Le Yi had bargaining power with the doctors.
Whether it was her blood or her clairvoyant ability.
As long as she kept silent, she could allow the doctor to secretly draw her blood more times, with no one the wiser, and he would earn several times more than his own salary.
The results of hypnotizing these children were simply too positive, so Jiang Yan tended to believe this hypnosis was carried out with goodwill.
The medical staff at Baishan Sanatorium were truly mediocre.
Here, it seemed that only Le Yi harboured real kindness toward those children.
After finishing her analysis, Jiang Yan found the livestream had quieted down.
[Don’t you want to spare your friends from suffering?]
[Since you can’t forget it yourself, at least let the others forget.]
[Ah, what a painful experience. Maybe it’s better to forget.]
Jiang Yan had no idea what they thought in the stream; she continued reading through the children’s files.
A few of them had their ages listed: Le Yao was thirteen, Le Tian and Le Jia were twelve, and Le Yi was eleven.
Jiang Yan had thought Le Yi couldn’t be more than nine due to her small stature, but it was clear this was the result of stunted development. Having her blood drawn so often, it would be hard for anyone to grow tall.
There was little useful information in the files. Jiang Yan prepared to return them.
This time, things were much easier. Zhang Lei had gone to work, and standing guard at the records room door was Lin Xinjiu, in a white coat, leaning against the entrance. When he saw Jiang Yan and Shen Xiaoxiao walking over, he reached out a hand.
Terse, he said, “Records.”
Jiang Yan simply raised her eyebrows and handed the files to Lin Xinjiu.
Lin Xinjiu hadn’t slept last night. Although the game didn’t require him to catch the white mice, the announcements had been too strange, so he had stood by the fifth-floor window all night, naturally able to deduce who the white mice were.
After Zhang Lei called him there today, he had searched for several kids’ files for half an hour with no luck, so he guessed they’d been taken by Jiang Yan and her group. Seeing this proved him right.
He took the files without a word and turned into the archive room.
Jiang Yan and Shen Xiaoxiao returned to the fourth floor.
At the moment, Xiao Tian and Xiao Jia were playing shuttlecock in the hallway, their noisy voices echoing through the floor.
To confirm her hunch, Jiang Yan went to get two bottles of drinks and asked the two children if they wanted them.
Xiao Jia shyly lifted her face. “Can I really have one?”
Jiang Yan nodded.
Xiao Tian, however, showed no restraint, immediately reaching to take a bottle. “Of course I do!”
After helping them open the bottles, Jiang Yan asked, “We’ve known each other for a while now—can you tell me your surnames? Surely your surname isn’t Xiao, is it?”
Xiao Tian was momentarily confused. “Huh?”
Xiao Jia also seemed puzzled. “It is Xiao. Why can’t I have that surname?”
Jiang Yan smiled. “It’s nothing, I just thought there was no such surname.”
The two children, reassured, resumed drinking.
After a while, something seemed to occur to them. Sharing a look, they darted back to their room.
Moments later, they emerged with four clean paper cups. They poured each other’s drinks into the new cups, swapped, and then Xiao Jia offered one to Jiang Yan. “Sister, don’t you want any? There are paper cups here; you should have some too.”
Jiang Yan shook her head. “You go ahead.”
Watching the kids drink, her chin propped on her hand, Jiang Yan asked innocently, “Are you the youngest in the sanatorium?”
“You’re really quite young.”
Xiao Jia nodded, now more courageous. “Yes. Le Yi is the youngest.”
“Were there ever other children?”
Xiao Jia thought, then shook her head. “No, it’s always just been the four of us.”
“Because I got sick, and my parents didn’t have money for treatment. They spent the last of their savings to send me here, and Le Yi was already here then… Don’t mind her if she seems ill-tempered—she’s just a bit proud, really, very sweet!”
Jiang Yan asked, “What illness do you have?”
“Um…”
Xiao Jia tilted her head, then turned to ask Xiao Tian, “Xiao Tian, what’s my illness again?”
Xiao Tian responded instantly, “Same as mine—mental illness!”
Xiao Jia blinked, looking back at Jiang Yan. “Mental illness!”
Jiang Yan: “Specifically?”
Xiao Jia: “Specifically…”
She looked again at Xiao Tian, who scratched his head. “Uh, post-traumatic stress disorder? I think I heard a nurse say that once.”
