Qingshan Psychiatric Hospital
Director Hao scrolled through his social feed, a trace of irritation creeping onto his face.
"This bastard," he muttered. "Calls me 'brother' so sweetly on the daily, but went and blocked me without a word."
Lin Fan was, after all, his patient—from his Qingshan Psychiatric Hospital.
It should've been their institution to issue the first public announcement, singing their own praises for once.
But someone else beat him to it.
And that—he could not abide.
Director Hao sat before his computer, logging into the hospital's official backend.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he pondered for just a moment.
"Notable Case: Remarkable Therapeutic Efficacy of Qingshan Psychiatric Hospital"
Perfect title.
His fingers danced across the keys like shadows—click-clack, click-clack—this was a golden opportunity to milk some credit. All these years of growing white hair shouldn't be for nothing.
They weren't the only ones who could claim the spotlight. That patient was his—Qingshan's.
Back in the hospital ward, Lin Fan and Old Zhang sat cross-legged on the bed, both blankly staring at the beverages in their hands.
"This isn't Coke. It tastes awful."
"This isn't Sprite. It's terrible."
"I want real Coke."
"I want real Sprite."
Zhang Hongmin sat silently beside them, not daring to utter a word.
Surely the two were having an episode again—they were clearly drinking Coke and Sprite.
A nurse by the door overheard their dialogue but wisely kept quiet.
The doctors had warned her: Whatever the patients say, just go along with it. Don't argue. It's not worth it. Just observe silently.
Old Zhang nudged Lin Fan's leg and pointed toward the one-eyed man.
"He's really a good man," he whispered.
"Why?" Lin Fan asked.
"He didn't take my watch—and even gave us money."
Old Zhang adored that watch. He'd spent a fortune on it.
Sure, it broke down often, but he liked it.
"Then yes," Lin Fan nodded, "he's a good man."
The two took sips from their drinks with loud glug-glug sounds.
The one-eyed man finally broke the silence.
"You said you'd tell me about yourself—are you willing now?"
"Yes." Lin Fan responded evenly.
"Did you really use electricity to stimulate your body? What did it feel like?" the one-eyed man asked.
He'd read Director Hao's files. Multiple electrocutions, and still alive? Something wasn't right.
Lin Fan pondered a moment.
"It didn't feel like much. Just… tingly, a little sore, dizzy. Hard to explain."
"Why would you do that?"
"I'm cultivating," Lin Fan replied simply.
Then added: "It works really well. Especially when he gives me acupuncture afterward—it feels amazing. Didn't you feel good after two sessions?"
The one-eyed man glanced at Lin Fan, then at Old Zhang, and let out a heavy sigh.
I was expecting too much.
Psychiatric patients were never easy to communicate with.
He admitted defeat. No more questions.
The five hundred thousand was nothing to him.
A loss, but a meaningful one. He would chalk it up to experience.
He turned his head away, unwilling to say another word.
Night fell.
"Old Zhang, are you hungry?" Lin Fan asked.
"A little," Zhang replied, patting his belly.
"Then let's go get something to eat."
"Alright."
The two patients put on their shoes and strolled toward the door.
The nurse on duty had stepped away to the restroom—unfortunate timing due to her period—and in that small window, the two slipped away.
The one-eyed man watched them go.
He pulled out his phone and sent a message to his group chat:
"I'll be back tomorrow. Patrol the city tonight in groups of four. Eliminate any detected evil without mercy."
Lin Fan and Old Zhang walked hand in hand down the hospital corridor.
A young man witnessed the scene, deeply moved.
It reminded him of when he was little—how his father held his hand and walked him home.
Now that he was grown and his father had aged, that simple gesture had vanished.
He'd always felt it too childish.
"Son, what's on your mind?" his elderly father asked.
"Dad," the young man smiled gently, "let me hold your hand—like you used to hold mine."
The old man blinked in surprise, then beamed.
"Alright, son. Hold your old man's hand."
And so, a heartwarming moment unfolded—
inspired, unknowingly, by two psychiatric patients.
Downstairs, Lin Fan and Old Zhang stood outside the hospital, looking around.
"Where should we eat?"
"No idea."
"Let's just walk and see."
"Alright."
In the nearby grove…
Rustle—
A shadow darted through the trees, coiling around a branch.
A serpent over a meter long, red and black in pattern, its glistening scales catching dim light.
Its beady eyes peered into the darkness.
It flicked its tongue, hissing.
This was Xuan Snake—a Class-2 evil entity.
Cold-blooded.
Vicious.
Elusive.
Even three or four trained humans could barely hold their own against it.
It preferred ambush kills, and its venom was deadly.
Xuan Snake was in a foul mood.
It hated its peers who could shrink and look adorable to humans.
Those hideous creatures, once small and cute, were doted on. Hidden in plain sight.
He had tried the same trick. Shrunk himself and sought out human contact.
And humans?
They screamed.
They threw shoes at him.
Once, a man even licked his lips and whispered, "Snake soup tonight."
Xuan Snake was furious.
And when Xuan Snake was angry, the consequences were severe.
"You foolish humans… can't you see how cute I am?"
Now it lurked in the hospital woods, lying in wait.
Earlier, it had seen a woman drag a man into the grove.
Moments later, strange sounds echoed from the shadows.
Mm~ mm~
Odd, muffled sounds.
Outside the grove, a woman in her thirties or forties leaned against a tree, making eyes at passing men.
Beneath the dim streetlight, her allure was… serviceable.
Lin Fan and Old Zhang were starving.
They had wandered far, yet found no food.
"Excuse me," Lin Fan called politely, as the woman beckoned with a curled finger.
"We're really hungry. Do you know where we can eat?"
The woman batted her lashes, lips curled into a sultry smile.
"Hungry? Oh, don't worry—you'll leave completely satisfied. Both of you. Come with me."
"Only eighty bucks. A real bargain."
Lin Fan and Old Zhang exchanged glances.
"We don't have money," Lin Fan said.
"Eighty's still too steep…" the woman mused. "Tell you what—handsome, I'll cut it to fifty for you. But your old pal here? He's still eighty. So, one-thirty total. Final offer."
"We really don't have money," Lin Fan repeated.
"But we're hungry," Old Zhang added.
The woman's smile vanished.
"You ain't got money, then what the hell are you wasting my time for?"
Lin Fan blinked innocently.
"I saw you waving. Thought you wanted to help us."
"Yeah, don't be mean," Old Zhang added, nervous now. "We're not bad people…"
The woman squinted. Something was off.
Under the dim light, she noticed tags hanging from their necks.
Curious, she leaned closer.
Huh?
"Qingshan Psychiatric Hospital…"
"You're mental patients?!" she shrieked.
Lin Fan and Old Zhang shook their heads firmly.
"We're not crazy."
"You're wearing the damn tag!" she shouted, horrified.
She couldn't believe she'd just had a full-on conversation…
with mental patients.
Absolutely terrifying.
But beneath the fear… a faint thread of pity emerged.
(End of Chapter)