The middle-aged man in the newspaper possessed the kind of honest, trustworthy face that inspired confidence—if you were ever in trouble, you would surely seek his help first.
And that was precisely what Yu Renwan had done.
This very morning, when Yu Renwan couldn’t find the restroom, he’d asked this man for directions.
At this moment, the livestream audience also spotted the “missing person” notice printed on the newspaper, and the comment section immediately filled with a flurry of [???]
[What’s going on???]
[Wait, wait, let me get this straight. So this person died four years ago, but now he’s alive and a patient at Baishan Sanatorium?]
[Does he have a twin brother? Was it his brother who died on the mountain?]
[I don’t think it’s that simple…]
Jiang Yan agreed—it wasn’t so straightforward.
She recalled something Song Zheng had said, pulled out her phone, opened the group chat, and tagged Lin Xinjiu.
“Can we work together?”
Three minutes later, Lin Xinjiu replied with a question mark.
Jiang Yan: “About the spirit behind this place.”
This time, Lin Xinjiu’s response came much faster: “Speak.”
Indeed, only matters concerning spirits could fully pique Lin Xinjiu’s interest.
Since they were cooperating, Jiang Yan didn’t care about his attitude and asked earnestly, “Did any spirit return last night?”
If every Sunday someone in this place became a ‘lab rat’ and died, then last Sunday someone must have died. Which meant last night was the seventh day after the death, the time for the soul’s return—on the seventh day, the departed’s spirit was supposed to circle the place where it last lived.
But last night, Jiang Yan and Yu Renwan had stayed constantly on the basement level, and the twins had been with the nurses the whole time; no one had a chance to pay attention to whether anyone’s soul had returned.
Last night, Lin Xinjiu had been the most at leisure—and, crucially, he possessed Yin-Yang Eyes. He didn’t need special drops; he could see every spirit that returned.
After a while, Jiang Yan finally received a reply.
“Perhaps not.”
Lin Xinjiu said, “My window faces the front gate. I didn’t see any spirit return.”
Shen Huanhuan in the group seemed to realize where the problem lay: “But how could that be? Is it because this is a semi-energy field? Can a semi-energy field block spirits from returning?”
Yu Renwan hesitated: “I doubt it… The soul’s return on the seventh day is a law of Heaven. I’m not sure if an energy field could block this rule, but a semi-energy field shouldn’t have that ability…”
Silence fell in the group chat.
Seeing no one else spoke, Jiang Yan voiced her own judgment: “Isn’t it possible… There was no death last Sunday?”
“Eh?” Shen Xiaoxiao blurted out, “Jiang Yan, are you saying this game doesn’t happen every Sunday, or that no lab rat was picked last week?”
Jiang Yan: “Neither.”
“What I mean is, all the ordinary patients here are already dead. Since they’re already dead, there’s no dying again.”
*
Before the newcomers joined the game, Baishan Sanatorium had 25 original patients—four children labelled with mental illness, the rest all ordinary patients.
That meant there were 21 ordinary patients here, who were likely all dead.
This Jiang Yan deduced from two clues: “People who have already died appearing at Baishan Sanatorium,” and “No soul returns occurred for the sanatorium’s dead patients.” Further verification was needed, but for now, she’d proceed on this assumption.
If this was true, the next question naturally arose: “Why did the spirit behind this place create such a field?”
The purpose of this field was confounding.
No spirit would truly enjoy playing games with a bunch of corpses; the dead possess no thoughts, at most just a physical shell, and could only move under the spirit’s control. What’s the difference between a spirit manipulating others versus simply playing alone?
There was none.
So why would the spirit go to such effort, manipulating over twenty corpses, just to play this game of ‘catch the lab rat’ with the staff and the psychiatric patients?
Is it for the pleasure of toying with the staff and the mentally ill?
If so, did it really need so many ordinary patients? Just a handful would have sufficed; twenty-odd seemed excessive.
Furthermore, could a spirit in a semi-energy field really control all those corpses at every moment?
Based on what Jiang Yan knew, it was impossible.
It simply couldn’t be done.