Xiao Jia: “But what trauma did we experience?”
Xiao Tian hesitated. “Maybe it’s OCD, schizophrenia, depression, mania…?”
Xiao Jia burst out laughing.
Xiao Tian shook his head wildly. “Oh, I can’t remember. Don’t ask me anything else—I hate exams!”
Seeing no point in pressing them further, Jiang Yan let it go. At that moment, Le Yao walked out of her room. Seeing the others together, she beamed. “Sister, want to play with us?”
“What are we playing?”
Le Yao thought. “Hopscotch!”
Jiang Yan pushed Shen Xiaoxiao forward to take a turn. Shen Xiaoxiao, knowing the children had suffered tragic lives, was happy to play with them, but as the game went on, her competitiveness caught up with her.
During a two-person round, in her rush, she accidentally bumped Xiao Jia.
Xiao Jia, frail as she was, immediately staggered and almost fell. Jiang Yan was quick to catch her.
The girl was nothing but skin and bones. Jiang Yan’s hurried grip tugged her shirt up slightly, exposing her flat stomach and a centipede-like scar.
A surgical scar.
“Ahhh, I’m truly at fault!” Shen Xiaoxiao hurried over to apologize, fixing Xiao Jia’s clothes as she spoke.
Xiao Jia shook her head. “It’s okay, it was my fault for not jumping right.”
Jiang Yan pointed at her belly. “What happened here?”
“Appendix surgery! Very minor.”
Jiang Yan nodded.
Time passed quickly. Dinner approached, and Jiang Yan stood up to leave. Shen Xiaoxiao said goodbye to the children, and together they headed downstairs to eat.
Tonight’s dinner was again cooked by Yu Renwan.
Initially, Yu Renwan was only responsible for lunch, with buns and bread simply reheated for breakfast and dinner. But her red-braised pork at noon was so delicious that Head Nurse Fang Miao allowed her to go buy ingredients for the night meal as well.
But unlike lunch, tonight only the staff had meat on their plates. Patients only got vegetarian dishes—still, Yu Renwan’s cooking made even vegetarian food taste wonderful.
The patients watched the evening news in the main hall as they hungrily shovelled rice into their mouths.
The screen showed the evening news from M City.
A dignified female anchor, speaking in a grave tone, recited the day’s news. As the segment ended, she mentioned the discovery of an unidentified woman’s body in the woods outside Baishan Town.
Shen Xiaoxiao had already taken her meal to find her sister. Jiang Yan glanced up to meet Yu Renwan’s gaze.
Both had guessed the dead woman’s identity.
Wei Xian.
But the others at Baishan Sanatorium didn’t know. As one patient casually asked, “Where’s Nurse Wei Xian? She’s been gone all day.”
“Probably travelling. Didn’t Nurse Xu Jing go abroad for a week before?”
The questioning patient nodded. “Probably. Must be rich.”
Jiang Yan finished eating, stood, and was joined by Yu Renwan.
One after the other, they walked outside. In the corridor, Yu Renwan opened her backpack and pulled out a roast chicken wrapped in newspaper, its aroma quickly spreading.
“This is for Jiang Jiang.”
Yu Renwan was sneaking special food to Jiang Yan.
Xiao Wa stood by with hands on hips, her branch-like claws drumming the floor, ready to kick Jiang Yan if she didn’t share.
Jiang Yan grinned at Xiao Wa for a few seconds, then stuffed the chicken into her own backpack.
“Thank you.”
Xiao Wa flopped down in protest.
Yu Renwan quickly covered Xiao Wa’s eyes and nose. “You’re welcome.”
She explained, “You seem to eat meat with every meal… I thought you might not get full without it.”
So blunt.
So blunt that Jiang Yan felt awkward.
“Maybe so,” Jiang Yan replied expressionlessly, heading upstairs. “I’ll be revealing my identity to Le Yi later. Any issues?”
“No problem.”
Yu Renwan understood what Jiang Yan meant.
Le Yi was a psychic; she’d have her guard up against new arrivals. The best way to build trust was to show they were the same kind.
Yu Renwan needed to clean up the dishes, so she didn’t follow Jiang Yan and returned to the cafeteria.
Jiang Yan polled the group on her plan.
The twins were fine with it, and Lin Xinjiu replied indifferently, so Jiang Yan went to find Le Yi.
Le Yi was eating in the ward with the other three children, all sitting in a circle.
