Xiao Xiao still couldn’t make sense of the instance and had started fiddling with her own props in the corner.
Dong Zi broke the silence. “What about the basement? Mr. Zeng said earlier that nurses can’t go there. Maybe there’s something underground that restrains the doctors and nurses.”
“Or maybe it’s a trap.”
Fu Changxun, ever methodical, replied, “Doctors are monsters, after all. Can’t take anything they say at face value.”
To his surprise, Dong Zi nodded instead of arguing. “You’re right.”
Fu Changxun: “…”
That threw off his rhythm. Whatever he was going to say just… died in his throat.
Lulu, meanwhile, went off on a wild tangent. “What if… we’re actually inside Liao Xing’s consciousness?” Even she realized how absurd that sounded and shook her head. “Nah, that’s too out there.”
“No, actually… it makes a lot of sense,” Fu Changxun said. “Just hypothetically—if we were inside his mental world, then doctors turning into monsters would be completely logical. Hell, everything would make sense.”
The fog outside the instance, the monsters within—it would all be easier to explain if it existed in someone’s mind rather than reality.
But… was that really the truth?
Fu Changxun turned to look at the middle-aged woman from Bed No. 3 who had just walked in, hoping to find a new breakthrough.
Suddenly, he asked, “Ma’am, last night you said patients shouldn’t go to the fifth floor, and to remember to take our meds. But… I recall this hospital has a basement level too, doesn’t it?”
The woman’s eyes locked onto him instantly. Her voice went taut. “Don’t go upstairs!”
Xiao Xiao quickly stepped forward. “Auntie, we won’t go upstairs.”
Only then did the woman’s guarded expression ease a little.
Xiao Xiao followed up with her usual charm offensive, voice soft and sweet: “Auntie, we promise not to go to the fifth floor, but we do want to check out the basement. Do you know what’s down there?”
Sure enough, the woman softened toward her. She thought for a moment, then replied patiently, “There’s someone down there. Someone’s locked up in the basement.”
Xiao Xiao: “Who is it?”
“Our enemy,” the woman suddenly raised her voice. “He built this hospital! He’s the one who locked us in here! He deserves to rot down there!”
She seemed triggered by something and began muttering to herself, completely tuning out the players.
Lu Qi ventured a guess: “So… the one locked in the basement is the director? But why?”
Neither of the male players felt like replying to him. Lulu stepped in on their behalf: “Maybe the patients rioted and locked him up. Or maybe the doctors staged a coup or something. Hard to say right now—only way to know is to go down there and see.”
Lu Qi muttered, “…Right. Okay.”
He knew no one liked him. The arrogance he used to flaunt had completely vanished.
The group got up again and headed for the first floor.
Unfortunately, for the entire day, they couldn’t even get close to the stairwell leading down.
The nurse NPCs stood guard in full force. The moment anyone approached, they’d be immediately driven back.
Before they knew it, it was time to take medication again.
The doctor-nurse faction still hadn’t found any new clues. This time, though, it was Xiao Li and Xiao Zhang who delivered the pills, ensuring they were taken properly.
Xiao Li gave a fake, oily smile. “This is hospital policy. You’ll follow the rules, right?”
His malice was practically overflowing—he didn’t even bother keeping up appearances for the livestream anymore.
Fu Changxun returned a smile just as fake. “Of course. I’ve always been a rule-follower.”
Then he popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed. “Satisfied? Now piss off.”
Xiao Li was taken aback.
He didn’t know what side effects the medicine had—Mr. Zeng and Ms. Hu hadn’t told him—but it clearly wasn’t anything good.
He squinted suspiciously, trying to confirm whether the pill had really gone down, but Dong Zi was already glaring at him with clear warning. The look in his eyes said: Try touching him, and I’ll smack you straight out of the instance.
Xiao Li gulped, forced a few dry laughs, then watched the other two players take their pills before retreating as fast as he could.
“You actually took it?” Dong Zi asked anxiously as soon as they were gone.
Fu Changxun shook his head, then opened his hand to reveal the pill still sitting in his palm. “I picked up a few magic tricks back in college. Sleight of hand.”
Only then did Dong Zi breathe easy.
He didn’t mind taking the pill himself—it’d just cost him a bit of SAN. But Fu Changxun was different.
His SAN was only 85. One dose might drop him below 80.
Fu Changxun, however, looked pleased. “I held onto the pill. Let’s see if I can store it as an item.”
There was no hard limit on item count in the game, but not everything inside an instance qualified as an actual item.
Only objects the players truly “obtained,” which also possessed unique attributes, could be recognized as items. And this pill met both criteria.
Softly, Fu Changxun said, “Store item.”
[Ding—Congratulations, Player has acquired: Mind-Dulling Pill ×1.]
Success.
“It worked,” he murmured. This was technically a bug exploit—similar to how you could take the Black Cat, a sentient ghost NPC, out of the instance and it would count as an item.
The black cat narrowed its eyes. “Mrrrrow.”
Fu Changxun came back to his senses, scratching under its chin as he explained, “This pill causes mental fog.”
“No wonder it drops SAN,” Dong Zi added. “Mental fog counts as a psychic effect.”