One point was most uncanny: If all the ordinary patients were dead, and all were manipulated by some spirit, how did these dead people appear in the sanatorium in the first place? And when did they appear?
Was it this January, simultaneous with the start of the ‘lab rat’ game?
If so, did these patients just materialize out of thin air?
Yet the field’s spirit could only control what was inside the field; Baishan Sanatorium wasn’t sealed off. If a crowd of new people suddenly appeared, how could tourists and town residents not notice?
Jiang Yan subconsciously rubbed her right index finger’s knuckle.
If all the ordinary patients here were actually registered dead people, would no one from outside ever discover this?
Surely someone from town would happen to recognize or know of a supposedly “living patient” who was already dead.
Was it that the spirit behind the scenes hadn’t considered this, or did it simply have confidence it could wipe people’s memories outside the field?
Yet a semi-energy field’s spirit could never manage something like that. Even a full energy field spirit couldn’t erase the memory of outsiders.
So the problem circled back again.
What exactly was the spirit behind this place?
Was this really a semi-energy field?
Jiang Yan reviewed all the information from the last couple of days; her brows slowly knit together.
She suddenly realized something almost laughable.
—No one had ever explicitly told them this was a semi-energy field.
Jiang Yuqing had said that the energy detector showed no abnormality here, but because Cheng Xuwang had fainted outside the gate, and because Cheng Xuwang’s ability was so unique, she speculated that this was a semi-energy field with camouflage properties.
But ultimately, that was merely Jiang Yuqing’s conjecture.
A conjecture could always be wrong.
So Baishan Sanatorium might not be a semi-energy field at all.
At this realization, Jiang Yan lowered her head and posted her deduction to the group. The livestream chat promptly fell into stunned confusion.
[???]
[Huh? It isn’t a semi-energy field?]
[Then what is it? The lab rat game, the controlled staff—if this isn’t a field, what is?]
The group chat was similarly slow to react.
A full minute passed before Shen Xiaoxiao stammered, “Ah, it’s not? It’s not? But I fainted in the elevator that night, didn’t I?”
Shen Huanhuan said, “Right, Cheng Xuwang once fainted at the sanatorium entrance, and Xiaoxiao fainted in the elevator the first night. I’m not sure about Cheng Xuwang, but Xiaoxiao was probably overwhelmed by a spirit’s pressure.”
Jiang Yan: “She was indeed suppressed by an overwhelming force, but it wasn’t necessarily a spirit’s force.”
Among the yao, there were strict hierarchies: the great yao of the Classic of Mountains and Seas era, like Jiang Yan herself, a few thousand years old; smaller yao like the silver-spotted black pigeon at nearly a thousand; and low-level, newly awakened yao.
Pressure between different yao was like a chasm—as when Jiang Yan once faced the physical form of Bai Ze at the Supernatural Administration Bureau, her fingers started trembling. Bai Ze was already dead, and despite withholding its aura, Jiang Yan still felt an intense suppression of hierarchy.
Both Cheng Xuwang and Shen Xiaoxiao were highly sensitive—one with outstanding “spiritual resonance,” the other to “spiritual beings”—both keenly attuned to spirit power.
But it’s not only spirits that possess such powers; psychics do as well.
So what could cause their fear and unconsciousness might not be just a spirit, but a psychic whose talent overwhelmingly suppressed others.
And yet, Cheng Xuwang ranked ninth in the Bureau and was number one for “spiritual resonance.” What kind of psychic ability would so utterly overmatch hers?
After a pause, Jiang Yan asked Shen Xiaoxiao, “Have you ever felt uncomfortable around any registered psychic?”
“What’s their specialty?”
After a while, Shen Xiaoxiao responded: “Every time I meet Abbot He, I feel awful, dizzy…”
Jiang Yan’s expression turned awkward.
Though her master on paper, she honestly had no idea what He Qingyuan’s ability was. She feigned nonchalance, “Oh? What is his ability?”
Now the entire livestream fell into collective secondhand embarrassment.
[I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t stop—hahaha!]
[I’m losing it. Jiang Yan, what sort of master did you pick? Hahahaha]
[Abbot He: Well, what can I do? She chose to be my disciple. (closes eyes)]
Finally, Shen Huanhuan broke the silence.