Le Yao stole the sweet chilli pepper from Le Yi’s bowl and then dumped half her potato strips into Xiao Jia’s.
Xiao Tian: “I like potato strips too!”
Le Yao was about to share hers with him, but Le Yi pinned down her chopsticks and glared up at Xiao Tian.
Xiao Tian: “…”
Xiao Tian: “Hmph, I don’t like potato strips anymore!”
Le Yi rolled her eyes. “Wanting everything just makes you fatter.”
Xiao Tian: “Why do you always call me fat? You’re so annoying!”
Jiang Yan closed the door, not quietly, and all the children turned to look at her.
Jiang Yan pulled out the roast chicken, broke it in half, and wrapped the rest before stowing it away.
“Want some?”
Xiao Tian’s eyes shone. Even Le Yi couldn’t help sneaking a glance.
After a moment, Le Yi said, “You two do know each other.”
She meant Jiang Yan and Yu Renwan.
Patients weren’t allowed out, so only someone on staff could have bought Jiang Yan a roast chicken. Out of those, only the newly admitted cook, who arrived the same day, fit the bill.
Le Yi added, “I already suspected last night on the basement level.”
“And those two hiding in the trees this morning—you know them, too.”
This little girl was very sharp. Jiang Yan realized there was no need to declare her identity; Le Yi had probably already figured it out.
She almost suspected Le Yi had guessed when she divided up the chicken.
The other three children delightedly split the chicken, the drumsticks given by Le Yao to Xiao Jia and Le Yi.
Xiao Tian, a bit sullen, picked at a few pieces of meat.
They all heard Le Yi’s words, mulling them over as they ate. Le Yao was first to understand. “You know the sisters next door, and the cook, and now there’s a new doctor’s assistant—I bet you know them all, right?”
Jiang Yan nodded. “I do.”
Xiao Jia blinked. “Why are you all here together…?”
Le Yao guessed, “This place is really weird. I bet they’re like Le Yi said—the Lords of the World. They realized something was wrong and came to save us!”
Xiao Tian, licking the oil from his lips, kept stealing glances at Jiang Yan.
Le Yi slapped the table. “I’m the only Lord of the World around here.”
Le Yao laughed and nodded.
Ten minutes later, the children, well fed, left Room 405. Le Yi went to wash her hands, then walked over to Jiang Yan.
Jiang Yan sat at the bedside.
They faced each other for a while before Le Yi spoke. “How much do you know?”
There was no need to hide things now.
The faster they uncovered information, the more faith Le Yi would have in their abilities.
Jiang Yan went straight to the point. “The Underground Circus, and Pingping.”
Le Yi pressed her lips together swiftly.
Jiang Yan continued, “You and your companions don’t have mental illnesses.”
“You made a deal with the hypnotist, and your friends have all been hypnotized. I spoke with them this afternoon—they don’t remember Pingping. Only you still remember those experiences.”
“You’re protecting them?”
After a while, Le Yi nodded. “Yes.”
“Some things just aren’t worth remembering so clearly.”
Jiang Yan asked, “Do you mind telling me your story?”
Le Yi thought it over, then confirmed, “You don’t seem all that great—can you really get us out?”
It was the first time Jiang Yan’s ability was called into question.
But she nodded.
Le Yi: “My friends and I need identities. We have no household registration books or ID cards—can you get those for us?”
Jiang Yan figured the Supernatural Administration Bureau could, so she nodded. “We can.”
Le Yi: “And we need to go to school.”
Jiang Yan: “That can be arranged.”
Le Yi: “I think I can skip a grade.”
Jiang Yan: “Alright.”
Le Yi: “Can the four of us live together? We need a big house.”
“…”
Jiang Yan replied with a smile, “What do you think?”
Le Yi pouted, “Cheapskate.”
She leaned back, sitting on the hospital bed.
She was so short that her feet couldn’t reach the floor, just swinging in the air, before slowly coming to a stop.
“I was bought by Jiang He when I was four,” she said suddenly.
Jiang Yan put on a serious, attentive expression.
“She searched through several villages, finally buying five children. The youngest were three or four, like me and Pingping, and the oldest six or seven, like Xiao Jia and Xiao Tian.”
“Pingping was unusually good-looking—or so Jiang He liked to say. She said Pingping looked like a budding beauty, destined to be kept inside a vase. I was too little then, don’t remember much. What I do know is that, ever since I have memories, Pingping was always in her vase.”
