Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 238 The Place of Holy Healing, Her Ward Awaits You

Some people say this is a hospital.
But when we came in,

Nobody asked our names.

The sunlight did not follow them into the building.

The moment Si Ming pushed open the metal door, the hinges made a soft, lingering creak.
As if some imperceptible ritual had been initiated, the entire space was pulled into another static dimension.

The interior of the Holy Place of Healing is quiet to the point of solemnity.

Unlike any of the mysterious structures they had entered before, there was no blood, no twisted flesh walls, no shrieks, no sounds of corrosion or mechanical gnawing.

It was surprisingly clean here.

It was so clean it was almost inhuman.

The welcoming corridor is spacious and bright, with polished tiles as smooth as mirrors, reflecting the subtle, shifting shadows of everyone.

The walls were spotless white with soft, sound-absorbing edges, so that even the sound of footsteps was muffled.

Several soft-colored oil paintings hang on one side of the corridor—grasslands, flowers, children blowing dandelions, the patterns peaceful and gentle, as if trying to convey some kind of ancient "human concern".

On the other side, there was a row of registration windows, the transparent glass of which was intact.

The workbench behind them was empty, yet the lights were on, and the surface was spotless.
It looked like someone had just left; there was even a pen lying in the center of the signature area.

It's as if this place has never been abandoned.

“This…” Lynn walked behind Si Ming and said in a low voice, “It doesn’t look like ruins.”

She paused, her eyes scanning the surroundings warily: "It's more like... a daytime clinic that has just closed."

Si Ming didn't reply, but slowly lowered his head, his gaze falling on the corner.

A paper cup lay there overturned.

There was half a cup of water left, the rim of the cup was slightly tilted, and watermarks spread on the tiles.

—The water has not yet dried.

“If there’s really no one here…” Duan Xingzhou walked to a self-service terminal by the door and tapped the screen. “Then how come this thing still has power?”

When he tapped his finger, the screen lit up with a "beep," the interface turning blue, like a heart that never stops beating.

Welcome to White Night Central Medical Terminal, Version 7.4

Please select the service:

Make an appointment
Follow-up visit inquiry
Inspection report printing
Prescription collection
The five people exchanged glances.

Lin Wanqing whispered, "Am I dreaming?"

Her fingers tightened slightly on her side.

"This...is it really still working?"

"It's so clean," Lynn whispered in agreement.

She gently reached out and brushed the leaves of a potted plant in the corner—a white-flowered evergreen, grown hydroponically.
The roots are submerged in a clear nutrient solution, the leaves are emerald green, and there are no disease spots on the edges, clearly indicating that it is in a "healthy" state under careful care.

“Alive,” Lynn said, his voice low.

"It's not a landscaping."

"Someone took care of it."

She paused for a moment, then looked around. "Or rather—we're still taking care of them now."

Si Ming stood in front of an information display board, bowed his head, and read aloud the contents of the board:

Welcome to the Place of Healing

[Igniting an immortal light for life]

On-duty doctor: Katerina S
Head of Nursing Team: Andrea L
Today's lecture topic: Early screening for cognitive disorders and cognitive decline

At that moment, he felt a chill in his heart, as if an invisible thread had wrapped around his neck.

"This doesn't look like an abandoned building."

"More like..."

"A living dream."

Duan Xingzhou reminded him in a low voice, "We should gather supplies first."

"If there are still useful medical supplies here, we have no reason to leave empty-handed."

The God of Fate nodded and quickly made arrangements:
"Split into two teams."

"Lynn and I went to check the 'potion distribution area'."

"You three—Lin Wanqing, Duan Xingzhou, and Gregory—go to the examination room and the nurses' station."

"Try opening all the doors once, and take what you can."

Don't linger.

"Understood." Lin Wanqing nodded and glanced at the tactical timer on her wrist.

15:22
"The sun is setting."

Si Ming replied softly, "We only have three hours."

The five people began their operation.

They quickly dispersed along the pristine white corridor, maintaining a steady communication interval with each other, every movement imbued with tension and restraint.

The echo of the soles of the shoes stepping on the tiles was faint and regular. No motion sensors lit up, no alarms were triggered, and no system sounds were heard.

Just like—this hospital is still operating.

However, they did not "notice" the patient's arrival.

Perhaps, it no longer needs to be noticed.

Because it already knew they would come.

Lynn and Si Ming walked together, following the sign on the left that read "Potion Area," and entered the long-silent corridor.

The corridor is lined with enclosed medicine cabinets, and inside the clean, transparent cabinet doors, bottles and jars are arranged in an orderly fashion.

Each cabinet was labeled with a number and an expiration date, and the paper was eerily clean—no creases, no fingerprints, not even a speck of dust.

It's as if time has never truly passed here.

"Too tidy," Lynn murmured, a hint of wariness in his voice.

“This place isn’t abandoned.” Si Ming stood beside her, his voice low and clear. “It’s been ‘paused’.”

He squinted, slowly looking around, his gaze gliding between the medicine cabinet and the ceiling, "like a still shot in a theater before the lights go out."

They pushed open a door, and a sign on the door read: Internal Medicine Pharmacy Dispenser.

There was no wind indoors, yet it was eerily clean.

There was no one behind the counter, but several neatly folded disposable paper medicine bags were placed on the floor, as if someone had just set them up and turned to leave to retrieve a batch of prescriptions.

Lynn crouched down and slowly opened one of the medicine bags, as if unveiling an expired ritual.

Several strips of pills were neatly arranged inside the bag, with a clean prescription slip tucked inside. The corners of the paper were not curled, and the handwriting was neat and beautiful.

