Chen Ge kept evading the monster's lunging attacks with precise, desperate movements, weaving left and right through the narrow corridor while never letting the creature fully close the distance. His breathing came in sharp, controlled bursts, every muscle tuned to survival. Eventually, however, the elongated monster's reach and the twisted-face man's relentless advance cornered him against the cold, blood-streaked wall near Room 3. There was nowhere left to retreat; the exit to the stairwell was blocked by the monster's writhing body, and the blood door behind him remained a deadly trap of its own.
"Wait!" Chen Ge called out sharply, raising both hands in a gesture of sudden surrender. "I agree to play the game with you!" Facing what looked like certain death, he deliberately lowered his weapons and pocketed his phone with slow, visible movements to show he was no longer a threat. Looking directly into the monster's ordinary, unremarkable face, he added in a steady voice, "We'll do it your way."
The abrupt change in Chen Ge's attitude immediately made the twisted-face man suspicious. His uneven, grafted features narrowed with doubt, as though he could sense something was off. But the monster itself reacted with visible excitement—its body quivered slightly, the white cloth rustling like dry leaves as it leaned closer. The prospect of a willing participant clearly thrilled it far more than a struggling one.
"Before we start the game, you need to drop the cleaver," the twisted-face man said aloud for the first time. His voice was strange—sharp, shrill, and slightly metallic, as though his vocal cords had been damaged and surgically repaired long ago. The sound grated against Chen Ge's ears like rusted metal scraping together.
"If I win the game," Chen Ge countered immediately, eyes filled with open distrust, "you have to guarantee that I can leave this place safely." He watched the twisted-face man closely, reading every micro-expression. Seeing the flicker of confidence return to the man's ruined face, Chen Ge pressed his advantage. "Move away from the door, drop the knife, and after I win the game, you'll tell me the real exit."
The game was designed to be unwinnable. Once agreed to, the monster would climb onto the player's back and begin an endless campaign of psychological torment. If the player spoke first, they lost immediately. If they never spoke, the monster simply stayed forever, turning the rest of their life into silent suffering. The human faces sewn into the monster's cloth were proof enough—previous victims who had either broken or endured until nothing remained of them but silent decoration.
"Fine, I agree," Chen Ge said after a calculated pause. "What should I do next?" He tossed the cleaver aside with a casual flick of his wrist, but he made certain the handle landed facing toward him, perfectly positioned for a quick grab. Then he shoved both hands deep into his pockets, adopting a posture of apparent resignation.
"Just stand where you are," the twisted-face man instructed. He stepped forward until he was roughly two meters away from Chen Ge. "From this moment on, no matter what you see or hear, you cannot make a single sound—or you lose."
He stared directly at Chen Ge while the monster on his back continued to extend downward. Its elongated body lowered until the very ordinary face hung upside down directly in front of Chen Ge's own, only inches away. The proximity was suffocating; Chen Ge could feel the faint, cold breath against his skin.
"Still not speaking?" the dual voice echoed inside his skull again. "Then how about something more exciting?" Chen Ge slowly sat down on the floor and bent forward slightly, exposing his back and shoulders. The monster fully extricated itself from the twisted-face man's spine with a wet, tearing sound. It rose to its full height—nearly three meters tall—its legs short and stumpy, no more than a meter long, while its torso and arms were disturbingly human-sized. Yet the body itself was grotesquely stretched, as though stitched together from multiple human torsos fused end to end.
What in the world is this thing? Chen Ge thought, fighting to keep his expression neutral. The monster was so tall that it struggled to maintain balance in the low-ceilinged corridor; it wiggled and swayed as it advanced toward him. Only two meters separated them now. The creature's upper body hung directly above Chen Ge while its lower half crawled forward like some obscene caterpillar.
As if worried Chen Ge might suddenly change his mind and run, the monster's spindly hands shot out and gripped his shoulders tightly, pinning him in place. Chen Ge's pulse hammered in his ears, but his mind remained coldly focused. He repeated his plan silently, over and over, eyes locked on the monster's stumpy legs as they drew closer to where the cleaver lay waiting on the floor.
When those legs finally stepped within reach of the discarded weapon, Chen Ge's hand inside his pocket moved like lightning. He yanked out the object he had prepared earlier—the ballpoint pen taped tightly together, infused with the Pen Spirit's power. The sharp tip plunged directly into the monster's left eye socket with brutal precision. The force shattered the taped-together pen instantly, but the damage was done. The monster shrieked in pain, its entire body convulsing like a wounded snake.
In Hai Ming Apartments, Chen Ge had once thrown Xiaoxiao at a mirror monster and watched the doll tear a chunk from its form. That moment had taught him a crucial truth: other ghosts were the most effective weapons against ghosts. Using the Pen Spirit's possessed ballpoint pen had been part of his plan from the beginning.
While the monster screamed and thrashed, Chen Ge surged forward. His movements were blindingly fast. By the time the twisted-face man realized what was happening, Chen Ge had already snatched the cleaver from the floor, the handle perfectly aligned for his grip.
When he had tossed the cleaver earlier, he had calculated everything. He had deliberately positioned the handle toward himself, trusting that the corridor's darkness would hide the detail from the twisted-face man's eyes. Now the weight of the blade felt reassuring in his palm.
