The narrow corridor felt incredibly unsettling, so much so that Zhou Jiayu didn’t hesitate before knocking on the door he saw at the end of it. 

There was no response from within, so Zhou Jiayu knocked again. Just as he was about to give up, a muffled male voice from beyond the door said, “Come in.”

Upon hearing the voice, Zhou Jiayu grasped the doorknob and gently turned it. 

With a crisp click, the wooden door opened a crack, revealing the scene inside. 

The walls of the room were all painted black, making the already dim lighting even more subdued. 

Zhou Jiayu saw a large wooden table in the center of the room, behind which sat a man in white. The man wore a white mask over his face and glasses on his nose. Due to the dim lighting, even with Zhou Jiayu’s good eyesight, he couldn’t make out the man’s features clearly.

“Hello,” the man said. “May I help you?”

Everyone entered the room from the corridor, expecting the oppressive feeling to ease now that they had left the narrow tunnel.

However, to their surprise, the director’s office was even more suffocating.

 Zhou Jiayu felt uncomfortable just being there for a short while, and he found it hard to imagine how a normal person could maintain rational thought while working in such a place for extended periods.

“Hello,” Zhou Jiayu said. “Are you the director here?”

The man nodded and replied, “Yes, I am. May I help you?”

Zhou Jiayu repeated what he had told Li Yihao earlier, explaining that they were there to investigate a patient’s wishes.

“Have a seat,” the director said, gesturing for them to sit. “I can fully cooperate with the police investigation. Which patient would you like to inquire about?”

No one moved towards the chairs. Zhou Jiayu also didn’t want to sit opposite him; although it seemed impolite, the director gave him a very bad feeling.

“Jiang Zhu,” Zhou Jiayu cautiously uttered the name, carefully observing the director’s expression. However, the reflective glasses and the mask on his face obscured most of the director’s features, making it difficult for Zhou Jiayu to glean any useful information from his expression.

Given Li Yihao’s earlier reaction, Zhou Jiayu had been somewhat concerned about the director’s reaction to hearing Jiang Zhu’s name. But the director’s tone was incredibly indifferent: “I apologize, I no longer remember that patient. If you want information about him, I’m afraid you’ll have to look for it in the archives yourself.”

“Don’t remember?” Zhou Jiayu didn’t believe him. “Are you sure you don’t remember the name Jiang Zhu?”

“Yes,” the director said with certainty.

Zhou Jiayu looked at him suspiciously. “But Doctor Li outside remembered very clearly. If you don’t mind, would you mind accompanying us to the archives?”

The director remained silent, falling into a thoughtful pause.

At this moment, Xu Rumang slammed his hand heavily on the table and said, “Mr. Director, you should think carefully.”

Another brief silence followed. Whether the director had thought it through, or if Xu Rumang’s threat had worked, the director nodded slightly, reluctantly agreeing to Zhou Jiayu’s suggestion.

“Let’s go,” the director said. “I’ll take you there.”

Everyone followed him out of the office. As he left, Zhou Jiayu noticed that the office was very strange. Besides the table and chairs, there was nothing else. There were no bookshelves along the walls, which were completely empty. There were no documents or items on the table. It was as if, apart from the table and chairs, only the director himself sat quietly in the room with black walls.

They navigated the long and narrow corridor again. As they emerged from it, everyone let out a soft sigh of relief. This kind of structure was truly unbearable; staying there for too long would probably cause even normal people to experience mental issues.

“The archives are on the fifth floor, past the inpatient ward,” the director said. “Please slow down and don’t run or make noise, or you’ll agitate the patients.”

Once outside, Zhou Jiayu finally got a clear look at the director’s appearance under the ambient light. His eyes were long and narrow, listlessly drooping, and the corners of his eyes sagged, making him look very spiritless. A normal person would look directly at the person they were speaking to, but he kept his gaze lowered throughout, his eyes occasionally drifting as if searching for something.

“Let’s go,” Zhou Jiayu said.

The director ascended the stairs towards the fourth floor. The paintings they had seen downstairs gradually increased in number, and their content became increasingly bizarre. Eventually, there were no concrete patterns, only chaotic scribbles, primarily in red and black.

Shen Yiqiong couldn’t help but ask, “Mr. Director, what’s with these paintings?”

The director turned his head to look at Shen Yiqiong and slowly replied, “These are works from our hospital. They’re beautiful and artistic. We exchange feelings through them.”

Shen Yiqiong mumbled, “Your feelings must be very complicated then.”

The director glared at him.

Shen Yiqiong glared back unceremoniously.

