Shen Xiaoxiao was a bit confused.
“Is being clever really a way to judge if someone’s alive or not?”
Her expression was tinged with both fear and a sense of loss. “Does that mean I don’t seem alive, either?”
Jiang Yan ignored Shen Xiaoxiao’s self-important remark and instead asked, “What were you doing when you were eight or nine?”
Shen Xiaoxiao: “…Watching cartoons and memorizing the multiplication table?”
Jiang Yan: “So for Le Yi to be so sharp at this age, both in judgment and action, is unusual—she’s worth investigating.”
“If she’s alive, she’s simply precocious. But if she’s dead, she might very well be the master of this half-formed energy field.”
When a spirit is corrupted by filth to the point of forming an energy field, it loses all emotion, but its spiritual strength and all other attributes are enhanced. Plus, within its own field, a spirit can have a physical form. That makes it very necessary to check Le Yi out.
Shen Xiaoxiao: “But didn’t you say Le Yi had bad luck when she met Yu Renwan? And she hid after the broadcast, too?”
Jiang Yan: “Are you so sure that wasn’t just an act?”
Shen Xiaoxiao scratched her head. “I guess I’m not sure…”
Suspicion toward everything is the first rule for survival in an energy field.
Shen Xiaoxiao obediently put Le Yi’s hair away, promising to get it tested soon.
Jiang Yan nodded and observed the people in the cafeteria.
With Wei Xian dead, the sanatorium’s staff was further reduced, leaving—aside from Yu Renwan and Lin Xinjiu—just six people.
The two doctors were chatting, Head Nurse Fang Miao was eating alone, Zhang Lei and Xu Jing had already gone…
Jiang Yan glanced around; all the patients wore hospital gowns, and all in lab coats or nurse uniforms had been exposed—there were no others.
The director hadn’t shown up for breakfast.
Jiang Yan withdrew her gaze and asked Yu Renwan, “What do you do as a food service worker?”
Yu Renwan pressed her lips together, looking a little embarrassed. “I heat frozen products in the oven for breakfast and dinner. Only lunch requires actual cooking.”
“And what does the director eat? Is there no special meal for her?”
Yu Renwan shook her head. “The director only comes in once or twice a week. The head nurse says she isn’t picky—just a steamed bun from the cafeteria will do. She asked me to take her breakfast to her office door in a bit.”
Jiang Yan made a neutral sound.
After the three finished eating, they got up to leave.
Jiang Yan and Shen Xiaoxiao left together; Yu Renwan, not wanting to be seen with the “mental patients,” took a different route.
It was chaos out there.
Not only were the patients each meeting with bad luck, but Fang Miao also slipped and fell to the ground.
Yu Renwan had never felt so at ease in her life.
How wonderful—everyone was human.
In the daytime, everyone was human.
She carefully stepped only where nobody had fallen, leaving the cafeteria. She’d drunk a lot of water earlier and now needed the restroom.
Outside, she asked a patient, “Excuse me, where’s the bathroom?”
The patient replied enthusiastically, “Take the elevator to the second floor, on your left!”
Yu Renwan immediately ran toward the elevator.
Shen Xiaoxiao went up to the fourth floor to bring her sister breakfast, and Jiang Yan waited in the first-floor lobby, planning to discuss division of labor with Yu Renwan.
Two minutes later, Yu Renwan came running back in a panic.
Jiang Yan raised a brow. “So quick?”
Yu Renwan: “Xiao Wa—I forgot Xiao Wa.”
She’d left her backpack in the cafeteria.
Jiang Yan continued waiting in the lobby. At this hour, with Zhang Lei and Xu Jing gone, no one was watching the patients; people were doing all sorts of things.
Some were strolling in the yard, some dancing and singing, others practicing tai chi in the lobby…
Three minutes later, Yu Renwan emerged, clutching her backpack in relief.
Xiao Wa was sulking at the bottom of the bag, arms crossed. Yu Renwan apologized profusely, bowing every few steps toward the bag. At one point, not watching her path, she bumped into someone.
“S-sorry…”
Yu Renwan looked up at the person she’d hit.
It was the patient she’d just spoken to.
Yu Renwan felt even worse. She’d just asked this person for directions a few minutes ago and now had run into her—she nervously tugged at her sleeve, overwhelmed.
