Chen Ge's fingers twitched involuntarily around the cold, blood-smeared doorknob of Room 3. The metal felt unnaturally warm beneath his palm, almost feverish, as though the door itself were alive and breathing. He took several slow, deliberate breaths, forcing his racing heartbeat to steady. Then, with a decisive motion, he reached into his pocket and removed the almost completely shattered ballpoint pen—the one still imbued with the lingering power of the Pen Spirit. Its casing was cracked, ink leaking in dark rivulets down his fingers, but the tip remained sharp enough for one final use.
"It's already a new day," Chen Ge said aloud, voice low but firm. "I want to use my fortune-telling chance." He straightened the broken pen carefully above the nearest brown mattress, its stained surface bulging unnaturally from years of neglect. Holding the pen like a ritual object, he asked the question that had been burning in his mind since Zhang Ya disappeared through the blood door. "Pen Spirit, is there any way for me to save both myself and Zhang Ya right now?"
Without the slightest hesitation or pause, the Pen Spirit guided the broken tip across the mattress fabric. Three simple words appeared in shaky, ink-heavy strokes: Enter the Door.
Chen Ge stared at the message for a long moment. "Isn't that a bit too fast?" he muttered, half to himself and half to the invisible entity guiding the pen. "Don't you need to think about it? Weigh the risks?" But the pen remained still; no further words came. The answer was absolute and uncompromising. He pocketed the ruined pen with a grim nod, then turned his full attention to the half-open blood door. The decision crystallized inside him—he would not abandon Zhang Ya to whatever waited on the other side.
Chen Ge pulled out his phone again. The battery indicator blinked dangerously low—only a sliver of red remained. He quickly redialed Men Nan, the line connecting almost immediately despite the poor signal. "Men Nan, didn't you say mysterious memories sometimes surface in your mind? Are there any blood-red scenarios among those memories?"
"There are," Men Nan answered after a brief pause, his voice quieter than before, as though speaking about them required physical effort.
"Try to focus on those memories right now," Chen Ge urged, keeping his tone calm but insistent. "Tell me—is there anything specific I should pay attention to regarding those blood-red scenes?" He could not simply leave Zhang Ya behind. He was already in too deep, and he knew he would need her strength and protection in the future. Losing her here was not an option.
"The extra memories are rarely connected to blood-red scenes," Men Nan replied slowly, as though searching through mental fog. "But when they do appear, they always seem to happen inside a similar setting." He paused again, gathering the fragments. "It's a fully enclosed room—no windows, only one door. The space is very small, almost claustrophobic. There's a wooden bed in the center, and binders—restraints—are attached to the frame. Machines stand next to it. It looks exactly like an electroshock therapy room."
"Electroshock therapy?" Chen Ge repeated, a chill running down his spine. The description matched the director's old notes perfectly.
"Yes," Men Nan continued. "In the memory, various monsters enter the room. They twist the binders around the bed frame, securing them tightly. Then they converse with each other in low voices, as if warning one another: 'Don't wake it up.'" Thinking back on the scene seemed to place a heavy strain on Men Nan's mind; his breathing grew uneven, his tone laced with pain. "I couldn't see the monsters clearly—the memory is too fragmented—but I do remember one detail. One of them had a broken face… and the monster mentioned a name. I think it was… Wu Fei."
The broken face and Wu Fei were both former patients of the Third Sick Hall—occupants of Room 10 and Room 9, respectively. They ranked among the most dangerous presences ever documented in this hospital.
"Is there anything else?" Chen Ge pressed, stepping closer to the blood door despite every instinct screaming at him to retreat.
"There's one more thing," Men Nan said after another pause, "but I'm not sure whether it will help you. Ten years ago, the main persona once told me that if I ever needed to find him again, after entering the blood-red door… I should not speak at all."
"Okay. Thank you." Chen Ge ended the call with a decisive press of his thumb. He zipped his mouth shut symbolically, silencing any further words. Then he grabbed Doctor Skull-cracker's hammer in one hand, the cleaver in the other, adjusted his backpack straps, and—without allowing himself another second to hesitate—stepped through the blood door into the unknown.