Just as Zhou Jiayu began to suspect the two might start arguing, the director retracted his gaze and continued to look down and walk. They quickly reached the fifth floor’s inpatient ward – according to the director, the archives were at the end of the inpatient ward, just beyond it. Why the important archives were on the same floor as the patients’ rooms was unknown.

Zhou Jiayu had assumed the inpatient ward would be full of patient rooms, but upon reaching the fifth floor, he realized it was more like a common area for patients to move freely. Patients in special hospital gowns were everywhere in the corridors and the hall. Some sat on chairs, some on the floor, some were talking to others, and some were playing simple games.

Zhou Jiayu saw three patients playing poker together. If it weren’t for their hospital gowns, they looked more normal than the director leading them, just from their expressions.

“Quietly,” the director whispered, walking lightly and slowly, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Everyone instinctively slowed their pace. As Zhou Jiayu passed a patient, he heard him counting under his breath: “fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five…”

Zhou Jiayu frowned slightly and asked softly, “What’s he counting?”

The director turned his head to look at Zhou Jiayu. “You can ask him yourself.”

Zhou Jiayu pursed his lips, turned to the patient, and asked, “What are you counting?”

The patient looked up but didn’t answer Zhou Jiayu’s question. Instead, he said, “Shh, quiet, if you speak too loudly, they’ll find you.”

“They?” Zhou Jiayu’s brows furrowed even tighter.

The patients in the inpatient ward didn’t react aggressively to the outsiders; at most, they would cast a glance and then retreat back into their own worlds. Zhou Jiayu observed his surroundings and noticed that most of the patients were male, with only one or two female patients in the corners. The male patients were mostly middle-aged, with no very young or very old individuals.

The patients looked almost as if they had been selected – a thought flashed through Zhou Jiayu’s mind.

“What’s wrong?” The director noticed Zhou Jiayu kept looking around and suddenly stopped to ask him.

“Nothing,” Zhou Jiayu said. “Just wondering why I haven’t seen any doctors.”

“Oh,” the director said, “they’re all doing other things at this time.”

“Doing other things? Won’t it be a problem just leaving the patients here like this?” Lin Jue asked.

“What problem could there be?” the director mumbled. “They can’t run away, so what problem could there be?” After saying this, he actually let out a guttural laugh, a laugh that sounded as if he was delighted about something and could barely suppress his joy.

No one spoke, but they exchanged glances. Clearly, this director was not normal. No, to be precise, this entire hospital was not normal.

They finally made it through the inpatient ward and reached the archives. The director pulled out a key and unlocked the door. As the door opened, a cloud of dust billowed out. The room was covered in a thick layer of gray, and the corners were filled with dense cobwebs, suggesting it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time.

“Is no one supervising this place?” Lin Jue asked.

“No, there aren’t enough people,” the director said. “Where would we get so many hands? We can’t recruit anyone every year. It’s good enough to have anyone at all.”

As Zhou Jiayu listened to him, he noticed that the director seemed to like repeating his sentences. While once or twice was fine, after a while, it sounded quite neurotic.

After opening the door for them, the director intended to leave, but Xu Jian extended his hand, blocking his path directly. “Mr. Director, you don’t mind taking off your mask to let us see what you look like, do you?”

The air immediately solidified. The director’s eyes shot out a cold glare, and he muttered something softly, as if cursing. Just when Zhou Jiayu thought he would refuse, he saw him reach for his mask and take it off.

When Zhou Jiayu saw the director’s face clearly, he gasped. The face behind the mask was traversed by several large scars. The scars, whose origin was unknown, were long and wide and had been crudely stitched together, so much so that the shape of his lips was unrecognizable.

“Do you see it?” the director asked.

Xu Jian, however, remained calm and showed no expression of surprise. Instead, he asked, “What caused these injuries?”

“I was attacked,” the director said. “Someone attacked me and slashed my face, but it’s okay, it’s healed now.” He grinned, and his face, which looked as if it had been forcefully pieced together, twisted, revealing an extremely bizarre smile.

“Who attacked you?” Lin Jue asked. “Was it a patient from this hospital?”

The director didn’t speak upon hearing this, but simply put his mask back on, apparently unwilling to answer their question.

“We’re not familiar with this place, so please accompany us to search,” Lin Zhushui suddenly interjected, his tone quite impolite, as if he had sensed something.

The director seemed about to refuse, but Lin Zhushui added, “Is the director busy with something?”

The director said, “Yes, I’m very busy and don’t have time to accompany you.” He repeated in a low voice, “Don’t have time to accompany you.” He tried to turn and leave, but Xu Rumang directly blocked him with his hand. “Excuse me, Mr. Director, we’re not familiar with this place. Please give us more of your time.”