“Sorry—”
She hadn’t even finished apologizing when the person spoke.
“Second floor, take the elevator, on the left.”
Yu Renwan froze for a moment, but quickly understood and smiled in embarrassment. “No, I didn’t come to ask about the bathroom again—I’m sorry for bumping into you.”
“Second floor, take the elevator, on the left.”
Yu Renwan lifted her face in confusion, only to realize the voice hadn’t come from the person in front of her, but from behind.
“Second floor, take the elevator, on the left.”
This time, it was to her right.
“Second floor, take the elevator, on the left!”
Now it was on her left.
“Second floor, take the elevator, on the left!”
“Second floor, take the elevator, on the left!!”
Suddenly, the same phrase echoed from all directions—stiff, mechanical, lethargic.
The whole world seemed to become this one sentence. Yu Renwan’s heart leapt into her throat.
She forced herself to look right: an elderly woman in a hospital gown was repeating the phrase while dancing.
Her ancient body, rigid frame, and grotesquely twisted movements—it was as if her bones had all come unhinged, the dance impossibly eerie.
Yu Renwan had never seen anything like this before. She’d only been a psychic for a year or so; though her constitution had catapulted her up the rankings, she’d never actually encountered a paranormal case, let alone been inside an energy field—let alone seen anything like this.
The unknown is frightening. Her face went pale without her realizing. She slowly turned her neck to look left.
There, an old man hunched over, shuffling along.
He was muttering the phrase as he walked, and as he passed her, he crashed straight into her as though he’d seen nothing there. His skinny body bounced back a couple of steps by the impact, but he paid no mind, eyes wide open, moving forward to collide again, then bouncing back, repeating—colliding, retreating, advancing, colliding again.
It hurt when he hit her. Yu Renwan forced herself to move her numb foot back a step.
This time, the old man finally went past her.
He walked straight into a pillar in the lobby, repeating the same routine.
“…………”
A chill swept over Yu Renwan like an artic breeze.
No…this can’t be right…
But the scene also struck an odd chord of familiarity—she was sure she’d seen something like this somewhere before.
Where?
Yu Renwan struggled to recall. Finally, she forced herself to lift her face and managed a swallow, throat painfully dry.
She remembered.
This scene was just like when a game glitches.
The character she controlled would get stuck in one place, endlessly repeating the same line, endlessly walking into obstacles.
Have you ever felt that?
Not knowing if the strangers around you are alive or ghosts, not knowing when they’re free or when they’re being controlled—everyone a hybrid of human and ghost.
Some nameless ghost flitted through everybody; every person was or would become its puppet.
The sensation was terrifying to the core.
Yu Renwan felt as if she were a real player trapped inside a single-player game, with all those around her flesh and blood one moment and walking corpses the next.
Just then, Jiang Yan stood up.
She’d noticed something wrong, too, but had decided to wait and observe.
She strode quickly over to Yu Renwan.
When the two met, Yu Renwan subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief.
“W-what’s happening?”
Jiang Yan shook her head, too.
She’d been pondering why the hidden spirit only ran its game for six hours, and why it only controlled the nurses—maybe it lacked enough power—
But now it seemed the spirit was stronger than she’d thought, capable of controlling over twenty patients at once.
Yu Renwan asked, “What do we do now?”
Jiang Yan: “Upstairs.”
Just as the two were about to leave, the chorus of voices abruptly stopped. It was as if someone had pressed pause—even though their echoes lingered, not a single human voice remained.
A suffocating silence.
Jiang Yan’s footsteps halted.
Yu Renwan tried to turn her head, only for Jiang Yan to stop her.
“If you don’t want to be scared, don’t look back.”
Jiang Yan didn’t even glance behind them. “If I’m not wrong, they’re all looking at us now.”
Yu Renwan instantly turned her head forward.
Half a minute later, with a sudden “Ow!” from somewhere, the whole creepy atmosphere vanished, replaced by the normal din of the lobby.
The old granny who’d been dancing dropped into a chair with a yelp.
The old man who’d been headbutting the pillar rubbed his head and moved around it.
The patient who’d first given directions noticed Yu Renwan and cheerfully said, “Back from the bathroom? Haven’t seen you before—must be the new food worker, right?”
