The dramatic reveal went completely unnoticed by the NPCs—only the players had seen it unfold in full.
“You!”
Xiao Li-ge was stunned, then furious. But he was too panicked to care about where the real Xiao Zhang-ge had gone.
He backed away like he’d seen a ghost, pointing a trembling finger. “What the hell are you?! How can you… how can you take someone else’s form?!”
The question was on every player’s mind.
But the old man didn’t answer. He merely squinted and grinned, as if about to speak.
“He can’t actually change forms,” Fu Changxun cut him off, shutting the spell down mid-cast. “Most likely he used some kind of hallucinogen… something that distorts our vision, making us think we’re seeing the original person. Like a visual blocker from the Game Shop—it hides the user’s real face.”
The old man’s expression turned dark, his already-ancient face looking even more sinister. Then came rage—because Fu Changxun had just stolen his next line.
“As for his identity, it’s obvious,” Fu Changxun added, voice sly. “He’s the Director that escaped from last night.” He turned and shouted, “Ah Zi—grab him!”
“On it!” Dong Zi replied.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the Director—who’d already experienced Dong Zi’s brute strength firsthand—bolted.
He ran with shocking speed, vanishing into the stairwell to Basement Level One in the blink of an eye.
No password needed—he scanned his iris, the door unlocked, and he was gone.
By the time the players caught up, the heavy iron door had already shut again.
“What was the code again?”
Lulu, in a panic, crouched before the keypad and asked.
Fu Changxun stepped forward. “Let me.”
His lifetime-bound item—the Useless-Looking Doorknob—had turned out to be very useful in this instance.
Even its item description had updated to: [A doorknob that might be kind of useful.]
Mr. Zeng and the others, including Lu Qi and Lulu from previous nights, looked on in stunned silence. “No wonder you told Liao Xing ‘see you tonight’…”
With a tool like that, what door couldn’t be opened?
As for the instance—once they passed through the door, something clunked loudly underfoot.
“What was that?” Xiao Xiao immediately pulled out the flashlight Fu-ge had given her and switched it on. But the moment she saw what it illuminated, she shrieked.
“Ah! It’s a person!”
In the flashlight’s beam, the figure of a person lay sprawled on the floor.
Only one person was missing from their group.
Fu Changxun focused on the body, then nodded. “It’s not the Director. It’s the real Xiao Zhang-ge.”
“Xiao Zhang…” Xiao Li-ge trembled as he crouched down, reaching out to touch the body on the ground.
Still warm.
That breath caught in his throat suddenly released. He collapsed to the floor, gasping hard, drawing in huge mouthfuls of air.
He was still alive. Still warm. His best partner wasn’t dead yet. Thank god…
Xiao Li-ge couldn’t care less about appearances anymore. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen a player die, but it was the first time he’d nearly lost the brother who’d fought by his side for years.
When the wound’s not on you, you don’t feel the pain.
But once it is, only then do you understand the crushing despair others feel when they lose a loved one—family, parents, partner. Only then do you realize that what they called a “Low-Dimensional Selection” wasn’t some game. It was a full-blown, life-or-death hunting ground.
And they were the prey.
Now that he’d found his unconscious brother, Xiao Li-ge refused to go any further.
Part of it was fear. But the other part—he had to stay behind to protect Xiao Zhang-ge.
The other seven players could only accept his choice. No one was going to give up the chance to clear the instance, now so close at hand, just because two players split off.
Fu Changxun simply said, “Alright. If the Director heads this way, call for help immediately.”
“I know.” Xiao Li-ge had long since lost all trace of his earlier bluster toward the rest of the group.
He propped Xiao Zhang-ge up and quickly checked him over, then exchanged points for some defensive gear from the Game Shop and stayed alert, guarding his brother’s side.
The rest of the players moved on.
There were no lights on the first basement level. The flashlight beams weren’t enough to cut through the gloom entirely. The Director lurked in the shadows, like a venomous snake—no one could tell when he might strike from the darkness.
They advanced with extreme caution, deliberately steering clear of all dark corners.
“…What was that…” Ms. Hu murmured suddenly. “Just now—I think something ran past me from behind.”
Fu Changxun glanced over, alert. Logically speaking, it was daytime. None of the doctors or nurses should have transformed into monsters. So what exactly had she seen?
Behind Ms. Hu stood a door—one they hadn’t managed to explore last night. It was chained shut with heavy iron links.
“Wait a moment. Let’s check this room.” He’d noticed something off and gently brushed past the others.
But a chain on the handle was nothing against Fu Changxun. He made short work of it.
The door creaked open. A thick cloud of dust blasted outward, making everyone cough and cover their faces.
Standing just in front of Fu Changxun, Dong Zi quickly waved a few times, trying to fan the dust away. But seeing that it wasn’t helping much, he promptly reached out and gently covered Fu Changxun’s mouth and nose, shielding him from the floating particles.
Everyone else was hacking up a storm—except Fu Changxun, who seemed entirely unaffected.
Even Dong Zi coughed twice from the exposure after reaching out to help.
