Patient 001…
The code alone screamed significance. No wonder Liao Xing had become the core boss of this instance.
But in the past two days, Liao Xing hadn’t displayed any “feminine” behaviors, had he?
On the contrary, the “masculine” female patient described earlier was easy enough to identify—she was probably the hot-tempered girl who argued with her family.
Yet judged through the lens of reality, everything that girl had done was perfectly reasonable—even admirable. Her behavior would be celebrated in any normal setting. It was the hospital and her family who’d overreacted—cruel and unnecessary.
If this instance mirrored something real, then where had it happened? Was that hospital still operating?
Fu Changxun took the medical file with him.
The Director had once again slipped away. No doubt he’d taken advantage of the distraction to escape.
Still, the truth recorded in the files mattered more than catching the Director. They’d made progress.
January 9 – Patient admitted.
January 11 – Patient encouraged others to escape. Caught by security.
January 20 – Continued defiance. Electroshock therapy trialed. Effective. During Director’s meeting, decided to adopt as standard treatment.
February 19 – Patient 001 showed poor response. New therapy method trialed. Patient exhibited extreme rejection.
March 1 – During family visit, argument broke out. Family approved full isolation treatment.
April 3 – Patient stable. Responded well to treatment.
May 9 – Attempted communication with other patients. Experiment failed.
June – Director requested experimental subject. We all submitted Patient 001’s file. His family hasn’t visited in over a month. He’s suitable.
July – Patient underwent experiment.
August…
September…
The records from that point forward were almost entirely numbers and cold clinical data. Beneath that sterile surface, however, was a brutal truth—Patient 001, Liao Xing, had undergone repeated near-death torture.
The players gathered around. None of them could bear to keep reading.
Back in the infirmary, Xiao Li-ge stayed with the unconscious Xiao Zhang-ge while Fu Changxun read through the file aloud. When Lulu heard the ongoing list, she finally couldn’t hold back.
“Dr. Fu… if this part doesn’t help us clear the instance, can we skip it? It’s not something Xiao Xiao should be hearing.”
Fu Changxun nodded and flipped quickly through a few pages—until something stood out.
December 14 – The patient killed a doctor. He wants to kill all of us!
From that day forward, the file shifted dramatically. No longer dry medical records, the pages blurred into personal accounts—rambling, disordered, full of fear. The doctor’s handwriting deteriorated, emotions spilling onto the page like ink.
December 16 – No… no, that’s not it. He doesn’t want to kill us. He wants to drag us in—
17th – We really were dragged in. There’s only one hospital building here. How do we get out? How do we get out?! I want to go home!
18th – Fog everywhere. There’s no way out. Like being trapped in a haunted maze. Help! Someone help us! I don’t want to die…
19th – My mind is slipping…
20th – I may not… be able to write anymore. I’m losing my memory. But Patient 001—he’s forgetting too. Maybe we’ll be trapped here forever. I…
Who am I?
,,,I’m a doctor… I…
The rest of the file was blank. Just pages and pages of empty white.
Yet strangely, the players all felt a sense of relief.
This hospital hadn’t just violated basic humanity—it had used live test subjects, even minors, for human experimentation. Every doctor had been complicit. They all deserved far worse than death.
And after enduring a full year of such torment, Liao Xing had managed—at the very end—to drag the entire hospital into a dreamscape of his own creation. It was nothing short of awe-inspiring.
Now that the players had fully pieced together the instance’s backstory, Fu Changxun finally shared his theory on how to clear it.
“I think… the ‘Family Portrait’ in the instance title isn’t a real family portrait. That portrait,” he continued, “was a fantasy—something he once constructed for himself. A picture of the family he wished he had. Back then, it was a happy home. No monsters. No horrors. But somewhere along the way, it all changed. His parents sent him here. His classmates drifted away. In the end, he was left with only one person—his best friend.”
Fu Changxun’s voice carried an odd sort of power—something that made people instinctively want to follow wherever his thoughts led.
“So, for the patient-role players, the goal is to find ‘Wang Fan’—to help Liao Xing return to reality. And for the nurse-role players, the objective is to communicate with the doctors, uncover clues, then descend to the basement level to uncover the truth behind the hospital. That route also leads to clearing the instance.”
Two paths to victory: the patient route was harder, but aided by Liao Xing. The nurse route was easier, but required keen observation—particularly noticing the password at the front desk.
Not exactly a high-difficulty instance.
But even one misstep could send them spiraling into SAN loss, lost in this twisted place for good.
“How can you be so sure they’re supposed to find Wang Fan?” Lulu asked, raising a reasonable doubt. “What if it is really just a family portrait? After all, ‘family portrait’ sounds like a literal photograph.”
Fu Changxun looked up at Dong Zi and gave a small smile. “I’m sure Wang Fan’s the key. And based on Liao Xing’s relationship with his family, do you really think he’d care about a photo with them?”
Lulu thought it over, then answered firmly, “No.”
“Right? So trust me.”
