This place might not be exactly like Lulu guessed—not a mental landscape per se—but it’s definitely tied to Liao Xing’s imagination.
He created a reality. He’s the true core of this instance.
Everything the players see is a mix of truth and illusion—people dragged into his delusions, things conjured by his imagination, even avatars he created himself.
For example: that woman who always showed up with clues.
The NPC from Room 411.
Every time she appeared, the timing was suspiciously perfect—too convenient to be a coincidence.
In this instance, the game actively tries to prevent players from clearing it, yet the boss keeps handing them clues on a silver platter.
Which means—on the surface, choosing to play as a doctor seemed like the easier route. But in reality, those players were being funneled toward confronting the big boss. Ironically, those who chose the patient path were actually getting the easier ride.
Fu Changxun gently explained this, and Xiao Li-ge’s face went ghost white.
He was a veteran. He understood immediately what that meant for him. In contrast, the newer players were still confused.
“I still don’t really get it…”
Mr. Zeng said awkwardly, “So does that mean… we’ve got no chance of clearing the game?”
“Not necessarily,” Fu Changxun replied. “The game never creates an unwinnable scenario. Patients have one way to clear the instance. Nurse players probably have a different path. I’m guessing the two paths rarely overlap.”
Ms. Hu said anxiously, “You don’t know—my husband swore he saw a ghost last night. I’m terrified it’ll happen again tonight…”
“A ghost?” Dong Zi immediately asked, “What kind of ghost?”
Before Mr. Zeng could explain, Xiao Li-ge—who’d been ignored for quite some time—let out a cold laugh. “You guys actually believe that? This coward of a man sees shadows every day and calls them ghosts. I watched the whole night myself. There was nothing. Probably just a bad dream.”
Mr. Zeng flushed bright red. “I did see something! What reason would I have to lie right now?!”
Ms. Hu quickly backed her husband up. “That’s right—we’re all in the same boat now. I trust my husband. He wouldn’t lie about this.”
Xiao Li-ge scoffed.
He was about to say something else mocking when, suddenly, a patient kicked a door open.
“You’re the one who sent me here! You forced me to be ‘normal’—you made me give up what I loved…”
The girl glared at the grotesque monster in the room with pure hatred. “And now you want me to go back? Get married? Have kids? Pop out a child just like me so you can torture them the same way?!”
She let out a bitter laugh, trembling with rage. “Too bad! It’s too late—whatever you say now, it’s already too damn late—!”
Still laughing, she stormed off, unsteady but determined, heading for the stairs.
All around, the patients’ “family members”—those unbearably ugly monsters—turned in eerie unison. Their hollow eyes followed her, unmoving.
Fu Changxun found her face familiar. He squinted at her for a while before it hit him: she was the fierce girl who’d gotten into a scuffle with another patient when he’d asked about Wang Fan.
She’d already seemed emotionally unstable back then, and now, just like before, she was the first patient to break down the door.
Without realizing it, Fu Changxun had been staring at her for quite some time.
Dong Zi suddenly asked, “What’s up with her? Did you notice something strange?”
Startled, Fu Changxun looked up. “No—why do you ask?”
Dong Zi lowered his head, looking aggrieved—“You were staring at her for so long, I thought something was off… or maybe you liked her.”
“That’s impossible,” Fu Changxun chuckled. “Don’t overthink. I’m gay. Always have been, always will be.”
He hadn’t meant anything by it, but as soon as the words left his mouth, every nurse and patient nearby turned to look.
Fu Changxun could read them one by one: envy, sympathy, surprise—even disgust.
But the only thing they took from his sentence was this: he was gay.
And then a thought hit him.
Could this be… a conversion facility?
He rose on his toes and whispered the guess to Dong Zi. The latter shook his head—then nodded. “Not exactly. There are heterosexual patients here.”
Fu Changxun: “?”
Seeing the confusion on his face—How do you know that?—Dong Zi explained, “I asked around earlier. One male patient has a girlfriend waiting for him outside.”
“How do you know he’s not faking it or lying?” Fu Changxun asked instinctively.
Dong Zi shook his head. “He showed me her photo. They’re really in love.”
So that theory didn’t hold either.
Fu Changxun’s deductions hit a wall. He genuinely couldn’t figure out the true nature of this hospital.
They remained on the first floor for most of the day. During that time, “family members” came and went, but every meeting ended in conflict. Not one patient was taken home. Not one family member made peace.
As visiting hours ended, the patients’ numbness slowly gave way to despair.
They’d rather sit in silence, alone in the hospital, than speak another word to their “families.”
The players had gained no new clues. Regretfully, they turned to head back. Fu Changxun trailed at the rear.
As they passed the front desk, a nurse hastily yanked a card from the counter.
She’d never done that before.
Or maybe this time they were just close enough to notice it. They’d never actually searched the reception area.
Just as the group continued forward and the nurse, thinking the danger had passed, moved to slide the card back…
Fu Changxun abruptly dove behind the counter, grabbing her hand. “Ah Xun!”
Dong Zi moved like lightning. Before the words had even fully left Fu Changxun’s mouth, he was already back, taking his place. Without hesitation, he twisted the nurse’s arms behind her and pinned her to the floor.