Lu Qi, watching them talk while staring at his own SAN value—now dropped to 79—couldn’t hide his growing panic. “But… I took the pill!”
He could sense they disliked him even more now, but he didn’t care. He was afraid. He didn’t want to die. He just wanted to survive.
For once, Fu Changxun softened a little. “Relax. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
He was with the Special Affairs Office now. He’d save whoever he could. But as for someone like Xiao Li, with malicious intent toward others… he could rot for all Fu Changxun cared.
There was no way to restore SAN inside an instance, which meant the longer they stayed here, the more danger they faced—and the higher the risk of mental collapse.
Tonight, they had to deliver the message on the fifth floor.
After all, Wang Fan hadn’t just entrusted them with a verbal message—he’d given them something.
A half-worn notebook.
Fu Changxun had tried opening it, but it was sealed tight, like it’d been glued shut. Not even the first page would budge. Dong Zi couldn’t open it either.
It was likely only Liao Xing could unlock it. No one else.
With no other options, they’d have to bring it to Liao Xing and hope it would trigger a memory—or maybe offer some clue about the basement.
Ding—
It was almost 10 PM. The second night’s rest period had begun.
Not hearing anything outside the door, Fu Changxun opened a crack without much caution and stepped one foot out.
He didn’t expect that the entire hallway would already be occupied—on both sides, spaced one room apart, stood a nurse.
They all turned to look at him in unison. Though their faces varied, their expressions were exactly the same.
“Patient, please return to your room.”
They spoke in eerie unison.
Every mouth moved identically, as if pre-programmed. Dozens of nurses chanted together in mechanical rhythm:
“Patient, please return to your room.”
Paired with the dim lights of the corridor, the scene was chilling to the bone.
Fu Changxun immediately lost 8 SAN. Dong Zi raised a hand to cover his eyes and pulled him back into the room in under a second, slamming the door shut behind them.
Heart racing, Fu Changxun leaned back against the wall, visibly shaken. “That scared the shit out of me… What was that thing…?”
Dong Zi gently ran a hand down his back. “Focus. Don’t think about it. Just look at me.”
Fu Changxun took a few deep breaths, trying to dispel the mental fog from that terrifying scene.
Then Dong Zi suddenly said, “Sorry.”
Fu Changxun blinked. “Huh?”
Why are you apologizing?
The other man lowered his head, visibly frustrated with himself. “I should’ve gone out first. I knew your stamina and SAN were both low, but I didn’t stop you.”
“What’s that got to do with you?” Fu Changxun said before he could stop himself—then paused. The tone, the wording… Wait a second. Isn’t this classic green-tea behavior?
He gave Dong Zi a long, meaningful look, then patted his shoulder. “This role doesn’t suit you.”
A six-foot-two walking green-tea flirt? Yeah, no.
Dong Zi froze. “……”
“Anyway, let’s wait a bit. See if that high-heeled monster shows up,” he said, smoothly changing the subject. “If it doesn’t, we’ll head upstairs.”
Fu Changxun didn’t press the issue. “Last night, a patient in the next room vanished. Probably got dragged away by that thing—but we still don’t know where.”
Dong Zi nodded solemnly. “Alright. We’ll ambush it.”
A few minutes later, the monster appeared.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The sound of heels stopped right outside their door—and then, unexpectedly, it opened and stepped right in.
But this wasn’t just any patient’s room.
The moment the door creaked open, Dong Zi was already waiting behind it, blade raised. He struck hard and fast, just like he had with last night’s unlucky white monster—lopping off its arm in one clean blow.
This one was a faceless creature in black. Its blood was white—thick, foul-smelling, and viscous. The reverse of the white monster with black blood. But it was clearly on the doctors’ side—its reaction mirrored theirs.
With a roar, it opened a gaping mouth in the center of its neck and lunged at the players.
These damned patients. As long as it tore out their throats, they’d never be able to fight back again!
But the monster’s plan failed.
Instead of sinking its teeth into flesh, it felt a sudden chill—its tongue had been sliced clean down the middle.
The monster howled in agony, its rows of needle-like teeth snapping wildly at Dong Zi in a frenzy.
But it was too late.
Dong Zi had wedged his blade right into its maw and asked, “How do you decide which patients to target?”
The monster let out a series of garbled, furious growls. Realizing it couldn’t speak with the knife in its mouth, Dong Zi yanked it out.
“Take the meds… Patients who don’t take the meds, they must—”
Its eerie, distorted voice was abruptly cut off.
Dong Zi sliced its head clean off.
Now that it had given up its clue, it was of no further use.
“So it really was taking away the ones who didn’t take their pills,” Fu Changxun muttered, hand still shielding his eyes as he peeked through his fingers and watched Dong Zi dismember the monster. “That’s gotta be the same black-heeled creature from last night. Kinda looks like a nurse.”
Dong Zi crouched to check its shoes—and sure enough, it was wearing soft-soled, low-heeled nursing shoes.
How it made that distinct “clack clack” sound was anyone’s guess.
Could it be the lingering resentment of some nurse who wasn’t allowed to wear heels at work?
…Surely it wasn’t that petty.
