At Liao Xing’s insistence, the players brought him along.
Fu Changxun made sure he walked in the middle—safest position. Liao Xing thanked him and followed the group down the stairwell.
“Do you remember anything about the basement?” Fu Changxun asked as they descended.
“The basement… used to be the morgue.” Liao Xing’s voice was calm, even though what he said was chilling. “Later on, I heard… some of the patients who were tortured to death…came back to life.”
Resurrected corpses weren’t exactly rare—high resentment levels could do that. Usually, a Taoist priest from a temple could handle it.
But the hospital had a guilty conscience. The director didn’t want to make it public, so he tried to deal with it quietly.
Unfortunately, an intern nurse witnessed it. The situation spiraled. The hospital couldn’t allow outsiders in to investigate, so they made up some excuse to cover it up. The corpse resurrection was swept under the rug, and the morgue was shut down.
They destroyed all the bodies, burned them to ash, and buried the remains completely.
Liao Xing hadn’t died. That, he remembered clearly.
In the fragments of memory that had returned, he recalled watching patient after patient die—some electrocuted by improperly trained nurses, others dying from allergic reactions to medication.
But he survived.
He remained fully conscious through the pain. Witnessed every death, every horror—alive. That kind of pain was worse than death. At some point, his mind’s defense mechanisms began erasing the memories on their own.
Unfortunately, there hadn’t been many happy memories to balance them out. Most of his life was wrapped in darkness.
Which was why the only thing left was a vague memory of a friend.
Fu Changxun had a feeling—Liao Xing’s repressed trauma might be the key to clearing the instance. But that would mean forcing him to relive it all.
Would Liao Xing even be willing?
That would be cruel. Far too cruel.
While they talked, they reached the first floor and arrived at the stairwell leading to the basement.
A solid iron door blocked the way. It looked impossible to break down—and it had a password lock.
“I… I can’t open this,” Liao Xing said, stopping in front of the door. He looked helpless.
This was meant to be a challenge from the instance itself. Patients were supposed to find clues in the doctors’ offices. Either that, or collaborate with a nurse-player, or risk it all.
But the game designers probably never expected players to have…
…cheats.
Yes, that’s right.
Fu Changxun’s item, dun dun dun dun!
The Useless-Looking Doorknob made its grand entrance. Under the astonished eyes of the NPC—You can do that?!—the door creaked open.
He smiled faintly. “Let’s go.”
[Wait, what kind of item is that?!]
[That actually worked?? Damn, maybe my “Completely Useless Toothbrush” is hiding some secret too!]
[This has to be a cheat. Total cheat. I want it too!]
[God, I love watching the game get wrecked like this. High-level players abusing loopholes is so satisfying.]
[The basement is even creepier than the fifth floor… I’m scared. Chat, protect me!]
The layout of B1 was completely different from upstairs. Where the hospital floors above were organized in neat corridors and uniform rooms, the basement was an absolute mess—twisting, cramped passageways that made no logical sense.
Liao Xing let out a soft laugh. “Just like before. Not a thing’s changed.”
The old morgue was at the very back. He led the way smoothly.
Maybe they trusted that door too much. Or maybe they had backup plans. But for whatever reason, nothing attacked them on the way down.
Not until they reached the final door.
Liao Xing tilted his head slightly, then turned to them. “This part… is new. There’s an extra room added here.”
Their destination lay just beyond it—but now, a new room blocked the way.
And someone was inside.
The figures were indistinct, hazy. Everyone tensed up as they slowly pushed the door open.
They’d prepared themselves for anything. But even so, the moment Fu Changxun saw dozens of eyes staring back at him, his skin broke into goosebumps.
He knew his weak constitution and SAN stat. Without hesitation, he ducked behind Dong Zi’s broad back like it was a human shield.
Thankfully, his SAN didn’t drop again.
The room was packed—crammed full of monsters. All of them, clearly, were doctors and nurses transformed.
In perfect synchronicity, they turned their heads and stared at the intruding players with cold, eerie eyes.
Then, the monsters bared the gaping maws on their necks and lunged at them.
Dong Zi’s blade swept through the air in a sharp arc, cleanly slicing off one monster’s head. But the others only feinted, then bypassed them entirely—charging straight for the exit.
Everyone: “?”
These things could pull a diversion?
Before they had time to react, the monsters scattered and fled, vanishing through the doors.
Thankfully, the players’ goal wasn’t to eliminate the monsters. Letting them run wasn’t the end of the world. Just to be safe, they’d stationed Lulu at the entrance with the Direction Wheel to guard against ambushes. Only then did they feel secure enough to open the final door—the one that had once led to the morgue.
Inside was a cramped little room. The walls were sealed with concrete, and monitors lined the space, offering a full view of the hospital—every floor, inside and out. Recording devices, headphones, and stacks of components cluttered the area, including a huge pile of bugging devices.