Chen Ge's fingers tightened around the blood-smeared doorknob of Room 3, the metal unnaturally warm and slick beneath his palm, as though the door itself were pulsing with slow, labored life. He drew in several deep, deliberate breaths, forcing his racing heartbeat to steady itself despite the pounding fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Then, with a decisive motion, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the almost completely shattered ballpoint pen—the one still carrying the faint, lingering power of the Pen Spirit. Its casing was cracked open in multiple places, dark ink seeping steadily down his fingers in thin rivulets, yet the tip remained sharp enough for one final, desperate use.
"It's already a new day," Chen Ge stated aloud, his voice low and resolute in the oppressive silence of the blood-red room. "I want to use my fortune-telling chance right now." He carefully straightened the broken pen above the nearest brown mattress, its surface swollen and stained from years of neglect and hidden horrors. Holding the pen like a sacred ritual object, he posed the question that had consumed him ever since Zhang Ya vanished through the blood door. "Pen Spirit, is there any possible way for me to save both myself and Zhang Ya in this moment?"
Without the slightest hesitation or delay, the Pen Spirit guided the fractured tip across the mattress fabric in sharp, uneven strokes. Three stark words appeared in heavy, bleeding ink: Enter the Door.
Chen Ge stared at the message for several long seconds, letting the weight of it settle over him. "Isn't that a bit too fast?" he murmured, half to himself and half to the invisible force guiding the pen. "Don't you need to think about it? Weigh the risks? Consider alternatives?" But the pen remained motionless; no additional words appeared. The answer was final, absolute, and offered no room for negotiation. He slipped the ruined pen back into his pocket with a grim nod of acceptance, then turned his full attention to the half-open blood door. The decision crystallized inside him with cold clarity—he would not abandon Zhang Ya to whatever nightmare waited on the other side.
Chen Ge pulled out his phone once more. The battery indicator blinked a desperate warning—only a thin sliver of red remained. He quickly redialed Men Nan, the call connecting almost immediately despite the weak, flickering signal. "Men Nan, didn't you say mysterious memories sometimes surface in your mind? Are there any blood-red scenarios among those memories?"
"There are," Men Nan replied after a brief pause, his voice quieter and more strained than before, as though even speaking of those memories required physical effort.
"Try to focus on those memories right now," Chen Ge urged, keeping his tone calm but insistent. "Tell me—is there anything specific I should pay attention to regarding those blood-red scenes?" He could not simply leave Zhang Ya behind. He was already far too deep in this nightmare, and he knew he would need her strength, her protection, and her overwhelming power in the future. Losing her here was unthinkable.
"The extra memories are rarely connected to blood-red scenes," Men Nan answered slowly, as though searching through thick mental fog. "But when they do appear, they always happen inside a similar setting." He paused again, gathering scattered fragments. "It's a fully enclosed room—no windows, only one door. The space is very small, almost suffocating. There's a wooden bed in the center, and thick binders—restraints—are attached to the frame. Machines stand next to it. It looks exactly like an electroshock therapy room."
"Electroshock therapy?" Chen Ge echoed, a fresh chill crawling down his spine. The description matched the director's old notes and the room he now stood in with perfect, unsettling accuracy.
"Yes," Men Nan continued, his voice growing tighter. "In the memory, various monsters enter the room. They twist the binders around the bed frame, securing them tightly. Then they converse with each other in low voices, as if warning one another: 'Don't wake it up.'" Recalling the scene seemed to place a heavy strain on Men Nan's mind; his breathing grew uneven, his tone laced with barely concealed pain. "I couldn't see the monsters clearly—the memory is too fragmented and broken—but I do remember one detail. One of them had a broken face… and the monster mentioned a name. I think it was… Wu Fei."
The broken face and Wu Fei were both former patients of the Third Sick Hall—occupants of Room 10 and Room 9, respectively. They ranked among the most dangerous presences ever documented in this hospital.
"Is there anything else?" Chen Ge pressed, stepping closer to the blood door despite every instinct screaming at him to retreat.
"There's one more thing," Men Nan said after another long pause, "but I'm not sure whether it will help you. Ten years ago, the main persona once told me that if I ever needed to find him again, after entering the blood-red door… I should not speak at all."
"Okay. Thank you." Chen Ge ended the call with a decisive press of his thumb. He symbolically zipped his mouth shut, committing to complete silence from that moment forward. Then he grabbed Doctor Skull-cracker's hammer in one hand, the cleaver in the other, adjusted his backpack straps for better balance, and—without allowing himself another second to hesitate or second-guess—stepped through the blood door into the unknown world beyond.