Fu Changxun hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of guilt. Before his brain caught up, his hand moved—instinctively returning the favor by covering Dong Zi’s nose and mouth in kind.
Dong Zi: “…”
Fu Changxun: “…”
The two of them froze in that awkward pose, remaining locked in place until the others stopped coughing and the dust finally settled. Then Fu Changxun snapped out of it and pulled his hand back like he’d been electrocuted.
Shit. I just meant to return the gesture, but why the hell did it feel like… something else?!
Xiao Xiao looked over at them, then suddenly felt an inexplicable wave of fullness—like she’d just eaten too much.
Feeling extremely unnecessary, she silently shuffled over to Lulu-jie’s side and muttered in a low voice, “They’re like this every day. Ugh, I’m so done. My eyes can’t take it.”
Lulu whispered back, “Wahhh—baby couple alert. They know how to flirt!”
The still-not-quite-a-couple duo retrieved their flashlights and swept the beam across the room. It was an archive. Neatly arranged folders lined the bookshelves, row upon row.
“Let’s look through them. See if there’s anything about the hospital’s patients—maybe some kind of clue.”
Since Fu Changxun said so, everyone resigned themselves to flipping through the files, row by row.
Lulu pulled one out, dusted it off, and was about to toss it aside when she noticed something odd—there was a strange bulge in the folder, like something was stuffed inside.
She hesitated, then cautiously pried it open.
A moment later, she abruptly shut it again and handed it to Fu Changxun, who had been waiting nearby.
“There’s a bunch of records in here,” Lulu said gravely. “Personal info, diagnoses, payment history, patient compliance—it’s all here.”
Fu Changxun took the file and glanced at the first few pages. His brows furrowed deeply.
Patient 102 – Diagnosis: Masculinization…
Patient 091 – Diagnosis: Improper feelings toward the same sex…
Patient 043 – Diagnosis: Gender identity disorder…
These weren’t standard medical terms. Not even close. Yet here they were, printed plainly on official-looking documents.
“So this hospital was for… correcting personality? Sexual orientation, even?”
Lulu spat, “What the hell—are they serious? If things like that could be ‘corrected,’ maybe someone should start by smashing in the brains of the doctors and families who think that way.”
The two actual doctors present—surgeon Lulu and psychologist Fu Changxun—shared a look that said: What kind of bullshit is this?
What a goddamn trash hospital.
Well, since they were already here, might as well spit on the place before leaving.
It was 2202, for crying out loud. How could anyone still believe in such outdated trash—like gender roles being some fixed template?
Some boys are naturally gentle. Some girls are loud, fiery, and bold. And as for “correcting” homosexuality? That doesn’t make someone straight. It just breaks them—shutting them off from both same and opposite sex relationships entirely.
“And those who don’t conform to a ‘proper personality’—anyone who strays from the script, or dares to be unapologetically themselves…”
Fu Changxun kept flipping pages until he came across a full treatment record.
Patient gender: Female.
Diagnosis: Masculinization. Excessively extroverted. Personality deemed unsuitable for female development.
October 2nd – Admitted to the correctional hospital.
October 3rd – Medication administered. Patient emotionally unstable. Nurse coaxed her into taking the pills.
October 5 – Emotional instability. Resisted “pink therapy.” Spilled medication.
October 6 – Extreme noncompliance. Initiated first round of electroshock. Patient became stable and obedient.
October 7 – Continued resistance. Initiated second round of electroshock at higher intensity. Patient experienced full-body convulsions and incontinence. Compliance restored. Significant improvement noted.
…
October 28 – Patient successfully weaned off “blue,” “sports,” and “weapons.” Has begun studying flower arrangement and cooking.
October 30 – Patient attempted escape. Was returned by nursing staff. Electroshock intensity increased to eradicate rebellious tendencies. During fierce resistance, a nurse made a mistake—electroshock caused patient to go into shock. Resuscitation failed.
November 1 – Family visited. Regretfully informed of patient’s death.
November 2 – Family caused disturbance outside hospital. Police were called and arrests made. Prior to admission, family had signed a “Hospital Non-Liability Agreement.” Hospital bears no responsibility.
Case closed and sealed.
Just a few short lines laid bare the final month in the life of a girl who was merely a little tomboyish. The account was precise, but utterly soulless.
Even Mr. Zeng, who’d previously frowned on homosexuality or boys acting “feminine,” felt a surge of discomfort and grief reading it. Their hearts collectively ached for that poor girl.
Fu Changxun fell into silent thought for a moment, then suddenly walked back to the shelves and started searching again.
“If the records are this detailed, Liao Xing’s file has to be here too. Let’s find it!”
Everyone sprang into action at his words.
It didn’t take long for Xiao Xiao to raise her hand. “I found it! Gege, here—look.”
Patient 001 – Diagnosis: Feminization. Lacks masculinity. Behavior severely effeminate.
If Fu Changxun recalled correctly, the hospital’s loudspeaker had once called out: “Patient 001, Liao Xing.”
Which meant…
Liao Xing was the very first patient admitted to this hospital?
