After a five-and-a-half-hour high-speed train ride, the group finally arrived in M City.
Baishan Town’s main attractions were its beautiful mountains and waters, which meant it was quite a distance from the city’s central train station. After a short rest, the group took a taxi for nearly another two hours, arriving in Baishan Town around nine in the evening.
At night, Baishan Town was brilliantly lit.
A constant stream of tourists filled the night market, sampling snacks. The sign “Lantern Street” spanned the street, its lettering shining with rainbow hues under the lanterns’ glow.
Not far from Lantern Street flowed a river. Seven or eight boats drifted by, bright with floral lanterns. Children sat by the edge, playing and splashing. Both friends and strangers among the adults sat cracking seeds and chatting away.
It hardly felt like nine in the evening—the bustle here rivaled even a city’s midday.
After grabbing a bite at the night market, Jiang Yan and the others made their way straight to Baishan Sanatorium. Past Lantern Street, they walked through a cluster of ancient buildings, steeped in atmosphere and history. Beyond these lay the local village, scattered with neat red and gray tile-roofed houses, charming in their arrangement. Some elders sat at the village entrance, leisurely fanning themselves and chatting.
By the light of a streetlamp, Jiang Yuqing checked her map again, then double-checked directions to Baishan Sanatorium with the locals to be certain.
An old man pointed to the mountain behind the village. “It’s halfway up the mountain. What’s your business there?”
“Visiting a friend.”
The old man nodded in understanding. “Then you’d best hurry. It’ll take at least forty or fifty minutes to get there.”
After thanking him, Jiang Yuqing led the five of them toward the mountain’s backside.
The mountain behind Baishan wasn’t tall—perhaps two hours to summit on foot. But even on this modest slope, several sanatoriums dotted the landscape; halfway up, they passed two within just thirty minutes.
Jiang Yuqing began to explain the local situation. “Baishan has a wonderful environment—seventy percent of the area is covered in greenery, making it ideal for patient recovery. Over the last few years, four sanatoriums have been built here: some government-funded, some private, some expansions from other provinces. Each one has its own strengths, squeezing out Baishan Sanatorium’s space to survive.”
“But really, you can’t blame the competition. Like I said before, Baishan Sanatorium is still stuck with practices from more than ten years ago—the equipment is outdated, their methods obsolete. It’s just a sign of the times.”
Shen Huanhuan asked, “So the patients left at Baishan must be the less well-off ones?”
Jiang Yuqing nodded. “The other sanatoriums have such clear advantages that to compete, Baishan Sanatorium can only offer lower prices. Plus, investigators found their admissions process a bit irregular. Most sanatoriums emphasize physical therapy—hydro, light, etc.—but Baishan accepts patients with very serious conditions, ones that can’t be solved by standard physical treatment.”
Yu Renwan spoke softly, “Maybe their families send them as a kind of hospice…”
“That is, their illness is so severe, and the family can’t afford care, so instead they send them somewhere professional, hoping their last days will at least be comfortable…”
Xiao Wa: “Caw!”
The little crow agreed.
Jiang Yuqing sighed.
If Baishan Sanatorium was as she suspected, its patients wouldn’t find comfort at the end of their lives, but huge torment and suffering.
Fifty minutes later, after passing a small hillside settlement, they finally arrived at Baishan Sanatorium.
Facing the camera, Jiang Yuqing quietly assigned everyone their roles:
“Due to the recent loss of several staff, the sanatorium is hiring.”
“Lin Xinjiu’s background is in clinical work, so the Bureau helped you sign up as an assistant physician. Yu Renwan, you have a nutritionist certificate, so the Bureau listed you as a meal planner.”
“As for the other three,” she glanced at Jiang Yan and the twins, “it’s easy to mess up faking specific medical conditions, so just act as psychiatric patients. However you are normally, just be yourselves—psychiatric patients often seem even more ‘normal’ than healthy people.”
No one objected.
Jiang Yuqing exhaled a deep breath, pointing to a nearby woodland. “I’ll camp here for the next few days. Tomorrow, the Bureau will send two psychics on assignment in the area, and we three will monitor the livestream all the while until you emerge safely.”
This was a level of seriousness and worry she’d never shown before, highlighting the task’s danger.
Yu Renwan, wanting to comfort her, stepped forward—but before she could speak, the driver’s camera swung around and hit Jiang Yuqing on the head.
Everyone: “……”
Yu Renwan shrank back seven or eight steps.
Lin Xinjiu’s mouth twitched.
The twins burst out laughing in unison.
The tension eased in a flash, and Jiang Yuqing couldn’t help but cover her mouth in laughter. “Oh, I am getting naggy, aren’t I?”
“Good luck to all of you.”
*
Once Jiang Yuqing left, Lin Xinjiu silently strode toward the sanatorium entrance.
Jiang Yan lowered her gaze and followed. The twins linked arms beside her, and Yu Renwan lagged behind, struggling to stuff Xiao Wa into her backpack.
The little crow protested noisily, determined to defend its right to breathe fresh air.
“In you go,” Yu Renwan said as she shoved its head inside, yanking the zipper shut. “Catering staff can’t bring birds to work! You have to hide, okay…”
Xiao Wa refused to accept logic. It flapped its wings furiously, batting at Yu Renwan’s face.
She wiped her cheek, frowning in distress. “I know you’ve never seen a sanatorium, and I’m curious too…but the nurses aren’t friendly. Um, they love to eat fried baby crow.”
Xiao Wa’s wings froze in midair. “Caw?”
Yu Renwan nodded. “Fried baby crow!”
Xiao Wa: “Caw??”