Yu Renwan, still unsettled, nodded. “Yes…that’s me.”
The patient beamed. “Great! Wonder what you’ll cook for lunch. After three meals a day of buns, I’m turning into one myself!”
Yu Renwan managed a strained smile. “I’ll do my best…”
The patient waved. “I won’t keep you. Goodbye!”
Everything was back to normal.
But Yu Renwan wasn’t at ease.
She and Jiang Yan left the lobby quickly, headed for the stairwell.
Neither of them wanted to take the elevator anymore.
They hadn’t thought much of it at first, but after the events of the past night and morning, they were both on their guard—a place like that was too easy to get trapped in.
Jiang Yan began outlining the division of labor.
She’d waited in the lobby for Yu Renwan specifically to discuss how they’d split tasks. The mass patient control had interrupted that. Jiang Yan was much more interested in why the hidden spirit had staged this, but with zero clues to analyze, she set it aside.
So they would proceed step by step to find clues.
But given the patients had been controlled, you couldn’t trust any information from within.
The most reliable sources must come from outside the sanatorium.
Like Shen Xiaoxiao hiring outsiders to look into the sanatorium’s history.
Or letting Yu Renwan gather rumors from Baishan town locals during her purchases.
Jiang Yan discussed this with Yu Renwan, who accepted the plan without question, hugging her backpack and nodding. “I’ll do whatever you say, Jiang Jiang!”
Jiang Yan frowned.
She distinctly remembered rejecting that nickname.
Yu Renwan didn’t notice and instead mused about lunch. “What does Jiang Jiang like to eat?”
“I’ll get it while I’m buying groceries… If you tell me, I’ll make it.”
Jiang Yan’s expression shifted. “Red-braised pork ribs.”
Yu Renwan took out her phone and made a careful note.
Xiao Wa poked its head out, kicking Yu Renwan lightly in the head.
Spineless!
Once she’d recorded Jiang Yan’s request, Yu Renwan tucked away her phone. “I’ll ask around the market about the sanatorium’s history, and see if there are any famous stories or strange rumors.”
Jiang Yan nodded; they’d just talked about that.
She also explained her own plan. “The twins and I can’t leave this place, so we’ll look for paper records here at the sanatorium.”
With most patients under mind control, only physical records would be reliable.
Division of labor settled, Yu Renwan headed up to the fifth floor to bring breakfast to the director.
Jiang Yan exchanged greetings with the patient sitting on the stairs on the fourth floor, then headed to her own room—405.
Her phone chimed. Jiang Yan took it out.
Shen Xiaoxiao’s possession technique was fast, but failure came even faster. She’d already made a judgment: “Failed. That little sullen-faced girl is alive!”
Jiang Yan: “Okay.”
So, real precocity after all—one possibility eliminated.
As she reached 405, she heard the clamor of voices from inside.
“That scared me to death!” That was Xiao Tian, his loud voice reminding one of his chubby form. “Xiao Jia and I went for breakfast just now, and those patients glitched out again—it’s the third time this month!”
Xiao Jia’s soft voice chimed in: “I saw too. Are we going to be able to stay here?”
“I think,” Le Yao began an analysis, “it used to be only on Sunday nights that the nurses hunted lab rats, and the other patients just phoned it in and went to bed, so it was easier to hide. But lately even the regular patients are glitching…”
Her cheerful voice faded, “Maybe soon the whole hospital will be after us. If that happens, there will be nowhere to hide. We’ll have to leave.”
“But where will we go?” Le Yi asked.
Silence.
After a long pause, Xiao Jia whispered, “I saw on TV that you can survive by scavenging and begging, but if we stay here, we’ll die.”
Xiao Tian gritted his teeth. “Right, we can just hit the road together!”
Le Yi snorted. “You think begging is that easy?”
Xiao Tian shot back, “Of course. You just kneel and ask for money.”
Le Yao dismissed that.
She explained patiently, “A lot of that’s a whole industry. I read in the paper last week about bad people breaking kids’ legs, just so they beg more easily… If we get caught by them, we won’t even be able to run.”
Xiao Jia sighed softly.
Xiao Tian was silent.
Le Yi summed it up: “If you want to leave, then go. I’m not leaving.”
