"Why would you even ask me that?" Xu Tong blurted out the question before he could stop himself, immediately regretting the words the moment they left his mouth. His eyes darted nervously to the heavy hammer still gripped loosely in Chen Ge's hand, its skull-shaped head catching the dim flashlight beam in a way that made it look almost alive. The sight loosened his tongue again out of pure self-preservation. "Wang Haiming was once a patient here—just like the rest of us. He was locked inside the Third Sick Hall multiple times because of repeated offenses. That man… he was very interesting in his own way."
"Be more specific," Chen Ge said flatly, his tone leaving no room for evasion or half-answers. He kept his eyes locked on Xu Tong's face, watching for any flicker of deception or hesitation.
Xu Tong swallowed hard before continuing. "He was originally classified as a low-risk patient. That meant he was housed on the second floor of the Second Sick Hall, not the high-security Third. But something was clearly wrong with his mind from the very beginning. He kept insisting—loudly and repeatedly—that he was not crazy at all." A slow, disgusting smile crept across Xu Tong's lips, twisting his already unsettling features into something almost gleeful. "Actually, we all know deep down that we're perfectly fine. The difference is that only an idiot like him would stand up and announce it out loud to everyone."
Chen Ge couldn't help but imagine how Wang Haiming—assuming he was still alive somewhere—would have felt hearing himself called an idiot by a diagnosed mental patient locked in the most dangerous ward of the hospital. The irony was bitter and sharp. Meanwhile, a flash of genuine wickedness lit up Xu Tong's smile for just a moment. From his warped perspective, he likely still believed—truly believed—that he himself was not ill at all. That conviction had never wavered, even after years of confinement.
"And then?" Chen Ge prompted, careful to keep his voice neutral. He was becoming increasingly aware of how dangerous it was to engage in prolonged conversation with someone like Xu Tong. The man's twisted worldview had a subtle, insidious pull; if Chen Ge wasn't constantly on guard, he could easily find himself being unconsciously drawn into that distorted reality, where up was down and sanity was the real delusion.
"Wang Haiming didn't just refuse treatment—he actively fought against it," Xu Tong continued, his voice taking on a storytelling cadence that was almost nostalgic. "Whenever the doctors or nurses tried to administer medication or therapy, he resisted violently. He got into physical altercations with the staff more than once. Injuring hospital workers was the single biggest mistake anyone could make in this place. The very day it happened, Wang Haiming was punished severely by the administration."
"At first they only sent him to the quarantine room—a standard disciplinary measure. But isolation only made him worse. After he was finally released, he got into another fight with a nurse because he refused to swallow his pills. That time he went even further: he shouted that he was actually a millionaire, that he could buy half the hospital if he wanted to, and that he would make every doctor and nurse who had mistreated him pay dearly for it."
"Ten minutes later, the idiot paid the price for running his mouth. The hospital workers came back with a straitjacket. They dragged him straight into the Third Sick Hall's quarantine room—his first official visit to the deepest, most feared part of the facility."
"We were all happy to welcome a new face at first," Xu Tong said, his smile turning colder. "But he was anything but friendly. The moment he was escorted in, he spat directly at me. He looked full of energy, cursing nonstop the entire time they were strapping him down. That poor newbie had no idea what being sent to the Third Sick Hall really meant—but he was about to find out very quickly."
"The Third Sick Hall's quarantine room had another name among the patients: the Electroshock Therapy Room. It was a common treatment method back then—doctors claimed it was incredibly effective for breaking stubborn delusions. Of course, as a registered private hospital concerned with patient safety and comfort, they always cooperated with anesthesiologists before beginning the procedure. The room also had excellent sound insulation—no screams ever leaked out to disturb the other wards."
"When Wang Haiming finally came out of that room, he was… much more pliable. All of us thought the treatment had worked wonders."
"After a few days of relative peace, Wang Haiming started arguing with the staff again—this time over hiding his medication. The man had a natural instinct for defiance, maybe even adventure. There were rumors he really had been a wealthy businessman before being admitted; perhaps that was why he never fully submitted."
"When he was released from the quarantine room the second time, everyone assumed he would finally accept his fate. Instead, he planned a midnight escape—and against all odds, he actually succeeded. Even though security caught him again the next day, he managed to use that single night of freedom to contact his ex-wife. We never found out exactly what he told her, but less than a month later she arrived at the hospital to arrange for his discharge and transfer elsewhere."
From Xu Tong's detailed recounting, Chen Ge gained a much deeper and darker understanding of Wang Haiming's experience inside the hospital. The man had fought every step of the way—only to be broken and reshaped by the very system he refused to accept.
"How do you know so much about him?" Chen Ge asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You seem to remember every detail."
Xu Tong paused, then answered with a small shrug that looked almost casual inside the cramped cage. "After he was recaptured, the hospital detained him again. They placed him in Room 3 of the Third Sick Hall—but he nearly died in there. Since there was no other immediate option, the staff arranged for him to stay temporarily in my room while they sorted things out." The twisted expression that had dominated Xu Tong's face earlier slowly smoothed back into something closer to normal—though "normal" for him was still deeply unsettling.
"Then do you know what exactly happened to him in Room 3?" Chen Ge pressed, sensing the story wasn't finished.
"He saw many people," Xu Tong replied simply. "There were many people inside that room."
"He told you all this himself?" Chen Ge asked, surprised by how complicated the situation was becoming. Wang Haiming had once been confined specifically in Room 3—the very room whose mystery still eluded him.