The director looked at Xu Rumang resentfully, but given his build, he was clearly no match for Xu Rumang. So, after weighing his options, he stayed.

The group entered the archives. Zhou Jiayu started coughing as soon as he went in. At first, he thought it was a dust allergy, but after standing there for a while, he felt like his lungs were about to cough themselves out. He couldn’t stand it and stumbled out of the archives, only recovering after breathing some fresh air outside.

“What’s wrong?” Lin Jue said. “Guar, why are you coughing so badly?”

Zhou Jiayu shook his head, indicating he didn’t understand either. He pulled out a tissue, covered his mouth and nose, and hunched his shoulders outside, taking a while to force out the choking sensation in his throat.

“Perhaps it’s an allergy to something inside,” Xu Rumang said. “You wait outside, we’ll search.”

It seemed that was the only way. Zhou Jiayu found a spot outside the archives and watched them search inside. Although forcibly detained, the director showed no intention of helping. He stood in the corner, watching them with a wary gaze, looking as if he were ready to bolt at any moment.

Zhou Jiayu was about to throw away the tissue he used to cover his mouth and nose, but when he looked closely at the tissue in his hand, he noticed some black powder on it. “What’s this?” Zhou Jiayu was a bit stunned. He reached out and wiped it, realizing the powder resembled ash. He looked up at the archives, suddenly having a bad feeling.

“What?” Shen Yiqiong, being closest to the door, ran to Zhou Jiayu’s side.

“I kept coughing just now, and I felt like I coughed up something strange,” Zhou Jiayu handed the tissue to Shen Yiqiong.

Shen Yiqiong looked at the tissue in Zhou Jiayu’s hand, his face full of confusion: “There’s nothing.”

Zhou Jiayu looked again and found that the black ash he had just seen was gone. “How can that be? I really did cough up some black ash just now.”

The people in the room heard their conversation and were about to come out and see. Lin Zhushui also walked towards Zhou Jiayu, but as soon as he left the archives, Xu Rumang’s angry shout came from inside the room: “Where are you going??”

Then came a heavy thud. Zhou Jiayu was startled and looked into the room, only to find that the archive window was open and the director, who had been standing by the window, was gone. Undoubtedly, he had jumped out of the window.

This was the fifth floor; a misstep could be fatal. Xu Rumang quickly ran to the window, watching the director get up from the ground and run away.

Xu Rumang: “Holy crap, he really ran!”

Zhou Jiayu: “This is the fifth floor, he jumped down and he’s fine??”

Xu Rumang: “Damn, he’s fine, running faster than a rabbit.”

“Is this director a human or a ghost?” Lin Jue said. “Zhushui, what do you think?”

“He’s naturally human,” Lin Zhushui said. “But those burnt corpses that surrounded us at the Meng family ruins were also living people.”

Everyone fell silent, evidently recalling what had happened that night at the Meng family ruins. Clearly, the abnormal situation in this mental hospital was inextricably linked to Meng Yangtian and his group: strange doctors, eerie patients, and the extremely oppressive atmosphere throughout the entire hospital.

“Should we continue searching the archives, and others go out to find other doctors to check the situation?” Xu Jian suggested.

“Alright, Zhushui, you and Guar go together. Xu Jian, Rumang, and I will stay here to search.” Although Lin Jue was quite disgusted with the dusty archives, he decided to stay.

Zhou Jiayu was allergic to the room, and Lin Zhushui couldn’t see, so it was perfect for them to go out and look for people.

“Okay,” Lin Zhushui agreed.

So the two left the archives, preparing to go downstairs to the floor that looked like a doctors’ office area. This time, without the director leading the way through the inpatient ward, the previously friendly patients suddenly became strongly hostile towards them. At first, Zhou Jiayu thought it was his imagination, but when a patient threw a hard object at him, Zhou Jiayu realized he hadn’t misunderstood.

With over a hundred people glaring at them, Zhou Jiayu quickly pulled Lin Zhushui downstairs. But he hadn’t expected that the patients’ activity range wasn’t limited to the fifth floor. On the fourth-floor office area, he could still see some people in hospital gowns wandering in the corridor, though their numbers were much fewer.

However, the doctors who should have been working on the fourth floor were nowhere to be seen. Zhou Jiayu searched the entire fourth floor and finally found someone in a white doctor’s coat in an office near the corner on the fourth floor. The person was sitting in the office, with a computer in front of them, seemingly organizing data. From their expression, they were very serious, so much so that they didn’t notice Zhou Jiayu and Lin Zhushui entering the room.

“Hello,” Zhou Jiayu greeted him.