Yu Renwan: “Humans eat anything—crows too. The texture’s like eyeballs: all crunchy.”
Xiao Wa’s eyes went wide. “Caw——?!”
Yu Renwan rushed to correct herself, “No, I haven’t eaten your eyeballs! Just making an example…”
The little crow thought for a long time, then shivered violently, stuck its head willingly into the backpack, and even zipped it tightly from the inside.
【……】
【What the hell, fried baby crow.】
【Hey now, don’t get gross. And who’s eating crunchy eyeballs?】
【Peeking out】Yu Renwan and Xiao Wa are kinda cute, haha】
【Let’s see if you’re still saying that when they start gouging out eyeballs…】
Three minutes later, the group stood before the gates of Baishan Sanatorium.
The grounds were small. The iron gate was rusted, half-locked with a corroded chain. There was no one in the security booth—it was unclear whether this was due to some emergency, or if they simply never had a guard.
The sky was deeply dark; the lights inside the sanatorium were also meager. Only faint glimmers trickled from the second floor and around the door frame, but even that was enough to show just how run-down the place really was.
Aged, dilapidated.
Endless, twisted vines of Virginia creeper blanketed the exterior walls. The few glimpses of paint were a sallow yellow, while the patches where the paint had peeled away left an oily shimmer on the blackened walls. Jiang Yan looked up, spotting a sagging white sign, the wording blurred—
[Baishan Sanatorium]
Jiang Yan dropped her gaze.
It was no wonder this place had declined: with an exterior like this, who would care about its philosophy or medical staff?
Besides, both its methodology and clinicians were outdated.
The lock was half-latched on the gate. Jiang Yan gave it a gentle push, and it creaked slowly open.
“Screeeeech—”
The rusty screws made an awful noise. Jiang Yan frowned and entered first.
Lin Xinjiu followed close, clearly wishing not to walk too near the others. In a few long strides, he overtook Jiang Yan, reaching the main door first to knock.
The sanatorium’s patients rarely changed; when they did, incoming patients always arrived by day. It was almost unheard of for guests to come by at night, so the main doors were locked from within.
Lin Xinjiu waited with patience. After a few minutes, a nurse hurried over.
“Sorry, sorry, I just heard someone out here!”
She rushed up to the glass door, glanced at Lin Xinjiu, then at the rest, breathing heavily, surprise written across her round, pleasant face. According to her name tag, this was Wei Xian.
She quickly found a stack of papers: the new physician’s form, plus the files for three new patients, who, officially, weren’t due to arrive until morning.
Jiang Yuqing had mentioned this, saying it would look less suspicious if they arrived at an odd hour—something that could be played off as a coincidence.
Wei Xian shook her head in bemusement, reasoning it must be just that—a quirk of fate.
She put away the files without asking further, but since there were three psychiatric patients, she called another nurse before unlocking the door.
“That’s a long night’s journey—you must all be tired.”
Wei Xian flipped on the lobby lights, and the place brightened in an instant, every face rendered clear and sharp.
Lin Xinjiu’s looks drew her lingering gaze, but she collected herself quickly.
She smiled, “It’s late, so I’ll skip the small talk.”
“We’ve got some onboarding forms to fill out. You two, come with me.”
Lin Xinjiu nodded and followed.
Yu Renwan trailed behind, hugging her backpack.
Once they’d gone, the other nurse turned to the remaining three.
“I’m Fang Miao, the head nurse here.”
“It is quite late. Let’s go straight to your rooms so you can put down your bags.”
Her introduction was brisk. She pulled from her pocket a notebook densely filled with writing.
“The twins shouldn’t be separated, so you two will share a room.”
Shen Huanhuan paused.
Realizing Fang Miao was speaking to her and Shen Xiaoxiao, she asked quickly, “Are there any three-person rooms?” She indicated Jiang Yan. “We met on the road, really hit it off, and arrived together—could we stay together?”
“We only have singles and doubles,” Fang Miao said, glancing at her notes. “Room 403 is available; you two can take it.”
She turned to Jiang Yan. “You’ll be in 405.”
403 and 405—neither sounded like a single or a double.
Jiang Yan asked, “Is 405 a double as well?”
“Yes, these rooms are for psychiatric cases—the singles are all taken.”
Fang Miao flipped a couple pages, checked the file for 405, and addressed Jiang Yan. “Your roommate is a little girl. Her symptoms are severe, but she’s not aggressive. Raise any concerns if something comes up.”
There didn’t seem to be any room to refuse.
Jiang Yan just said a casual “Mm.”
With the rooms settled, Fang Miao put away her notes and led the three to the elevator.
She pressed for the fourth floor and stepped in.
Jiang Yan and the twins quickly followed.
On the way up, Fang Miao laid out the plan for the following day.
“I’ve received your previous records, so there’s no need for initial physical exams. Tomorrow, you’ll join some group therapy activities.”
“Paranoia and mania are both tough to treat—future care may require extra fees. Be sure your families are aware.”
Jiang Yan, whose cover story was paranoia, nodded.
Shen Xiaoxiao followed suit, replying dryly, “Okay, I’ll work hard to get better.”
Jiang Yan gave her a sidelong glance.
Shen Huanhuan noticed Shen Xiaoxiao’s odd tone as well.
With how clever Shen Xiaoxiao usually was, she should have been playing up her role—this response was too dull, or simply perfunctory.
Feeling her sister’s worried gaze, Shen Xiaoxiao trembled as if she could no longer hold out.
She looked at Shen Huanhuan, as if about to say something, but no words left her lips.
The next second, a rush of hot blood streamed from her nostrils, her lips pale, eyes empty, and she collapsed inside the elevator.