“I know it sounds like a story to keep someone in a vase, but with enough precautions, human imagination and malice can go far beyond what you’d think. Jiang He hired someone to modify the vase, making a hole in the bottom for Pingping to relieve herself, and a small opening at the back, with a pretty little lock on it, which she’d open from time to time as a reward when Pingping ‘behaved.’”
“All those times, Pingping would struggle to drag her limbless lower body half outside, as if hoping it could breathe a little.”
“I didn’t like her then,” Le Yi said.
“Not at all.”
“No matter how miserable she had it, she cried too much. Because of her, we often couldn’t sleep, always fussing. So, I kept scolding her. The others were much kinder—every time I scolded her, Le Yao would scold me instead; Xiao Tian would use magic tricks to make her laugh; Xiao Jia would go kiss her. Back then, everyone hated me, much more than now.”
“But later, I didn’t dislike her as much,” Le Yi asked Jiang Yan, “Have you ever heard the sound of bones growing?”
Jiang Yan said nothing, but Le Yi didn’t seem to expect an answer.
“By then, Pingping had already lost her limbs and was regularly injected with growth inhibitors, so her body was very small. But even so, she slowly filled the vase, every bit of growth bringing with it a heavy, muffled knocking—as if you could feel the pain just from hearing it. I pitied her. I figured I could bear her crying, but after that, she never cried in front of me again.”
“Pingping didn’t like me. She only cried silently in front of Le Yao. She saw Le Yao as a big sister, Xiao Jia and Xiao Tian as best friends, and me as the villain.”
“A lot of time passed. After countless attempts to make myself noticed, Pingping and I grew closer, and she learned to curse from me. Sometimes I couldn’t even out-argue her—she was terrible, even more annoying than me.”
Jiang Yan watched Le Yi, who hung her head and kept swinging her legs.
She wasn’t lying.
So Jiang Yan asked, “And then?”
“Then, once we were trained enough to perform, Jiang He started to hit a wall. A circus built on abuse could never go mainstream, so she kept seeking a way in. Eventually, by luck, she found out about underground venues and took us there.”
“We were a sensation from the start.”
“Flowers and money rained down on us, fresh roses with thorns bruising our faces. Jiang He commanded us to bow in gratitude. Pingping couldn’t bow, but the audience didn’t care. She was their favorite. They swarmed to photograph her and tossed money just for the chance to take a picture together.”
“But none of us envied her.”
“Once you’ve heard the sound of growing bones, you couldn’t possibly envy her.”
“In two years, Jiang He made millions—tens of millions, maybe more—and started to get frightened. The audience grew ever more obsessed and crazy. They stalked her, used their power to force her to perform whenever they wished. She felt caged. She didn’t want to lose her freedom.”
“She hated the feeling of being trapped.”
Though Le Yi’s pale face showed no sarcasm, her words were ironic enough.
“She thought it over for a long time. On the one hand, she tried to establish a legitimate circus; on the other, she still took us underground. In the end, she staged a forest fire, destroying the circus in broad daylight, and secretly vanishing with us in the flames.”
“But as you see, we didn’t die. Jiang He never planned to kill us. She disappeared with us underground, then bought Baishan Sanatorium, keeping us in the storeroom beneath the freezer.”
“Three months after we arrived at Baishan, no one asked about us again.”
“Jiang He’s fans all went chasing new madness. I heard there was a new vase girl and even a braid girl at the next underground show.”
A hush settled over the room.
Someone in the stream asked: [What’s a braid girl??]
A psychic who had already researched replied: [Like the vase girl, it’s an old urban legend from China.]
[The vase girl was an ancient rural stage act in China. Some say she really existed, others claim it was an illusion trick. But either way, vase girl became a kind of folk ghost story.]
[The braid girl is a story from a port city in the 1970s: a boy sees a girl crying late at school and asks why. She says everyone’s afraid of her, won’t speak to her. He asks her to turn around—he’ll talk to her. She turns, and there’s a braid for a face.]
[The new underground circus must have adapted the legend, replacing a girl’s face with nothing but hair.]
[…]
[Human malice always finds new ways to shock me.]
After a moment, Jiang Yan asked, “What really made Jiang He decide to destroy the circus was also your blood type, right?”