"Why would I bother talking to an idiot like him?" Xu Tong scoffed, his tone dripping with condescension. "That fool would mumble to himself every single night, carrying on full conversations with thin air. I just happened to overhear everything he said."
Chen Ge gave a slow nod, absorbing the information. Whatever secrets Room 3 held, whatever horrors Wang Haiming had witnessed or imagined there, Chen Ge knew he would have to enter the Third Sick Hall himself to uncover the full truth. There was no other way.
"The second question I have is this: why would patients from the Third Sick Hall—like yourself—choose to return to this abandoned place after the hospital was officially closed down and sealed off for years?" Chen Ge asked, keeping his voice steady and deliberate as he watched Xu Tong's face for any telltale micro-expressions.
"Of course we have our reasons," Xu Tong replied after a brief pause, his tone carrying a strange mix of defensiveness and conviction. "I can't speak for the others—what drives them back here is their own business—but for me personally…" He lifted his gaze to meet Chen Ge's eyes directly. "Only by staying inside these walls can I finally escape your constant surveillance. Only by hiding here will you people stop disturbing my life and leave me alone."
"It's time for you to take your medicine," Chen Ge said quietly as he rose to his feet. He had decided that Xu Tong was not lying—at least not about this particular point. The man's explanation, warped though it was by his illness, carried a twisted internal logic that felt consistent with everything else Chen Ge had observed.
Both the elderly man and the young woman had reacted with raw, visceral terror the moment the single-armed intruder was dragged into the room—shaking uncontrollably, slamming against their bars, doing everything possible to put even an extra centimeter of distance between themselves and the unconscious figure. Yet neither of them had shown the slightest fear or agitation in Xu Tong's presence. The old man had even dared to bite Xu Tong's hand during a struggle earlier, an act of desperate resistance that would have been unthinkable if he truly viewed Xu Tong as one of the primary tormentors. That single detail spoke volumes: unlike the twisted-face man and the single-armed accomplice, Xu Tong had not participated in the most depraved acts that had left such deep scars on the other two captives.
The iron cage that had once confined Xu Tong now stood ruined and misshapen from Chen Ge's earlier assault—bars bent inward, the frame warped beyond recognition, the door mechanism hopelessly jammed. Chen Ge set Doctor Skull-cracker's hammer down beside him on the concrete floor with a soft metallic clink and crouched again so he was eye-level with the prisoner. "I heard that a female nurse was killed inside the Third Sick Hall. Do you know anything about that incident?"
"Yes," Xu Tong answered without hesitation. "The hospital even organized a formal mourning ceremony for her right here in the Second Sick Hall. They set up the stage, hung the black-and-white portrait, drew the blackout curtains, and made all the patients and staff attend. It was meant to serve as a warning—a lesson for the patients, their families, and every worker on the premises." He gave a small shrug, as though the memory carried no emotional weight. "But I really had nothing to do with the nurse's death. The police questioned me about it at the time. I told them the truth: I stayed inside my room that entire night. I didn't speak a single word to her. I didn't even see her face that evening."
Chen Ge gave a slow nod, accepting the answer for now. He followed up with several questions about the hospital director himself, hoping to uncover any hidden connection or forgotten detail. Unfortunately, Xu Tong's knowledge on that subject proved extremely limited—he had rarely interacted with the director directly and could offer little beyond vague impressions and second-hand rumors.
Xu Tong, despite his severe condition, came across as one of the more "honest" patients Chen Ge had encountered so far. His Fregoli Delusion made sustained communication with living people nearly impossible for him; the more individuals present, the more unsettled and paranoid he became. To him, everyone eventually blurred into a single, malevolent entity endlessly toying with his life. Yet when confined in a small, controlled space with only one or two other people, he could function almost like a normal person—calm, articulate, even cooperative. That narrow window of lucidity was exactly what Chen Ge was exploiting now.
"Hopefully everything you've told me is the truth," Chen Ge said as he straightened up again. He reattached both the chest camera and wrist camera to their proper places, then pulled out his phone to check the livestream status.
After such a long stretch of black screen—when he had deliberately blocked both cameras—the viewer count had not dropped at all. In fact, it had exploded past 150,000 concurrent viewers and was still climbing rapidly.
"What's going on here?" Chen Ge muttered under his breath as he scrolled through the chat log. Only then did he realize the critical mistake: although he had covered the visual feeds, the small audio recorder microphone clipped to his lapel had remained active the entire time!
Every word of Xu Tong's confession—the scream when threatened with the hammer, the detailed recounting of the nurse's death, Wang Haiming's tragic history inside the hospital, and the lingering mysteries surrounding the Third Sick Hall—had been broadcast live to the audience.
Because of this unintended "coincidence," Chen Ge's livestream had shot even higher up the platform's popularity ladder. The chat refreshed at blinding speed, messages piling on top of one another in a chaotic flood.
"This is all too real!"
Gifts and virtual presents rained in continuously—rockets, spaceships, luxury cars—each one accompanied by excited comments and donations. Some viewers were openly terrified, others exhilarated, and a growing number seemed convinced they were witnessing something genuinely unprecedented.
Chen Ge stared at the screen for a moment, momentarily at a loss for words. But the situation had already spiraled far beyond any possibility of containment. Since things had reached this stage, he decided there was no point in pretending anymore.
"Thank you everyone for the presents and the likes," he said, turning the chest camera to face himself directly so the audience could see his expression clearly. "Thank you for tuning in to my livestream tonight." He paused briefly, letting the weight of the moment settle. "What you've seen and heard so far… it might not be fake. Tonight, I'm going to bring you a livestream experience that can never be replicated—something no one else will ever be able to copy."