The huge, white, circular magnetic resonance machine is running all the time.

Finally, the red light on the machine went out and the green light was on. The machine was still running, but the white mobile bed was still moved out of the machine. A white old man in a simple patient uniform, who was about 60 years old, slowly sat up from the bed.

Two beautiful blonde nurses met in the middle, helped the old man put on slippers, and helped him out of the MRI room, leaving him in a white and soft wheelchair.

Next to the wheelchair was a middle-aged white man in his forties, wearing a straight suit and pair of glasses. He waved his hand, and the blonde nurse stepped back. He pushed the wheelchair and took the old man along the corridor.

At the end of the corridor is a white, glass-walled room, inside one after another, and it looks very high-end instruments. Seven or eight people wearing white coats, as if they were like doctors busy in the room.

One of them was a little older, almost in his sixties, and looked like a professor, and was also wearing a white coat, taking out a report from a machine. After he took it, he looked it through.

The wheelchair continued to advance, entered the room, and interrupted his rummaging.

"Mr. Carnegie." The old man in white coat put down the report and bowed slightly.

"How is the situation?" asked Mr. John Carnegie, a Miligan Ethics oil tycoon, in a wheelchair, with his head slightly weakly.

The old man in white coat had a strong apology: "I'm sorry, Mr. Carnegie, the report shows that your condition is very bad, and the cancer cells have spread again, and it has already..."

"Fake!" The old white man who was originally weak on the wheelchair suddenly roared and interrupted the report in the white coat: "Fake!Fake! I have paid you nearly 1 billion meters of gold, and you actually told me that it has spread again? So much money and so many resources, what have you studied?"

"We have been working very hard..." The old man in the white coat spoke faster: "But cancer is a global medical problem. Only a small number of cancers can be completely cured. Most of the others can only choose conservative therapy, try to suppress it, delay the spread of cancer cells, and allow patients..."

"Butler..." The old man in the wheelchair voice dropped a little: "You are the Nobel Prize winner and the authority in cancer. I have always trusted you very much and established this fund to provide research funds of more than 120 million meters of gold for you to conduct related research... I don't want much. The average life expectancy of us Americans is 78 years old. I am not greedy. I just want to live to this age. Is it difficult?"

"This...this..." It was obvious that such a straightforward tone made the white coat more scared than before. He opened his mouth but couldn't speak.

"Tell me..." Mr. Carnegie in the wheelchair closed his eyes: "How long can I live according to the current situation?"

"The most optimistic estimate..." Nobel Prize winner in medicine Butler lowered his head deeply: "It's almost a year and a half..."

"One and a half?" The old man in the wheelchair chuckled: "Ha, I'm only sixty-four years old, but you told me that I can only live for a year and a half?"

"Yes...yes..." the white coat continued: "This time the cancer cells spread very much and have affected the pancreas..."

"Why?" The old man in the wheelchair became louder again: "I have been treating according to your instructions! Take medicine seven times a day! I go into that damn machine every day! For the sake of efficacy, I don't take painkillers! Last time you told me it was eight years! Why is it only one and a half years now?"

"The spread of cancer cells is not regular and easy to find..." The white coat lowered his voice and said tremblingly: "We didn't expect its spread to be so..."

"Is there really no way?" The old man in the wheelchair stared at the life-saving straw in front of him in a white coat, and his fingers tightly grasped the wheelchair armrest, but his tone was full of begging.

The life-saving straw shook his head with difficulty: "With the current medical level... there is really no way..."

Hearing the final judgment, Mr. Carnegie let go of the armrest, as if he had lost all his strength, his body fell back into a soft wheelchair, his eyes dimmed, and his voice was much weaker than before: "Push me out..."

...

After changing into his clothes and returning home, he was pushed into the study by the servant, Mr. Carnegie began to look through several reports on his desk.

In any case, before he died, this huge oil empire must be controlled by him, and he was not at ease to hand it over to his son.

The maid next to him was preparing potions for him.

Although his dream of living for another eight years was shattered, he would never give up for the remaining one year and a half, so he still had to take medicine when it was time to take medicine.

However, with the maid's cooperation, I took the pills specially made by the private research institute. The door of the study was knocked and the secretary with glasses walked in.

He reported: "Mr. Carnegie, Pastor Frank wants to see you."

Rev. Frank? What did he do?

Mr. Carnegie frowned.

He is not very passionate about religion, but for reasons such as expanding his connections and demonstrating his identity, he goes to church several times a year to donate some to show his religious piety.

After getting sick, in order to seek spiritual comfort, I have visited church many times, kneeled in front of the cross, and prayed sincerely many times.

However, as we all know, God's mercy has not been revealed for too long, and praying and making wishes will not help him in his illness.

However, he still liked Rev. Frank very much. As the head of a cathedral, Rev. Frank was very good at comforting others. In his description, heaven was so beautiful. After chatting with him, Mr. Carnegie could clearly feel that his fear of death had been reduced a lot.

But, that's all.

He doesn't want to see anyone now, he just wants to take him with him quietly like this.

So Mr. Carnegie waved his hand: "Tell him that I am very busy now and have no time to meet him. However, I will make an appointment to pay him the donation for the renovation of the church last time I promised him. That's it."

The secretary nodded, left the study room, and went down to pass the message.

However, after a while, the secretary came up again: "Mr. Carnegie, he still asked to see you."

"Why?" Mr. Carnegie frowned.

The secretary recounts: “He said, ‘God loves the world, and God will save every devout believer’.”

What does it mean? Pious? Save? Additional fundraising?
Chapter completed!