Although they had captured the Director, everyone’s SAN value had taken a hit—now hovering around 70.
Dong Zi half-supported, half-carried Fu Changxun and said, “Let’s try to finish this tonight. We’ll go to the fifth floor and bring Liao Xing down to meet Wang Fan.”
“What if Wang Fan isn’t there?” Lulu asked anxiously.
Dong Zi replied, “Then… we’ll just have to shut the instance down.”
Lulu: “…?”
She didn’t get what that meant—but Fu Changxun, still leaning on Dong Zi, suddenly let out a low laugh. “Sure, if you can tear it down.”
Tear? Tear what?
Lulu’s eyes widened in alarm. Tear down the hospital? Well, sure, that’d definitely make opening the door unnecessary…
Wait—why was she going along with this madness?!
The Director, still tightly restrained by the players, was struggling to regain control of the monsters. But no one gave him the chance to lift his head—Mr. Zeng simply sat on top of him.
Director: “Pfft—!”
The elderly man, already over seventy, nearly stopped breathing on the spot. For a moment, it looked like he might die right then and there.
So Mr. Zeng got up and let Ms. Hu take over sitting on him.
…Didn’t seem like much of an improvement, really.
Fu Changxun steadied himself and strode toward the Director, looking completely composed—no one could tell that his vision was still warped, the walls and corridors all twisted and surreal.
“Director, you don’t really want to be erased, do you?” he said softly. “We’re not bad people, after all. We just want to clear the instance.”
The old man caught the threat laced beneath those gentle words—especially when he saw the lingering red in Fu Changxun’s eyes.
If he helped them, they’d clear the instance and likely leave him alone afterward.
But if he didn’t help…
They’d become the bad guys without hesitation.
He should’ve turned into a monster, just like the other doctors, but he’d hidden in the morgue and avoided it—transforming the basement into his personal lair. He’d even installed traps and used visual dead zones to pull off “disappearing” acts, making it look like he was a ghost.
He’d survived this long, outwitting several batches of players. He thought he’d stay untouchable forever. But this time, he’d been thoroughly beaten.
He wasn’t human anymore, and barely a ghost. But he was still alive—and he had no intention of dying here.
“I’ll open it. I’ll open the door for you!” the Director gave in at last.
Fu Changxun smiled again, this time much more sincerely. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
The Director was absolutely fuming.
They hogtied the Director and lugged him upstairs. As expected, they found Liao Xing in his usual spot—alone in the equipment room at the far end of the fifth floor.
Tonight, there were no monster attacks.
It was the first time the four nurse-role players had been up to the fifth floor.
When they were just reading the diary—cough, the medical records—they hadn’t felt much. But now, seeing the real instruments of torture, the electroshock machines and devices clearly built to inflict pain, they all turned visibly green.
It was nauseating. Why would anyone take pleasure in tormenting others? How could a hospital like this exist for an entire year without being shut down?
And why were there parents—so many parents—who claimed it was “for their child’s own good,” yet stood by doing nothing while others abused and tortured them? Some even cheered it on.
This… was the dark side of human nature.
Liao Xing, meanwhile, sat right in the center of those instruments, completely unfazed—like he was used to it.
“You’re here—? That’s the Director!” he immediately recognized the old man being carried in.
Fu Changxun nodded. “Yeah. We brought the key. He can unlock the door.”
He and Dong Zi had already tried it themselves—the front entrance couldn’t be opened with the doorknob. As soon as they got close, it became impossible to physically touch it.
Liao Xing went quiet.
He stared at the man who had tortured him for a year in the real world, and for even longer within this instance. The urge to kill was barely suppressed in his gaze.
But… a key? Were they saying…
Dong Zi spoke up. “He can open the hospital’s main gate. Don’t you want to see your friend again?”
“Of course I do.” Liao Xing finally looked away from the now-sweating Director. “If I really get to see Wang Fan… then I’ll give you a gift. If I don’t—can I be the one to deal with him?”
He pointed at the Director, clearly not letting go of his desire for revenge.
“Deal,” Fu Changxun agreed immediately, as if he’d already forgotten his earlier promise to the Director.
No one said anything. At this point, who would bother reminding him?
The Director was already the world’s unluckiest scapegoat.
With a full group of ten, they made their way downstairs in grand procession—nearly collapsing the rickety staircase under their combined weight.
The Director did have the key. But the moment they set him down, he started bargaining.
“I’ll open the door, if you promise not to play that game again—free me just to catch me again. Otherwise, I won’t open it no matter what!”
Fu Changxun had zero patience left. His voice turned icy: “Open it or get sen—”
He hadn’t even finished his threat when the Director chickened out and rushed to unlock the door, acting like he hadn’t just been whining moments ago.
“That was fast.”
The players muttered to themselves and stepped through the doorway.
But the moment the last of them exited, the main doors slammed shut behind them—and locked.