The person didn’t look up, continuing to stare at the computer screen.

“Hello,” Zhou Jiayu greeted again. He glanced at the name tag on the person’s chest. “Doctor Chen.”

Upon hearing the words “Doctor Chen,” his movements finally stopped. He pushed up his glasses and said, “Hello, how may I help you?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “We’d like to know something about the director.”

Doctor Chen slowly looked up and smiled. “What would you like to know?” As he spoke, he started typing on the keyboard again, continuing to input content.

Zhou Jiayu said, “May I ask, what caused the scars on the director’s face?” He didn’t quite believe the director’s explanation, so he wanted to confirm.

“He was attacked,” Doctor Chen said. “By those damn patients.”

Zhou Jiayu’s heart sank upon hearing this, realizing that the director’s injuries were related to the patients here. As Doctor Chen spoke, he was almost gritting his teeth, his expression frighteningly distorted. “Those good-for-nothing people, they should all just die—”

Listening to what he was saying, Zhou Jiayu suddenly felt something was amiss. He abruptly turned to the side and looked at the computer screen Doctor Chen was typing on—it was completely black, nothing was displayed.

Zhou Jiayu’s expression stiffened slightly, but he didn’t show it, saying, “Alright, thank you.” He stood up and grabbed Lin Zhushui to leave, but Doctor Chen suddenly called out to them, saying, “Who are you? Are you also doctors?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “No.”

Doctor Chen instantly stood up. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out something resembling a taser. He was furious and shouted, “If you’re not doctors, why aren’t you wearing patient clothes? What do you want to do? Do you want to rebel? It’s all because of you, all because of you!” He roared, charging directly towards Zhou Jiayu and the others.

Zhou Jiayu was startled and quickly pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket. The paper quickly unfolded on the ground, rushed towards Doctor Chen, and slapped the taser out of his hand. A normal person would be startled to see the paper, but the Doctor Chen in front of them wasn’t afraid. Instead, he became even more agitated, muttering something and turning around to look for a weapon, his expression even more menacing than the patients upstairs.

Ever since Zhou Jiayu entered this hospital, he had felt something was off. After encountering a few doctors, he even began to suspect that there wasn’t a single normal person in this hospital. Seeing that Doctor Chen seemed about to pull out another weapon, Zhou Jiayu didn’t hold back this time and directly had the paper knock the man unconscious. The paper’s movements were decisive, not giving him another chance to cause harm.

After the man fainted, Zhou Jiayu went behind the desk to check. He found that the computer Doctor Chen had been typing on not only had a black screen, but it didn’t even have a host. So, he had just been randomly typing on a black screen.

Zhou Jiayu: “…Sir, this person also seems to have a mental problem.”

Lin Zhushui, however, wasn’t surprised at all: “Are there any normal people in this hospital?”

Zhou Jiayu said, “What exactly is going on? Why are the doctors like this too, and what does it have to do with Jiang Zhu?”

Lin Zhushui said, “Find the location of the monitoring room. Let’s go and take a look.”

Prompted by Lin Zhushui, Zhou Jiayu remembered that hospitals usually have such a place. He looked up at the office and indeed saw an open surveillance camera in the corner of the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll look for it.”

Fortunately, a hospital map was posted at the top and bottom of each stairwell, and Zhou Jiayu quickly found the location of the monitoring room—it was in the corner on the first floor, connected to the guard room. After confirming the location, the two headed towards the second floor.

Along the way, Zhou Jiayu continued to see patients. They were distributed on every floor, some standing, some sitting, doing all sorts of strange things. Some were talking to the air, others were tapping on the walls with spoons; in short, you couldn’t imagine anything that wasn’t happening. At this point, Zhou Jiayu even started to feel that these people were more frightening than any supernatural entities. Being exposed to their neurotic gazes for too long made him feel as if his own sanity was being contaminated.

The monitoring room door was closed. Lin Jue, the lock-picking expert, wasn’t there, but it wasn’t a big problem. Zhou Jiayu simply had the paper twist off the lock, and he and Lin Zhushui entered the monitoring room together. All the hospital’s surveillance monitors were in this room. Zhou Jiayu saw the director’s office, Lin Jue and the others searching the archives, and the patients in the corridors.

“See where the doctors are,” Lin Zhushui said.

Zhou Jiayu acknowledged him and began searching for the doctors. However, as he carefully scanned all the monitors, a cold sweat involuntarily broke out on his back. Among the more than one hundred screens in front of him, he couldn’t see a single person in a doctor’s uniform. Whether it was in the offices, the corridors, or the inpatient ward, the white doctor’s coats seemed to have completely vanished from the building.