“She was trying to hide something—check it!”
At his shout, the players all rushed over. With several hands working together, they pried open the nurse’s fingers and retrieved the card, placing it in the center to examine the text.
[If you experience unfair treatment, you may file a complaint. Report hotline: 0109-3341.]
The card looked old. On the dash between the numbers, there was a faint vertical scratch.
It looked almost like a plus sign.
Normally, this wouldn’t be important—but just last night, they’d seen a keypad lock. The heavy iron door on Basement Level One required a four-digit code.
Which meant… this could be the answer.
Lu Qi immediately put the pieces together. “So the code is 0109 + 3341 = 3450?”
“Code?”
Mr. Zeng was still in the dark. “What code? What part of the hospital needs a code?”
Lu Qi blurted it out without thinking. “Basement Level One—there’s a lock down there, you need a code to get in…”
Halfway through, he suddenly realized: this was a clue only the patient players had. It shouldn’t be shared with the nurses.
He shut his mouth abruptly.
Fu Changxun looked up slowly—only to meet the eyes of two nurse players they had no intention of collaborating with.
Xiao Li-ge’s expression darkened. He stared at them for a moment, then suddenly shouted, “Burn!”
A flame burst up from Fu Changxun’s clothes.
His reflexes were sharp—he immediately drew his knife and sliced off the burning section.
The fabric dropped to the ground, still ablaze, only extinguishing once it was reduced to ash.
This was a new kind of ability—pure offense. None of them had it.
Fu Changxun’s ability was psychic-based. Dong Zi’s was control-type. Lulu’s was healing.
The only other offensive-type ability belonged to Xiao Xiao, but hers was too weak—more of an area-of-effect skill with minimal impact on human players, practically negligible.
With Xiao Li-ge’s powerful offensive ability looming over them, the situation was undeniably grim.
“We’re in trouble.”
Fu Changxun’s gaze locked onto Xiao Li-ge—but by chance, he noticed something odd. Behind him, Xiao Zhang-ge was squinting at Xiao Li-ge with murky, unfocused eyes, an expression full of weariness and age—nothing like the spirited man they’d seen just yesterday.
He blinked in confusion. And in that split second, another wave of fire shot toward him.
Dong Zi grabbed him and spun them both to the ground, rolling twice to completely dodge the attack.
Xiao Li-ge kept launching his power, but every strike was nimbly avoided by Dong Zi, who never even used his ability. Red-eyed with fury, Xiao Li-ge drew in a huge breath and blew out.
“Hoo—!”
A torrent of flames surged toward Dong Zi, threatening to engulf him entirely.
But in a flash, Dong Zi activated his ability, ripped off his outer jacket, and flung it forward as he teleported above Xiao Li-ge’s head.
The burning coat dropped—only for the flames to catch directly onto Xiao Li-ge’s hair.
“What the fuck?!” he shouted, swearing loudly as he tried to swat it out.
But his ability had already run dry. He was tapped out and couldn’t use it again anytime soon.
Frustrated, he began thinking about finding a more reliable partner… and then it hit him—his teammate.
Only now did Xiao Li-ge notice how unusually silent Xiao Zhang-ge had been today. Normally, the guy was always eager to show off.
“Xiao Zhang! Help me out here—let’s take them down just like we did last instance!” He pointed at the patient players. “Just do what we did before!”
Xiao Zhang-ge responded sluggishly, letting out a dull “Mm” but made no move to step forward.
“Don’t you think,” Fu Changxun said suddenly, “your partner’s been acting a little… off today? He’s nothing like he was yesterday. It’s possible he’s been replaced—”
But Xiao Li-ge cut him off angrily, completely misreading the warning. “What the hell does that have to do with you?!”
Fu Changxun gave a calm nod. “Exactly. It doesn’t. So you guys go ahead and handle it yourselves.”
He really was done caring.
Xiao Li-ge, now fuming, snapped, “You just can’t stand that we’re doing well, can you?!”
“Not at all,” Fu Changxun replied innocently. “Just giving you a heads-up. Believe it or not, that’s up to you. Just don’t drag me into it.”
The others, too, had begun piecing things together from the interrupted conversation and started calling Xiao Li-ge out.
“You okay? Can you let people finish a sentence for once?” Lulu asked. “You always have to interrupt?”
“That was some amateur-level provocation,” Dong Zi muttered.
“Our teacher said interrupting is very rude,” Xiao Xiao added, delivering the final blow.
Xiao Li-ge: “…”
He’d only heard half the sentence—and, more importantly, had instinctively ignored the terrifying possibility that the second half implied.
If it were true, then… who the hell had he been sleeping next to all night?
No matter how hard he tried to deny it, reality couldn’t be reasoned away.
Everyone simultaneously turned to stare at “Xiao Zhang-ge,” who had been uncharacteristically gloomy since morning.
Right before their eyes, “Xiao Zhang-ge” began to change—his features aging rapidly, posture hunching, until he looked disturbingly familiar…
Wait a minute—that was the NPC who greeted them at the hospital entrance on the first day.
So he’d replaced the real Xiao Zhang-ge.
Then where was the real one? Was he still alive?