But something was off.
No one was here.
No monsters, no ghosts—no sign of any living creature.
Fu Changxun stepped forward and inspected the desk and chair, then looked up. “Someone was just here.”
He pointed at the indentation in the seat. “It’s a pressure imprint from long-term use. These cushions take a while to spring back—hasn’t fully recovered yet. He left just moments ago.”
“Where the hell did he go?” Lu Qi rifled through drawers and cabinets but found nothing. Not a trace of anyone.
Was he hiding?
They’d moved fast. Even with help from the surveillance system, it shouldn’t have been possible for someone hiding in here to vanish without a trace.
Fu Changxun’s gaze swept across the room—then something clicked. “Those monsters just ran out, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” Xiaoxiao nodded. “I saw them—nineteen in total.”
Nineteen?
Fu Changxun felt a chill creep up his spine. He did some quick mental math. “If we’re only counting NPCs, the hospital had twenty doctors and nurses—but we already dismembered one in the patient wing.”
And the one he just beheaded made eighteen.
Which meant… there was one too many.
“He slipped out with the monsters?” Dong Zi instantly followed his train of thought and turned on his heel, dashing out the door. But the monsters were long gone. Even after they flung open every door and scoured the surrounding rooms, there was no trace.
It felt like punching into cotton—powerless, with nowhere to vent their frustration.
[Damn! That NPC is sly as hell!]
[So close! Watching from outside had my heart in my throat. One second more and they’d have caught him!]
[The Doctor doesn’t seem that impressive after all. Bit of a letdown.]
[Well, duh. Everyone was just a regular person before the game started. It’s not like anyone suddenly becomes a god after a few rounds. This is way more realistic.]
[True. No superheroes here—we’re all just trying to survive.]
[Ugh, that hit me hard. My mom never made it out of her instance. My brother joined the Special Affairs Office after he came back. Looks like it’ll be my turn soon.]
[You got this, girl. You’re gonna survive!]
[Brothers, help out where you can. We’re all human—we’re all Huaxia.]
[Shit, I’m logging into an instance now. Gonna bring as many newbies as I can.]
[New players, listen up—never drop your guard in an instance. Here’s my list of survival tips…]
Inside the instance, everyone was frustrated.
Fu Changxun offered reassurance: “It’s fine. At least we found his main base. He won’t be a threat to players for now.”
With this, the power balance was finally even. The nurses’ side still had the meds and monsters, but the patients’ side had Liao Xing and Wang Fan. Fair enough.
“What do we do with the monitors and bugs?” Lulu asked, scowling at the sea of surveillance screens. She’d realized the Director had escaped. “Ugh, he had eyes everywhere. Has the man no moral compass?”
Some of the monitors even showed inside the restrooms—women’s stalls included.
Fu Changxun manually shut off those feeds and said, “Since we’ve taken over this place, this is our headquarters now. Why destroy it?”
Nothing’s sweeter than seizing the enemy’s own base and making it your own.
***
Drip—drip—
Mr. Zeng jolted awake from a nightmare, reaching over to touch his wife. She was still there.
He let out a sigh of relief and was about to go back to sleep—when he suddenly saw a pair of eyes peering in from outside the door. Startled, he cried out and shook Mrs. Hu awake.
She rubbed her eyes groggily. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“Someone’s outside!” Mr. Zeng was still in full panic mode—it was his first time inside an instance, and he wasn’t handling it well. “I saw him! He was staring at us! Wife, ahhhhh—!”
The door creaked open.
Now it wasn’t just Mr. Zeng—Mrs. Hu screamed too. “Ah!”
But it wasn’t a ghost or monster that walked in—it was Li-ge, face full of groggy irritation.
“What the hell are you two doing?” he snapped. “Middle of the goddamn night and you’re out here scaring people for fun?”
His messy blond hair looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“There was something out there!” Mr. Zeng stammered.
Li-ge scowled even harder. “There was nothing! You’re both seeing things! Can I get some sleep or what? There’s nothing out there!”
Mr. Zeng and Mrs. Hu calmed down a little, and after looking at Li-ge—and the red-haired Zhang-ge trailing in behind him—they still felt something was off, but couldn’t quite say what. So they just apologized and curled up tightly together to sleep.
Li-ge scratched his head and muttered to the man behind him, “Ugh, so damn annoying. Newbies are the worst. Next time I run into fresh meat, I’m not helping no matter what.”
Zhang didn’t respond.
Li turned, irritated. “What’s with you? Why aren’t you talking?”
The red-haired Zhang-ge let out a muffled “Mm.”
Something was off in his voice, but since he usually wasn’t very talkative, Li didn’t think much of it.
He didn’t even notice that the real Zhang was five centimeters taller than him—while this one… was five centimeters shorter.
Not far ahead, in an abandoned hospital ward, someone was sobbing desperately.
Their hair—was red.