“I’d rather die than go beg for food. I’m going to be ruler of the world—this kind of misery is not going into my bio.”
All three children were silent.
At that moment, Jiang Yan pushed open the door.
Le Yi glanced at Jiang Yan, then turned to the window as if she’d known all along she was standing outside. The other three kids jumped in surprise.
After a beat, Xiao Tian began shrieking, “Have you been eavesdropping? Pervert!”
Jiang Yan: “Don’t jump—the floor isn’t that sturdy. Too much shaking, and it’ll collapse.”
“!!”
Xiao Tian looked about to lose it, but Xiao Jia tugged at his sleeve and murmured, “You’ve put on weight lately. That’s not good. Try to watch your diet—I’ll eat veggies with you.”
Xiao Tian’s cheeks flushed. “You said it!”
Xiao Jia nodded softly.
Le Yao pulled them both toward the door and greeted Jiang Yan as she passed.
“I’m in 406. Ask if you ever need help!”
Jiang Yan folded her arms. “What can you help with?”
Le Yao ticked items off: “Bring food, keep you company, break surveillance cameras…”
She flashed a cheeky grin. “I’m very capable.”
Jiang Yan smiled back and bade the group goodbye.
The door to 405 clicked shut. Only Jiang Yan and Le Yi remained.
Le Yi curled up on her bed, clutching a pillow, gaze fixed on the world outside the window since Jiang Yan’s entrance.
The girl’s looks weren’t particularly memorable, but her shallow brows and lips had a unique detachment. When she spoke, she radiated an air of irritation, as if ready to hurl an insult at any moment.
“What are you looking at?” Jiang Yan asked.
Le Yi: “Can’t you tell?”
Jiang Yan answered mildly, “I can—you’re looking at the scenery.”
Le Yi snorted.
After a pause, she pointed toward the window. “That leaf is pretty good.”
Jiang Yan followed her gaze to see an utterly ordinary leaf.
“The veins look like a river,” Le Yi said.
Jiang Yan studied it for a long time before agreeing, “It does a little.”
“It looks a lot,” Le Yi retorted.
Jiang Yan nodded perfunctorily, rummaged through her suitcase for snacks, and tossed a bag of chips to Le Yi.
Le Yi raised her hand to catch it, eyed the flavor, and disdainfully tossed it back.
“I want tomato flavor.”
So Jiang Yan threw her a tomato-flavored bag.
They sat across from each other eating chips—crunch, crunch. After a bag was gone, Jiang Yan asked, “When did you come here?”
Le Yi answered casually, “Long time ago.”
Jiang Yan: “And the other kids?”
“Around the same time.”
“When did the lab rat game start?”
“This January.”
“Those kids never showed any signs of…abnormality?”
Le Yi crunched her chip. “Not so far.”
“The color of their souls has never changed.”
Clearly, Le Yi had been observing her companions for signs of oddity, just as the nurses and the regular patients had started glitching.
Jiang Yan was also leaning toward the idea that the kids had never been infected or controlled.
—The spirit, driven by some obsession, constructed an escape-hunt scene. But unable to control the mental patients, it selected them as lab rats, making everyone else into its knives.
But Jiang Yan immediately rejected that line of thinking.
This spirit, having already formed a half-energy field, was deeply corrupted. Were it truly unable to control the mental patients, it would simply eliminate them.
There’s no reason to bother with this elaborate act.
Uncontrollable does not mean unkillable.
A spirit polluted to this extent is devoid of empathy. It retains some reason but has lost all emotion; it will mercilessly erase anything in its way, then play games with whoever is left.
So why can’t it control the mental patients, yet doesn’t just wipe them out?
Why only make them the lab rats?
The chips were gone. Le Yi balled up the empty bag, glanced with impatience at Jiang Yan’s pensive look, and snapped, “You’re guessing why we’re the lab rats and why only we can’t be controlled, right?”
Jiang Yan lifted her eyes.
“It’s not that we can’t be controlled,” Le Yi said, lying back and closing her eyes. “It’s that the thing doesn’t want to control us.”
“Only when you’re sufficiently clear-headed can you be properly tormented.”
Jiang Yan narrowed her eyes.
“What do you know?”
Le Yi didn’t bother opening her eyes. “I know too much.”
“But I can’t be bothered to tell you.”