Yu Renwan had clearly asked the wrong person.
It was truly difficult for Jiang Yan to distinguish between humans and ghosts—especially in an energy field, where ghosts could take on physical form, making things even more complicated.
Jiang Yan gave a small shake of her head.
She merely meant that she couldn’t be sure, but Yu Renwan took it to mean “they’re not human,” and looked as if she might collapse at any moment.
Moments later, Wei Xian finished writing her round report, gave Yu Renwan’s arm a nudge, and signaled her to move on quickly.
Yu Renwan: “………”
She slowly lowered her head, staring at the place where she’d just been touched, her despair deepening the longer she looked.
In all her previous assignments, it wasn’t just people—ghosts, too, would be struck with the same misfortune, as long as they came too close. All living things suffered in her proximity. But she’d never entered a semi-energy field before, so she didn’t know if the ghosts inside would be subject to her effect.
Judging by the current situation, the answer was most unfortunate.
If a ghost’s spiritual power was strong enough to be immune to her effect, then it wouldn’t suffer misfortune nor inadvertently provide her any clues. Which meant now, she could only stumble along suffering bad luck while surrounded by ghosts.
Truly, she was the unluckiest.
Lin Xinjiu, on account of his rare post as physician’s assistant, was resting in the office, sleeping peacefully; Jiang Yan and the twins could also relax and sleep after the rounds.
Only her—
Only she had to finish rounds and then go back to a four-person dorm roommate’d with these “people”!
She was the very definition of unlucky.
Wobbling in high heels for the first time in her life, Yu Renwan staggered forward. Two steps later, her foot twisted, and she fell face-first to the ground.
“…………”
She lay there for a long moment, quietly consoling herself, before dragging herself up along the wall, tears brimming in her eyes.
Wei Xian led her on to check the remaining rooms on the fourth floor.
*
Elsewhere, Jiang Yan got a text from Shen Huanhuan.
“Are you safe there?”
Hearing the door to 405 close, Shen Huanhuan instantly checked on Jiang Yan’s safety.
“Safe for now,” Jiang Yan replied.
She added, “Those nurses aren’t affected by Yu Renwan’s aura—this could get complicated.”
Indeed, it was.
The second she saw the message, Shen Huanhuan fell silent.
“If all the nurses have such hard luck…”
After a moment, she asked, “Isn’t that kind of impossible?”
Jiang Yan answered immediately: “Of course, it’s impossible.”
The so-called “iron fate” was nonsense—she herself had suppressed Yu Renwan’s ability with demonic power. By that logic, the nurses must be using spiritual energy to suppress the effect as well.
Ordinary people didn’t have spiritual energy—only top psychics or spirits corrupted by pollution did.
Jiang Yan leaned toward the latter.
The chance these nurses weren’t human was slim; they were likely being controlled by the entity behind the sanatorium.
Shen Huanhuan came to the same conclusion. Maybe it was psychological, but the air suddenly felt icy cold, and she shivered.
“And that broadcast just now—”
“Are we really supposed to listen to a ghost?”
Jiang Yan lowered her gaze. “The broadcast said not to leave the room during rounds.”
Shen Huanhuan instantly replied, “But now the rounds are over.”
Seeing Shen Huanhuan understood, Jiang Yan sent only one word:
“Hide.”
After sending it, Jiang Yan put her phone down. At that moment, the little girl in the neighboring bed rolled over, facing her.
They locked gazes for a few seconds in the moonlight, then simultaneously climbed out of bed to put on their shoes.
The girl quickly tied her sneakers—her movements so practiced it seemed she’d done this many times, or even trained for it.
After lacing up, she noticed Jiang Yan trying to snap the heels off her own high heels and gave her a baffled look before tossing over a pair of slippers.
“From the guy who died next door. Shouldn’t have athlete’s foot.”
Jiang Yan didn’t bother looking at the very likely fungus-infected slippers. She cheerfully broke off the heels of her shoes, even holding up the perfect, clean edge for the girl to admire.
“What do you think?”
[Even though I’m nervous right now, forgive me for saying this…]
[Go ahead.]
