensic offices in remote towns sometimes contact us if they encounter unidentified bodies because their storage and processing capabilities are limited."
"The next most stable are some mental health facilities, prisons (for unnatural deaths without family members), and... some poorly managed nursing homes. These places occasionally have 'needs to handle' cases. The most unstable, but sometimes the ones that can cause 'major accidents,' are accident scenes, such as large car crashes, fires, and construction site collapses. If the identities of the victims cannot be confirmed for a long time, or if the families give up claiming them, they may end up with us."
"As for 'major clients,'" Kong Xiang lowered his voice, adding a touch of mystery, "There are several types. One type is reputable university medical schools and private research institutions. They need cadavers (teaching corpses) or specific pathological specimens. Working with them involves the strictest documentation requirements, and the prices are relatively transparent, but the volume is large and stable. Another type is some private institutions that use names like 'cutting-edge biotechnology' or 'regenerative medicine research institutes.' These places are more complicated. Their funding sources are mysterious, and their research directions sound very high-end (such as 'human tolerance to extreme environments,' 'compatibility of new biomaterials,' or even 'residual consciousness research'). Their requirements for samples are often very specific—for example, samples from specific causes of death, specific age groups, or even samples that need to be 'fresh' for a certain period of time. They pay readily, in cash or cryptocurrency, but they never discuss things in depth or leave any evidence. My uncle mainly deals with this type of client; the profits are high, but the risks... are also high."
"What about 'compliance' procedures?" Lin Feng asked, getting to the crucial point.
"That's where the technical work gets, and that's where the gray area in our line of work exists," Kong Xiang explained. "The core is the documentation. We have to forge a whole chain of documents to prove that the body was 'voluntarily donated,' or that its 'legal right to dispose of it' has been transferred to our company through some legal means. This requires imitating signatures, forging notarized documents, and sometimes even bribing some low-level officials. As for the body itself, we'll do some preliminary processing, removing obvious personal features (such as tattoos or special scars), and sometimes even making simple facial modifications. Then, depending on the client's requirements, we either deliver it as a whole (to the medical school), or we divide it up, take samples, and cremate the remaining parts through formal funeral channels. The ashes are either preserved or scattered according to the 'agreement.' All the documents, from the (forged) death certificate to the donation agreement, to the transfer record, and finally to the final disposal certificate, must form a logical closed loop. Even if it can't withstand the most stringent judicial investigation, it's enough to deal with routine administrative inspections and market supervision. To put it bluntly, it's about finding a crack in a huge, flawed system, slipping in, and 'making things look good.'"
After he finished speaking, he waited for Lin Feng's reaction, feeling a little uneasy, wondering if his boss would think what he was doing was too shady or question its value.
After a brief silence, Lin Feng asked, "Aren't you afraid of doing all this?"
Kong Xiang spoke almost without hesitation, his thoughts flowing clearly and calmly. "At first, I was definitely scared. The first time I touched a cold corpse, the first time I smelled that kind of stench, the first time I went to those chaotic neighborhoods, my legs went weak. But later, I found a reason for myself—or rather, a belief."
"I feel like I'm accumulating resources for you, boss." His "voice" was very serious. "Money is one thing; I've saved most of the payment my uncle gave me, thinking you might need it someday. But more importantly, it's about information and channels. Through this part-time job, I can access the darkest corners of society, learn about information networks that legitimate channels can never reach, and master a special ability to acquire and process 'resources.' The corpse itself, under certain circumstances, might be an information carrier, a source of biological samples, or even some kind of... bargaining chip. And the people and organizations you come into contact with on this gray supply chain—nobody knows which big fish is behind them."
He paused, a calm and realistic composure beyond his years creeping into his thoughts. "Moreover, the longer I do this, the more I feel that the truly terrifying people in this line of work aren't the dead, but the living. The dead won't lie to you, won't stab you in the back, and won't become monstrous because of greed or fear. But the living can. Those drug dealers in the neighborhoods, corrupt cops, thugs looking to get a piece of the pie, and those 'clients' with unclear motives hiding behind glamorous research institutions—they are a million times more dangerous than cold corpses. At least, corpses are 'certain,' while the living are full of 'uncertain' dangers."
"So, I'm not afraid of corpses anymore. I'm even a little... grateful for this job. It allowed me to witness the most real and cruel side of this world early on, and taught me how to protect myself and complete tasks in complex and even dangerous environments. I think this will be helpful when I work for you in the future."
In the laboratory, the silence was broken by the beeping of the instrument's timer signal.
Kong Xiang's thoughts came through. "Boss, my cell processing time is up, I need to go collect the data. That's all for today?"
"Go ahead. Be careful," Lin Feng replied.
"Alright! Take care, boss! I'll report back to you next time I have some 'good stuff'!" Kong Xiang's thoughts quickly disconnected, and the focus and drive of a young researcher once again took over.
In the laboratory, Kong Xiang stood up, put his gloves back on, and walked towards the biosafety cabinet. Outside the window, the campus clock tower rang the four o'clock bell, melodious and peaceful. Inside, he continued to manipulate those cells that concerned the most subtle mysteries of life, while another part of his life was closely linked to death, sin, and shady deals.
He skillfully operated the instruments, recording a new round of experimental data, but his mind was still replaying his conversation with Lin Feng. The phrase "The living are far more terrifying than the dead" was his most genuine realization.
My phone vibrated again; it was a new message from my uncle, confirming the detailed address and password for tomorrow's "pickup."
Kong Xiang glanced at it, replied with a blank expression, then silenced his phone and refocused all his attention on the tiny cells in front of him that held the secrets of "life".
Life and death, light and darkness, academia and business coexisted in him in a strange yet harmonious way.
He was striving to draw strength from this coexisting division and absurdity, waiting for the day when he could be of use to his master in the far east.