He added silently to himself: I trust Dong Zi’s item, too.
The Lifetime-Bound Flyer clearly said “friend.” That was the real key to clearing this instance.
***
That night, all the players set out together.
Xiao Zhang-ge had woken up by dusk. Though still weak from the attack, he stubbornly refused to stay behind in the infirmary or nurse’s dorm. After all, being alone was usually far more dangerous.
“I’m fine. Once we leave the instance, the weakness will wear off quickly anyway.”
“I won’t drag anyone down. My ability’s not bad, either.”
As he spoke, he summoned a staff from thin air—his ability allowed him to conjure weapons. Unfortunately, it didn’t extend to blades or firearms just yet.
Seeing how determined he was, Fu Changxun relented. “Alright. But if things get dangerous, we might not be able to protect you.”
Xiao Zhang-ge and Xiao Li-ge both nodded. “Of course. We won’t protect you, either.”
Fu Changxun: “…Cough. Naturally.”
The full party once again bypassed the rules and snuck into the basement floor, skillfully navigating their way to the surveillance room. The mission: track down the elusive Director.
This time, though, the Director had chosen an absurdly obvious hiding spot—perhaps thinking “the most dangerous place is the safest,” he was hiding in the surveillance room itself.
Just before opening the door, Fu Changxun had still been wondering where the Director could be. The moment he walked in, he could only sigh and think: TV dramas really are harmful. But he totally deserved this.
Now that they’d found him, it was simple—get him!
The players struck as one. Those with abilities used them; the rest whipped out items. Together, they pinned the old bastard down, trapping him in the small control room.
The Director scrambled like a rat, dodging a barrage of tools and powers. Dong Zi stepped forward, gave him a hard kick, sized him up, and grabbed him by the scruff like a cat.
“Talk. How do we open the hospital’s main gate? Or I’ll send you straight to hell.”
“I won’t die! I can’t die!” the Director shrieked, struggling in Dong Zi’s grasp like a chick caught in an eagle’s claw.
Fu Changxun looked down at him and said calmly, “Quiet.”
The Director immediately clamped up like a strangled rooster—oh wait, he was being choked—and stared at the players in panic. Then, taking advantage of a moment’s distraction, he broke free of their restraints and shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Come! Hurry—!”
The transformed doctors and nurses—now monstrous black-and-white creatures—charged in once more.
They flooded the corridor like a tide, quickly packing the narrow hallway.
“Holy shit! Xiao Xiao, where are you?!”
“Xiao Zhang, I got shoved away! Watch yourself!”
“Gege—!”
“Wife! Babe, hold on to me!”
Fu Changxun was forced to the side, cut off from the rest of the group. He could only focus on clearing the monsters in his immediate area.
Once again, the creatures opened their gaping mouths, trying to devour them whole.
The players weren’t physically in danger of being eaten—but the psychic damage was real. Seriously, one look at those giant, lamprey-like mouths and your SAN value was guaranteed to plummet/
Fu Changxun hesitated for a moment… then activated his ability.
His weapon—the Useless-Looking Doorknob—was still in Dong Zi’s hands. He had no other offensive tools strong enough to fend off the flood of monsters.
His eyes glinted with a faint red light. He locked onto one of the creatures and bent its perception.
“Go block the other monsters.”
The monster wobbled, then turned and charged into the other enemies, swinging wildly.
Fu Changxun kept going. “Next. Make way. Clear a path. Next…”
Around him, the monsters began thinning out—until it looked like a line of players waiting to take quests from an NPC.
Mr. Zeng, the closest to him, was left utterly dumbfounded.
“Once we catch the Director, we can force him to tell us how to open the hospital gates,” Dong Zi called out to the others as they pushed their way forward.
Everyone nodded, tripping over themselves to capture the Director. But the man was slippery—a wily, spry old bastard who darted through the monster crowd, dodging grasp after grasp. They nearly caught him several times, but he kept slipping away with practiced ease.
“Don’t panic—he’s still here,” Dong Zi called, just as he moved to bulldoze through the crowd.
But then, a monster shoved him aside.
The horde suddenly split into two neat lines, almost like trained soldiers. Together, they lifted the Director from the floor and tossed him directly in front of Fu Changxun.
Under the effect of his Cognitive Distortion, the creatures now believed he was the one they needed to serve—their Director.
With the real Director finally captured, everyone let out a long, collective breath of relief.
Fu Changxun leaned against the wall, breathing lightly. His SAN value had dropped to 60—just low enough for hallucinations to begin creeping in.
It felt like being drunk. His eyes were open, but everything he saw was warped and distorted—a dazzling, kaleidoscopic blur of color.
Amid the kaleidoscope of distorted visions, a single black dot suddenly appeared—clear and distinct.
It moved steadily toward him.
“Ah Xun, are you okay?”
Dong Zi’s voice broke through, and the tension in Fu Changxun’s face finally loosened.
Dong Zi was here. Everything would be fine.