[I love the way Jiang Yan just acts cool in dead seriousness??]
[A hint of childishness, but with a main focus on pure show-off.]
[I get nervous just seeing her shoes. Am I the only one?]
[No, you’re not alone. Whenever I see high heels now, I think of Jiang Yan stomping finger bones or high-kicking Lin Xinjiu—I get scared for real.]
[Lol, now whenever my mom picks up high heels, I dodge subconsciously. I even tried walking in them once and couldn’t manage a single step, let alone stomp someone…]
[That’s why, even giving up both shoes, no one can beat Jiang Yan. I’m in stitches.]
Jiang Yan was completely unaware of the streaming chat’s commentary.
After showing off the broken heel and seeing that the girl had no intention of complimenting her, she put on her shoes and tied her hospital pants into an even tighter knot.
She was now firmly established by round four as someone with intimidating combat ability, no longer needing high heels to boost her demonic power. By this point, if she killed someone bare-handed, no one would question her—they’d simply assume it was natural.
No need to bother with these anymore.
She looked at the girl. “Where are you headed?”
The girl said nothing.
Jiang Yan switched smoothly from tough to gentle, conceding a little while retaining her pride. “I know I’m older than you—but let me tag along?”
“This broadcast is too weird. The head nurse’s voice is even more dramatic than when I was sick.”
“Please.”
The girl’s chilly little face tensed even more. She glanced at the slippers on the floor, clearly dissatisfied with Jiang Yan’s earlier non-compliance, but remembering how easily Jiang Yan broke the heels, she finally just curled her lips.
“Not in the mood to explain—let’s just get through tonight alive.”
“Still, you’re observant and strong. When we run into them, do just what you did to those heels—snap them.”
Jiang Yan: “Snap what?”
The girl snorted, giving no explanation, and went to the door.
Jiang Yan dropped her gaze and followed.
Those two sentences revealed a lot:
First, the girl was quite familiar with tonight’s events.
Second, she had explained before—but whoever she explained to didn’t survive the night.
Third, they’d probably run into obstructing “ghosts,” since “snap” was unlikely to refer to actual people.
By now, Yu Renwan and Wei Xian had reached the corner room and could no longer see them. The girl peered out the door, looked both ways, then slipped out silently.
She tapped on the door to 404. After a few breaths, it cracked open.
Two children stepped out—a girl around ten, and a plump boy, maybe eleven or twelve.
When the boy saw Jiang Yan, he jumped. “Who’s this?”
“My new roommate—moved in half an hour ago.”
The chubby boy was disgruntled.
He whispered harshly at the girl, “Le Yi, why are you making decisions on your own again? Last time your roommate nearly got us killed!”
The girl called Le Yi frowned. “Mind your own business.”
The chubby boy flushed, “I’m just asking legitimate questions!”
“And just because you saved me, you think I should obey everything you say?!”
“The life-saving debt is greater than anything—what else could outweigh it, your age?” She eyed him. “Or your extra fat?”
“I’m the captain, I do what I want, you have no right to refuse.”
The plump boy trembled with anger.
Le Yi lifted her chin, not yielding an inch.
Unable to win the argument, the boy started stamping his feet. “You’re so unreasonable!”
“When am I not?”
Too scared to argue louder, the boy grumbled in a half-voice, “Ah—!!”
Jiang Yan watched the kids bicker in amusement.
But, just to keep things on track as the dispute started escalating, she hoisted the chubby boy up by the armpit.
“Time is life,” she said, tucking him under her arm. “Right?”
“………”
“See? Your fat’s not helping you at all.”
Le Yi shot one final retort and headed for the elevator; Jiang Yan pinched the boy’s chubby cheek, forcibly silencing him.
Half a minute later, room 403’s door silently swung open.
The twins emerged.
Shen Huanhuan and Jiang Yan had discussed roles earlier by phone.
Jiang Yan planned to stick with her new roommate, going wherever the girl went and trying to get some explanation out of her about what was going on tonight.
Shen Huanhuan, meanwhile, would do the opposite.