Le Yi glanced at her and replied:
“Back then, a foreign billionaire was desperately searching for blood for his ailing daughter. Mine was extremely rare. If you’d seen Jiang He’s face when she got that blood report…”
“Four hundred milliliters, offered at four hundred thousand.”
Jiang Yan said, “A seller’s market.”
“Yes,” Le Yi replied.
“With a new way to make money, she didn’t need the circus to get rich. But it was a shame—just a year after she arrived, she died of a sudden brain hemorrhage in her apartment.”
“She seldom came to the sanatorium, so no one noticed. Days later, Jiang An found her decaying corpse by accident. To take over her place, Jiang An quietly dismembered her and buried her under the riverbed.”
Jiang Yan asked, “How did you find out?”
“The doctor I worked with told me,” Le Yi rolled her eyes. “He’s two-faced. He saw through Jiang An’s act, so she confessed to him, offering triple pay to buy his loyalty.”
“But he still sided with me, since I offered a better deal.”
“Using your blood?” Jiang Yan asked.
“Yes. The medical staff had made their own rules. To keep me from dying, everyone had a logbook for who could draw and how much. When it was his turn, I’d let him secretly draw an extra hundred milliliters.”
“But things have been better lately. Many staff have died, and the rest have been out of it during the day, so nobody’s bothered me for a while.”
Speaking at length left Le Yi parched, and she asked Jiang Yan for a drink, tossing her head back to gulp it down.
Jiang Yan lowered her gaze.
Everything was as she’d supposed.
This mission, despite the seemingly troublesome hunt-and-escape aspect, was straightforward in terms of deduction.
So far, only Jiang He and Pingping could have designated Le Yi and her friends as “white mice” in this semi-closed field.
Jiang Yan asked, “Who do you think chose you as white mice?”
“Of course it’s Jiang He.”
Le Yi tilted her face up with a look that bordered on contempt. “Who else would it be?”
“Even if Pingping and I started out on bad terms, we got along by the end. The rest—no way.”
Jiang Yan corrected, “That’s what you think.”
“You can’t really know what Pingping felt.”
“If she ever envied or resented you, even a little, her game would target you—the field amplifies all negative desires.”
Le Yi: “It was Jiang He.”
Seeing Jiang Yan was about to retort, Le Yi finally lost her patience.
“I must be out of my mind to listen to your nonsense. Can’t you just leave me alone?”
[…]
[Jiang Yan has no brains (silence)]
[Was that an insult to Jiang Yan?]
[That was meant for me, it’s me being insulted…]
Smiling, Jiang Yan flicked back her hair.
It was the second time today she’d felt like beating the crap out of Le Yi.
But the stream was still running, and Jiang Yan, deterred by the camera, decided to walk in the garden outside the first floor.
She rose to leave.
Closing the door behind her, she walked into the hallway.
Le Yao was sitting on the fourth-floor bench—she had a double room to herself. Seeing Jiang Yan, she looked surprised. “Sister, where are you going?”
Jiang Yan: “Just going to the garden for a stroll.”
She asked, “Why are you here? Not going to play with Le Yi?”
Le Yao smiled, shaking her head. “Not now. Sister, at my age, I really need some alone time.”
Jiang Yan curved her lips in a smile, then headed to the stairs after saying goodbye.
She went down the stairs—third floor, where two patients chatting greeted her cheerfully. Then on, to the second, then to the first floor.
Outside in the garden, seven or eight patients were present. On a bench by the flower beds sat Xiao Jia and Xiao Tian, whispering under the night sky.
Jiang Yan called, “It’s nine already. Not going to bed?”
The children shook their heads.
Jiang Yan pulled several packets of crackers from her pocket and gave them to the children, sitting with them to gaze at the stars.
The night breeze cooled. Jiang Yan rose and said her goodbyes.
She started back.
Behind her, cheerful voices filled the air. Jiang Yan could clearly hear patients chatting about their childhood, their kids, and the evening news. She listened as she walked back.
As she reached the lobby, she suddenly turned around.
The small garden was abuzz with conversation—everyone talking about their lives.
But a chill crawled up her spine: every face was turned her way.
They spoke animatedly, yet every frozen face was clay-gray and expressionless, as if, entrenched in the darkness, they were a row of human gravestones.
Xiao Jia and Xiao Tian clung tightly together, seeking her help.
“Sister?”
The two asked, “Could you take us upstairs with you?”