“Precognition.”
Jiang Yan was surprised for a moment, but quickly regained composure.
A psychic talent stronger than precognition.
Able to make the dead “live again,” to control all the staff here, to tell lies that even she could not detect.
Such a psychic ability was simply too powerful.
Jiang Yan turned to look at Le Yi, who slept quietly in the bed.
The little girl’s thin body barely disturbed the sheets, fragile as porcelain.
Jiang Yan began to replay all that had happened since her arrival, and realized how conveniently everything had fallen into place.
Her own room happened to be 405; Le Yi happened to be the psychiatric patient assigned as her roommate; they happened to befriend each other; and the lab rat game conveniently began her very first night, pulling her along by the broadcast, launching her into partnership with Le Yi, from whom most of her information flowed. And since she believed Le Yi harbored no intent to deceive, she’d trusted all of it.
Had she not recently uncovered contradictions surrounding Jiang An, she’d likely have kept trusting Le Yi.
Why had everything aligned so neatly?
Jiang Yan closed her eyes, thinking hard, and after a long while, she slowly opened them.
Now she remembered.
Jiang Yuqing had mentioned that before their group came to Baishan Sanatorium, the Bureau had sent psychics here to conduct a preliminary investigation and determine the number of patients and the standard of medical care.
It started from then.
From that moment, Le Yi had known that several psychics would come. She arranged everything, including, in all probability, the decision for Jiang Yan and the others to pose as psychiatric patients—using her ability, she “arranged” for the investigating psychic who, upon returning, assigned new identities to Jiang Yan and her companions.
In other words, their identities were her arrangement, their hospital rooms were her arrangement, and even the supposedly weekly lab rat game might have been her invention.
More alarmingly, through that psychic, she learned the abilities of Yu Renwan and the others, even knowing they would interpret this as a “semi-energy field,” prompting her to ensure that the staff on rounds would never be harmed by Yu Renwan, but would be by herself.
She simultaneously established the narrative that this was an energy field and that all the staff were abnormal, while exonerating herself as a mere normal person.
Everything was false; anything could be false.
Now, about the only things that could be confirmed were: Le Yi and the others came from the underground circus, Jiang He was dead, and in the last three months, seven staff members had died at Baishan Sanatorium—and as of this morning, another had died.
Once Le Yi’s motivation for murdering the staff was understood, the purpose of this fake field would become clear.
But Jiang Yan was still even more curious about Le Yi’s ability.
She wondered how Le Yi’s lies had managed to deceive even her; how could someone aware of their own lies not manifest any intent to deceive?
Jiang Yan could only think of one satisfactory explanation.
—Unless what Le Yi said was never a lie.
—Unless anything Le Yi uttered, no matter how false, became truth the instant it was spoken.
She did not deceive; every word she spoke, no matter how impossible, became reality—and she knew this perfectly well.
Jiang Yan switched off her phone.
She once more glanced at the fax from earlier, then opened her photo album to look at the blurry group shot left by the underground circus.
Finally, she stood up and walked straight to Le Yi.
“You can open your eyes,” she said softly.
“Your ability is essentially ‘as you speak, so it becomes reality,’ isn’t it, Pingping?”
*
The sickbed-bound Le Yi—or rather, Pingping—fluttered her lashes.
A few breaths passed; then she slowly opened her eyes.
Moonlight caught the girl’s gaze, eyes like crystals rimed with frost. Hugging her pillow, she sat up, just as she’d done the first night Jiang Yan arrived, tilting her head to scrutinize this uninvited guest.
Jiang Yan quietly met her gaze.
After a long moment, the girl said coolly, “How did you know?”
Jiang Yan smiled. “I was bluffing.”
Pingping was startled.
Jiang Yan said, “Just thought that if your power was ‘as spoken, so it is,’ then your face could be anyone’s—you could be anyone.”
“But there’s something else,” Jiang Yan paused, “Your hearing is much too sharp. Whether it was last night when Le Yao went to the basement, or just an ordinary patient visiting the dissection room, you always heard the sounds a few seconds before I did.”