She intended to use her ability to secure herself and Shen Xiaoxiao on the ceiling, or better yet, crawl into the ventilation ducts, and follow the nurses around all night to see what they did.
The fourth and fifth floors were all patient rooms; at this point, the four nurses had just finished half the rooms, and time was tight.
Shen Huanhuan didn’t hesitate—on leaving her room, she tied up Shen Xiaoxiao and placed her atop the giant chandelier at the top of the sanatorium, then hoisted herself up as well.
Ding—
The elevator settled on the fourth floor.
Fortunately, the elevator made little noise, and the nurses weren’t close by, so there was no way to notice the movement.
Shen Huanhuan watched as Jiang Yan and the others slipped into the elevator.
As the last to enter, Jiang Yan pressed the “door close” button and, for a second, exchanged a look with the twins above.
The doors slid shut.
Inside the elevator was a world entirely apart.
This elevator wasn’t the same as the one Jiang Yan had taken up. It was twice as large as a normal lift, with flickering tubes up top; countless moths battered themselves against the hot lamp, burning to crispy husks that filled the air with the stench of roasted flesh.
Several disgusting, grilled moth carcasses dropped onto the boy’s face.
His eyes went wide in horror.
Jiang Yan gave an apologetic laugh and let the boy down to the floor.
“Basement one,” Le Yi said simply.
Jiang Yan pressed the button.
The ancient elevator shuddered as it dropped, each second screeching with the sound of metal wire dragging against the shaft—a sound like fingernails scraping a chalkboard. Added to the ever-present stench of rot masking even the odor of disinfectant, the ride inspired no pleasant thoughts.
Midway down, Jiang Yan broke the silence. “What’s in basement one?”
“Morgue, autopsy room, and a freezer.”
“Why does a sanatorium have an autopsy room?”
No one answered.
But Jiang Yan figured Baishan Sanatorium was too unorthodox for any of this to seem out of place.
She glanced at Le Yi: the girl barely reached her waist, but carried herself with a gravity well beyond her years.
Le Yi ignored Jiang Yan’s gaze, instead pulling two silver needles, each as long as a forefinger, from beneath her hair ties.
Jiang Yan raised a brow.
“Needles?”
Le Yi started pulling out needles of various lengths from all over her body. “Can you only ask stupid questions?”
She shot back at Jiang Yan, “Even kindergartners know these are needles.”
“Didn’t you go to kindergarten?”
Jiang Yan replied honestly, “No, I didn’t.”
Le Yi’s prepared barbs stuck in her throat.
“………”
She lost interest in talking, bowing her head intently to snap the needles together.
In mere seconds, she’d locked more than ten modified needles into a fencing blade nearly as tall as herself. Strangely, unless you’d watched her do it, you’d never guess it was assembled—no seams showed at all.
The chubby boy beamed with pride at this feat. “Cool, right? From a meter away, she can stab clean through your throat—takes only three seconds to take apart. Fast as whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—”
With the discussion heading this direction, Jiang Yan felt she ought to clarify. “Why would you stab someone in the throat?” she asked, recalling Le Yi’s earlier talk of “snapping” people. “What’s the point of breaking things? Isn’t that killing someone? Won’t I go to jail? I don’t want to go to jail.”
The boy gaped. “Huh? Le Yi didn’t tell you?”
Jiang Yan shook her head.
The boy was dumbfounded. “What the hell? She told you nothing, you know nothing, and you two are working together? There’s something wrong with both your brains??”
[Well said, honestly.]
[Lol, I wanted to say that too.]
[Right? All they did was look at each other in that room, and suddenly they’re a team??]
[Yeah, if I were Le Yi, I’d suspect Jiang Yan was way too ready for this, like she knew something… I’d be suspicious, too.]
Le Yi frowned. “My brain is broken. So is yours—we’re all psychiatric patients, aren’t we?”
The boy blinked.
“Yeah, makes sense, but…”
Le Yi didn’t care to hear more. She looked to Jiang Yan. “I have paranoia. You’re my roommate, so aren’t you too?”
Jiang Yan quickly nodded.