Chen Ge aimed directly at the monster's greatest vulnerability: its legs—the only part still tethered to the twisted-face man. Every swing carried the accumulated rage and exhaustion of the entire night. Each cut bit deeper, carving away chunks of the creature's elongated body. With every strike, the monster visibly dwindled, its form shrinking and fraying at the edges.
The cleaver's effect was still too weak to completely destroy the monster outright. Chen Ge knew that once it recovered, the situation would swing back in its favor. He forced himself to calm down from the battle rage that had taken over. The cleaver might not be able to kill the creature permanently, but it could absolutely incapacitate the human host it relied on.
With the cleaver still dripping dark ichor, Chen Ge whipped his head around and locked eyes with the twisted-face man.
"What is the meaning of this?" the twisted-face man stammered, cold sweat pouring down his uneven features. For some reason, an overwhelming sense of déjà vu gripped him. History felt like it was about to repeat itself in the worst possible way.
"You're dead meat!" Chen Ge roared, voice raw with fury as he charged forward, cleaver raised high in a two-handed grip. The twisted-face man spun on his heel and bolted toward the nearest staircase, sprinting for his life. Chen Ge pursued without hesitation, the cleaver glinting dangerously in the faint emergency light that bled through cracks in the boarded windows. Behind them both, the blind, writhing monster—its eye socket still leaking dark ichor from the shattered pen—slithered and crawled along the floor like a wounded serpent desperately trying to catch up to its prey. The three formed a bizarre, deadly procession as they raced from the first floor all the way back up to the fourth, footsteps and scraping echoes bouncing wildly off the concrete walls.
After bursting onto the fourth-floor corridor, Chen Ge deliberately slowed his pace, chest heaving. He had noticed something crucial during the chase: the twisted-face man had not hesitated even once when choosing his route. Every time they reached a stairwell, he had immediately shot upward toward the fourth floor without a second thought.
He wants to escape back into the other sick halls, Chen Ge realized. But that's impossible. He can only fully control the monster when he remains inside the Third Sick Hall. Chen Ge had already pieced together how uniquely tied these former patients were to this sealed wing. For various reasons—psychological dependence, supernatural binding, or something far darker—none of them ever left willingly. The twisted-face man was leading him here on purpose, trying to lure him deeper into the heart of the Third Sick Hall where the monster would be strongest.
Just as the twisted-face man reached the threshold of the connecting hallway leading out of the Third Sick Hall, he suddenly skidded to a halt. He threw his head back and screamed—a long, piercing, inhuman wail that twisted his already ruined face into something even more grotesque. The sound reverberated through the entire floor like a signal flare.
Hearing that scream, two more figures emerged from the doorways on either side of the corridor. Both were injured, limping, and wearing tattered hospital gowns. Chen Ge recognized them instantly: Xu Tong and the patient suffering from Phantom Limb Syndrome. The three men now stood in a loose semicircle, blocking Chen Ge's path.
If it had been just these three humans, Chen Ge might still have felt he could fight his way through. But he could already see the telltale signs: thin, elongated shapes slowly extending from the backs of Xu Tong and the Phantom Limb patient, unfurling like nightmare serpents waking from sleep.
All the patients of the Third Sick Hall are possessed by these monsters? Chen Ge's mind raced. Their relationship seems more peaceful, more integrated than the violent parasitism Zhang Peng endured with the mirror monster. This is a very bad sign for me.
The Third Sick Hall had originally housed nine patients. Wang Shenglong had already been dealt with earlier in the night. That left eight potential hosts—and therefore eight potential monsters. Some might be far more dangerous than the ones he faced now. The realization settled like ice water in his stomach.
The thin, elongated bodies continued to rise from the patients' backs, stretching upward until their pale, ordinary faces hovered near the ceiling. Chen Ge found himself completely surrounded by the three grotesque creatures. Their movements were synchronized, almost choreographed, as though they shared a single mind.
"Don't be afraid," the twisted-face man said, his voice now layered with the monster's own. "You'll soon be one of us." He gestured sharply, and the two other possessed patients moved to block the exits while he himself backed toward the heavy steel security door connecting the Second and Third Sick Halls. With a loud clang, he slammed it shut and twisted the lock, sealing off any retreat.
Standing in the center of the corridor, Chen Ge felt the cold certainty of total encirclement. All hope seemed to drain away in that moment. The three monsters had blocked every possible escape route and were now slowly closing in, inching forward with deliberate menace. He doubted they would even give him the chance to end his own life if he tried.
A three-star scenario is still too much for me right now, Chen Ge thought grimly. He leaned back against the cold wall for support and reached into his pocket with a trembling hand. His fingers closed around the last remaining trump card he carried: a single piece of candy wrapped in paper printed with a crying face.
This is it—my absolute final card. After using this, no matter what happens, I have to leave this place alive.
Chen Ge popped the candy into his mouth without hesitation. The moment it touched his tongue, an overwhelming wave of resentment and bone-chilling cold surged through his entire body, flooding his veins like liquid nitrogen. Long strands of black hair erupted from the shadows at his feet, whipping against the walls like dark waves crashing in a storm. An intensely wicked, suffocating presence began to awaken.
Zhang Ya stepped out from Chen Ge's own shadow, dressed entirely in vivid red. Her long hair floated around her like living ink, and her eyes burned with a fury that made the air itself feel heavier. The temperature in the corridor plummeted. The three monsters froze mid-step, as though suddenly realizing they had cornered something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.