As she spoke, Jiang Yan shook her phone, showing the photo of the circus troupe.
In the picture, Pingping’s gaze was hollow and unfocused.
Jiang Yan went on, “And just now I realized, the emptiness in Pingping’s eyes is not only emotional—it’s a lack of focus. She can’t see.”
“Pingping is blind; your hearing compensates.”
Pingping was silent for a long time, and then she smiled.
Whether in self-mockery or irony, it was hard to say.
“I just wanted to act like I was a bit more impressive.”
Jiang Yan said, “In fact, you already are.”
Pingping didn’t respond to that.
Instead, she asked, “What else do you know?”
Jiang Yan considered for a few seconds. “For example, your power only appeared after Le Yi’s death.”
“It wasn’t your marrow that was transplanted to Le Yi—it was her marrow transplanted to you.”
[???]
[What??]
[Wait, I’m confused. What’s going on? How is it Le Yi’s marrow was transplanted into Pingping, not the other way around?]
Jiang Yan explained, “I suddenly realized—given your hearing, even if I left barefoot, you’d hear it. And the timing of that fax was too suspicious—it was meant for me to find, to mislead me into thinking Pingping was already dead, so I’d believe the energy field’s hidden spirit was Pingping.”
“It’s easy to doctor a fax—usually you’d spot the inconsistencies. The cleverest trick is to swap the names, or better yet, not to alter anything at all. In fact, you didn’t change it—the fax was exactly what Sun Xinzhi sent to the director’s office before. You didn’t alter the content at all. You just relied on my preconceptions.”
At the time, the fax had read—
“The surgery was successful, especially for Pingping and Le Yi. If I hadn’t performed it myself, it wouldn’t have succeeded… You’re too greedy. Le Yi’s blood is being thoroughly exploited; by now, you should have made that eight million.”
Because she already ‘knew’ Le Yi had a rare blood type, Jiang Yan had naturally interpreted this as, “After surgery, Le Yi acquired a rare blood type, and her blood was being exploited.”
But that wasn’t what Sun Xinzhi meant.
There were two ways to read “Le Yi’s blood is being thoroughly exploited”:
Aside from Jiang Yan’s interpretation, there’s the alternative: “After the successful surgery, Le Yi’s blood—the blood from Le Yi herself—was being used.”
Thus, the cause and effect were inverted.
It was Le Yi who had the rare blood type; Pingping was the transplant recipient.
Admittedly, Jiang He’s motive for transplanting healthy marrow into frail Pingping, rather than maximizing profit with Le Yi’s rare blood, remained a mystery—but she had done just that.
Jiang Yan asked Pingping, “Why?”
“Why did Jiang He do this?”
Pingping gazed down at the pillow for a moment, then smiled.
Looking straight at Jiang Yan, she replied, “It wasn’t just that I was frail.”
“There’s an underground lab beneath Baishan Sanatorium’s cold storage. Jiang He did treat us as precious collectibles, but she loved herself more. She’d been diagnosed with liver cancer and needed the very best new drugs. She’d obtained some newly developed foreign drugs, still untested, and feared the side effects. So she tested them on the healthiest among us: Le Yi.”
Pingping continued, “That’s why I became healthier than she was.”
“Le Yi’s blood type was highly unusual—normal machines often got it wrong. It wasn’t until the drug trials that her blood type was discovered, by which point her body could take no more. Jiang He herself was dying but still bent on making money, so she started searching for a match for Le Yi, and finally found that I was compatible.”
Jiang Yan: “Did Le Yi die after the bone marrow transplant?”
Pingping immediately shook her head. “She didn’t die.”
Jiang Yan: “Then where is she, and who are you?”
Pingping: “You wouldn’t understand.”
Jiang Yan: “I suggest you answer seriously.”
“……”
Pingping sidestepped: “I had a dream once.”
“Every time I say ‘Pingping died,’ a Pingping in a parallel universe dies in Le Yi’s place.”
“Everything I say becomes true. By now, countless Pingpings have died in alternate worlds, but Le Yi is still alive in every single one of them.”