“That’s that, then. The first time I heard a broadcast, I got ready to hide right away. That broadcast was obviously wrong… Only idiots wouldn’t hide, right?”
“Plus, with a genius like me in the room.”
The girl reasoned coolly, “Of course, she’d want to team up with me. She saw I wasn’t bad and agreed to go together. Simple as that.”
The boy scratched his head. “But when I heard it, I didn’t want to hide at all.”
“Which makes you an idiot,” Le Yi snapped.
The boy: “…”
Finally, Le Yi turned again to Jiang Yan:
“You ever dream of a world-scale deathmatch or zombie siege?”
Jiang Yan kept her face straight: “Yes. When I’m ill, I think that way all the time.”
The girl: “Of course.”
The elevator fell silent.
Jiang Yan mulled over the girl’s earlier words and revised her first impression.
This girl wasn’t cold at all. She was sharp-tongued, narcissistic, and quite unwell.
Moments later, with a ding, the rusty doors ground open.
The bleak white walls, under the flickering green emergency lights, took on a bluish pallor. Though the sanatorium above was small, the basement hall stretched endlessly, the iron gates at the end reflecting a dim image of their faces.
At last, the quiet girl spoke: “Le Yi, should we split up again?”
“Yeah—if we hide together, we’re all dead if we’re caught.”
Le Yi pointed at the morgue. “Xiao Tian, keep playing dead.”
“Xiao Jia, go to the freezer. I stole the key earlier—second freezer down, there are two electric blankets. Turn them on and cover yourself.”
She fished out a key and opened the freezer, a gust of icy air making them all shiver.
“This spot’s safest, just easy to freeze to death. I’ll check on you every two hours if I can,” Le Yi said.
“That’s too risky,” Xiao Jia shook her head.
She was a little shy, which was why she hadn’t spoken up till now.
She said softly, “Don’t worry about me—I’ve hidden here twice already. Take care of yourself.”
Le Yi shut the door, then led Jiang Yan to the autopsy room.
At the door, she produced another set of keys from her pocket.
“Another stolen one?” Jiang Yan asked, intrigued.
Le Yi deftly unlocked the autopsy room. “Yeah, do it a lot.”
“Self-taught?”
She didn’t answer.
Four corpses lay lined up in the room. The formalin reeked, enough to make one’s head swim. Le Yi expressionlessly pulled on medical gloves and lifted a body out of the solution.
It was much bigger than her. Jiang Yan donned gloves and helped support the corpse.
Under Le Yi’s direction, Jiang Yan stuffed two corpses into body bags and then drained the formalin from two tanks, refilling them with water using a device.
Formalin is clear and colorless—replacing it with water was nearly impossible to spot, but the lack of smell was a giveaway.
“Doesn’t matter,” Le Yi, noticing Jiang Yan’s concern, said. “The first two rounds are almost always handled by regular patients—they’re timid, so if they see anything in the basement at all, they bolt. It’s only at round three that the nurses come downstairs. Their brains are pretty dull these days, so they just wander without aim. Even if they come, the air’s thick enough with fumes now.”
Jiang Yan wanted to ask what “dull-brained” meant, but Le Yi was already lying in the tank of “formalin”—actually just water.
There was no time to ask further.
The broadcast started up again. Fang Miao’s sharp voice rang out from all around.
“Rounds complete! Congratulations to our lovely, well-behaved patients!”
She hummed a cheery, eerie tune, sounding deeply satisfied with the outcome.
But her tone soon shifted; she gave a heavy sigh, becoming darker and more sinister.
“Tonight should have ended here. But unfortunately, a batch of sick white mice has escaped from the lab. We hope everyone—staff and patients—can work together to return them safely to the lab.”
Jiang Yan could no longer make sense of Fang Miao’s tone.
She seemed to be singing and speaking at once—a gentle whisper overlaying a fierce, declamatory cadence, two voices—one high, one low—rising together until both wound into something beyond unnatural:
“Your worry is our comfort.”
“Baishan Sanatorium is committed to dissecting every white mouse, offering the finest living space for all patients!”