Chapter 229: The Devil's Story
Han Qiuming barely let out a scream before something muffled his mouth.
Boundless terror engulfed him; he couldn't see anything clearly. A chilling sensation spread from all over his body as he was dragged in some direction.
With the sound of a door closing, the corridor returned to normal.
The Third Psychiatric Ward was vast, with each corridor far apart, but Ye Xiaoxin still caught some noise.
She hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the director's office. This usually carefree girl now moved cautiously, deliberating over every step.
Turning a corner, there was nothing on the other side of the corridor.
"Where did that guy run off to? Did he trigger some trap?" Ye Xiaoxin walked toward the pitch-black end of the corridor. Halfway there, she suddenly heard footsteps.
"Han Qiuming's footsteps are weak and unsteady. This person's footsteps are steadier, like someone who's set on a direction and won't waver." Ye Xiaoxin ducked into a nearby ward and peered through the crack in the door.
Before long, an extremely terrifying monster appeared.
He wore a bloodstained red doctor's coat, his face looked stitched together, exuding a murderous aura, and in his hand, he carried an exaggeratedly large hammer.
Blood caked the grooves, and the spikes scraped against the wall. That hammer wasn't a prop—it was a genuine weapon.
"An actor from the Third Psychiatric Ward?"
Twenty minutes had passed, and the actor was only showing up now?
The first time Ye Xiaoxin felt panicked after entering the haunted house was when she saw someone on Han Qiuming's back; the second time was now. As the monster drew closer, her pale fingers instinctively gripped the doorframe.
This was an experience she'd never had in other haunted houses, and she couldn't figure out why.
"Why am I afraid?"
Watching the monster skillfully swing the iron hammer, Ye Xiaoxin instinctively wanted to keep her distance: "Actors in other haunted houses are just putting on a show, but looking at this doctor, it's like he's really done something cruel with that hammer."
Only after the bloodstained doctor left did Ye Xiaoxin sneak out. She pulled out her notepad, scribbled a few words on it, and then quietly followed behind the doctor.
...
Deep in the Third Psychiatric Ward, Guo Miao and Song An stopped outside rooms nine and ten.
"All the numbers on this corridor are different from the others, and rooms eight, nine, and ten are the most special because only these three have iron doors."
Guo Miao shared his findings with the others: "Let's focus on checking these three rooms first. Don't lose sight of each other. If you find anything, remember to call the others over immediately—don't touch it on your own."
They entered room eight first. The windows had security bars, and restraint straps were scattered on both sides of the metal bed. The whole room felt strange, but at a glance, it was hard to pinpoint why.
"In this ward..." Guo Miao stared at the metal bed for a long time, uncertainly saying, "It seems like everything is asymmetrical."
His observation made the other visitors notice it too.
One side of the wardrobe was smashed and damaged, while the other was intact; the left side of the bed was normal, but the right was bent and twisted; even the floor and walls were clean and tidy on one side, but smeared with filth on the other.
"What is this room trying to say? Is the key clue to solving it asymmetry?"
The patient in room eight was Xiong Qing, a madman with hemispatial neglect syndrome. What normal people saw as symmetrical and harmonious, he saw as twisted and ugly, so his world was deformed and sick, needing correction.
The visitors searched for a long time but found nothing useful. Room eight had no hidden passages or anything like that.
They left room eight and entered room nine.
Pushing open the iron door, room nine was the cleanest in the Third Psychiatric Ward—no clutter or trash, and no strange drawings on the walls.
But in the environment of the Third Psychiatric Ward, the cleaner it was, the more abnormal it felt.
The visitors rummaged through everything but found nothing useful.
"What exactly is Boss Chen trying to convey? The difficulty is way too high?"
The patient who once lived in room nine was Wu Fei, someone even Door Nan's main personality considered very dangerous.
Pushing open the last iron door, the visitors standing outside caught a pungent smell.
Every hair stood on end, their scalps tightened—this was the body's instinctive reaction to potential danger.
Room ten. On the day Chen Ge did his trial mission, the iron door was locked, so he had never entered this room in reality.
"Maybe we should just leave." Su Luoluo covered her nose and mouth, standing outside.
"The smell is strong in there. You and Xiao Du don't come in."
Guo Miao and Song An entered room ten. The room's layout could only be described as horrifying.
No windows—it was a completely sealed space. There were no beds or cabinets, just a few stinking blankets thrown around.
That alone might seem normal, but when they swept their gaze across the walls, both Guo Miao and Song An felt a chill.
The walls and floor, except for the ceiling, were almost entirely covered in blood-red characters, large and small. At first glance, the words seemed to come alive, dancing before their eyes.
Even more frightening, embedded in the wall directly opposite the door was a man's face—thin, faintly smiling.
"Boss, that face doesn't look like a prop. Artificial rubber doesn't have that kind of texture."
"I know."
Guo Miao took a few steps toward the face. He raised his hand to touch it and confirm, but his hand hovered a few centimeters away, unable to press down. "Forget it. I think the clue probably isn't related to this face. It might be hidden in the blood words."
Guo Miao looked at the blood words around the face. He was surprised to find that the words in room ten were different from those in the corridor. These sentences had basic logic, as if telling a story.
Using his phone for light, he read them out word by word.
"My wife calls me a murderer. My parents refuse to speak to me. My neighbors point fingers at me. Everyone has abandoned me."
"I shouldn't be alive, but I can't find a reason to die."
"I am the killer of children. Yes, I've never denied that."
"I shouldn't have left them alone at home. I shouldn't have forgotten to turn off the stove and rushed off to work."
"Three lives, my children."
"What must I do to atone?"
"I want to cut open my heart and show it to you."
"Please stop talking. I'm truly sorry. It's all my fault."
"I shouldn't have argued with you. I should have just endured it silently."
"If I hadn't fought with my wife that night, maybe she wouldn't have driven off late to find her parents, and wouldn't have been hurt by those people."
"I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
"I want to atone, but how can I atone now?"
"It feels like a handful of iron needles have been scattered inside me, their tips piercing my heart. Every breath brings pain."
"What should I do? At least I need to try to live."
"I moved to a completely unfamiliar place, but nothing changed."
"It's guilt tormenting me. I am the murderer, an unforgivable murderer."