The Director locked it from the inside, face twisting into a triumphant grin.
“We’ve been had!” Mr. Zeng and Ms. Hu shouted, panicked. “He locked us out!”
“Don’t worry,” Lulu said coolly, turning to the others. “The final boss is with us. If anything unexpected happens… well, we’ve got a backup plan right here.”
What Lulu said was, surprisingly, irrefutable. With things as they were, everyone could only brace themselves and step outside.
Outside, the moonlight was hazy. In the distance, veiled in drifting mist, a lone figure stood waiting—like someone expecting a long-awaited arrival.
Fu Changxun raised his voice. “Wang Fan?”
The figure stirred, lifted his head—and then ran toward them in delight. “Xingxing!”
That hard, impenetrable shell Liao Xing had always carried… finally dissolved.
His voice softened, gentle and uncertain. “Xiao Fan, I’m out. Are we still… friends?”
Wang Fan hugged him tightly. “Of course we are. We always have been. That’s never changed!”
Liao Xing smiled. But the corners of his eyes glistened with tears.
Wang Fan held him for a long time before finally letting go, turning to the players with heartfelt gratitude. “Thank you so much. I had no idea how I was going to get him out of that place…”
Fu Changxun knew now—they’d made the right call.
So he asked, “What exactly is this place—?”
“It’s a world Xingxing created,” Wang Fan explained, lively and warm. “Only I could enter, so I came in. I came to bring him back. I’ve already talked to his parents—Xingxing’s moving in with me. No, wait—he’s part of our family now. The hospital incident caused a huge stir. After this building vanished, the truth about the other kids’ deaths finally came out. The parents who sent them in… went mad. Serves them right.”
Wang Fan sighed. “Ah, what were you asking just now? Sorry—I interrupted.”
“It’s fine,” Fu Changxun said. “I just wanted to know… what happened to the real hospital? Is it still operating?”
Liao Xing simply smiled. “It’s still here. The main ward is this building. When I lost control back then, I pulled it in with me.”
He looked at the structure and spoke gently, “Now I remember everything. Before you came, there were others—people like you. Some saw me as a monster and wanted to kill me. Others thought I was some kind of savior, begging me to help them clear the instance. I didn’t understand then. But now I think I do. I’m just an NPC to you, right?”
It was a question that broke the fourth wall—an NPC asking to confirm his own non-existence. And for once, Fu Changxun didn’t know what to say.
Liao Xing shook his head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. I was just curious.” He gave a soft smile. “Thank you. Truly.”
The players waved their hands awkwardly. “No need to thank us! It was nothing. Really. But—uh—does this mean we’ve cleared the instance? We haven’t gotten a system prompt yet.”
Liao Xing replied, “You have. Just one last thing left. Xiao Fan—this can’t be it, right?”
“Of course not!” Wang Fan glared at the building, then pulled out—a lighter. “We’re burning this place to the ground!”
He crouched down, trying to set the grass under the wall on fire. The players watched him fail repeatedly, going from amused to speechless.
Xiao Li-ge covered his face with a groan. In the end, he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Let me do it.” He glared at the wall, raised a hand, and shouted, “Burn!”
A tongue of flame flared up from the ivy climbing the wall, licking its way toward the wooden window frames. The fire snaked inside, sweeping from room to room.
“It’s on fire—!”
The flames roared.
Inside, the still-living Director, the half-human, half-monster doctors and nurses, all screamed in agony—begging for help, just like the patients once had. But no one was coming to save them.
The trapped souls inside the hospital remembered everything in those flames. And at last, they embraced freedom with joy.
That grotesque, absurd hospital—was finally reduced to ashes, wiped from the face of the Earth.
Xiao Xiao peered through the window into Room 411. Inside, a woman was smiling, as if finally released.
“Are they… all dead now?”
Children always had a special sensitivity.
“Yes,” Liao Xing said softly. “In the truest sense—they’re all gone now.”
He looked up at the sky. With the hospital destroyed, the bound spirits soared into the air, free at last. The fog around them lifted.
Fireflies blinked into the clearing. The chirps of insects and birds called back and forth—crisp and bright.
It was a beautiful night, with a faint moon and scattered stars.
Hand in hand, Liao Xing and Wang Fan walked into the distance. The wind carried their voices faintly to the players’ ears.
“The hospital’s gone. Let’s go back to the real world.”
“Mm. Let’s.”
“It’s actually been years in reality, you know. Don’t be fooled by how I still look fifteen or sixteen in here—I’m already in college!”
Liao Xing gave a startled laugh. “What?! Then I’m way behind! I think I just started high school!”
Wang Fan nodded. “Then you’d better catch up—we’re going to the same university, okay?”
The two of them gradually faded into the mist. They had finally left this place behind, returning to the world that truly belonged to them.
It was a family portrait for just the two of them. Two people… could be a family too.