Patient ID: #A1014
Chief complaint: Memory loss, emotional instability, whispering in dreams

Recommended medication: Carboben (a nerve sedative) + Ginkgo biloba extract rehydration solution
Lynn took a deep breath, his eyes suddenly narrowing.

"This is a prescription for the symptoms of a breakdown of reason."

Her voice was low and hoarse, "I've heard of this medicine. Someone discussed this combination on a certain mystery forum in the world of Gates."

It's said to be a recipe for combating 'high-level nightmare invasions'.

She raised her head, her gaze steady as a blade: "This means—"

“This hospital,” Si Ming finished for her, his tone calm but with a hint of coldness, “does not serve ordinary people.”

"Instead, they are 'extraordinary beings'."

He looked up at the spotless incandescent light above him, the light seemingly never extinguished, time appearing as a frozen illusion.

On the other side, Duan Xingzhou, Lin Wanqing, and Gregory walked through a short corridor and entered a room marked "Neurocognitive Examination Room".

The moment the door opened, a faint scent of orange blossom wafted out. The lighting was warm and soft, the air conditioner hummed softly, and the room temperature remained constant.

It doesn't look like an ancient ruin; it looks more like a modern hospital that welcomes patients at any time.

“It’s so similar.” Lin Wanqing looked at the cognitive function chart on the wall and murmured softly, “It’s exactly the same layout I saw at the Men World University Hospital where I was interning.”

She pointed to the room's layout, her speech unconsciously quickening:
"The patient is sitting in that single chair, and the doctor is sitting behind the desk over there."

Her gaze fell on the old-fashioned wooden table by the window—a brass lamp still lit, a fountain pen inserted in a ceramic ink bottle, and neatly placed on a writing mat under a white cloth.

Duan Xingzhou walked over, gently pulled open the drawer, and took out a thick, black-covered booklet with gold lettering that read: Patient Assessment Record Book.

He turned to the first page; the paper was yellowed but without mold, and the content was written very neatly:

Patient ID: #Z1140
Gender: Male

Chief complaint: Suspected infection with Planetary Devastation Whisper Syndrome
Symptom: Repeatedly hearing language from the future in dreams
Excerpt from the recording: "He stood at the door and called my name. I didn't open the door, so he just kept standing there."

Gregory's face suddenly darkened.

"This is not a symptom description."

His voice was like a cold glint of light emerging from ashes.

"This is--"

He paused for a moment, then said in a low voice:
"It is the patient who is recording the 'prophecy'."

"Or to be more precise, he wrote down 'the prophecy given to him by others'." The air suddenly seemed to drop in temperature.

Lin Wanqing tightened her grip, slowly put down the wall chart in her hand, and looked up at the gray and white corridor outside the window.

“We shouldn’t stay here any longer,” she said softly.

"The entire hospital... seems to be waiting for the 'patient' to speak."

"And we—haven't even spoken yet."

Duan Xingzhou slowly closed the notebook, his gaze lingering for a moment on the diagnostic tools on the table, and he murmured to himself:

"It's also possible... we've already been written into it."

"In their patient roster."

Gregory stood in the center of the room, in front of an inverted medical mannequin.

He reached out and gently turned the model upright, his gaze fixed on the mark representing the "limbic system".

He whispered:

"The Church of the White Night has never been good at healing."

"He's posing as a savior."

"Use the sacred as a scalpel."

He turned to look at the ever-burning green light in the corridor outside the window, his eyes heavy with sorrow.

"And have we already stepped into the operating room they've prepared?"

When the five reunited, the daylight had already begun to fade.

Si Ming raised his wrist and turned on his old-fashioned mechanical watch. The hands on the dial slowly slid across the minutes.

——16:43.

Lynn looked out the window at the end of the corridor; the sun had not yet set.

But the light was no longer glaring; it had become soft and hazy, as if something had gently brushed across it from the sky.

That light was different from the cold, bright daylight when I entered the hospital; it was more like a breath before dusk began.

“If there are still places to search,” Si Ming looked at everyone, his tone calm and low, “then it’s time to do it now.”

Duan Xingzhou looked along the long corridor, his gaze lingering on the lonely door standing at the end.

The door was small, white, and its frame was incongruously clean.

The nameplate on the door has three characters engraved in gold:
Prayer Room

He took a breath and whispered, "Perhaps, that's the last piece of the puzzle."

Si Ming nodded slightly, without saying anything more.

He walked in front, and after a few steps stopped in front of the door, reaching out his hand, but did not push the door open immediately.

He turned his head and looked at Lynn, Duan Xingzhou, Lin Wanqing, and Gregory.

His gaze swept over each of them.

“If you don’t want to go in,” he said in a low voice, “I won’t force you.”

"I can go in too."

He spoke softly, as if it were just something he said casually.

But the tone of his voice conveyed a calm acceptance.

It was like a script annotation already written into his destiny.

"It's not you going in." Lin Wanqing walked up, her hand already on the doorknob, her voice crisp.

"Together we will."

"Behind this door... lies the answer we seek."

After a moment of silence, the door was pushed open.

The door hinges made a slight creaking sound, as if an ancient deity had coughed softly.

Behind the door was not the church space filled with ritual totems or corrupt teachings that one might imagine.

There is no cross.

There is no image of the Virgin Mary.

There were no candlesticks, holy water, or altar.

It was a small hall with a white carpet, and the light was evenly distributed throughout the room, making it impossible to tell where the light source came from.

In the very center is a bench covered with a white cloth, placed quietly.

On both sides are dozens of symmetrically arranged wooden chairs, each with an exquisite nameplate hanging on the back of its chair.

"#Z004"

"#Y031"

"#F117"

"#A000"

"#T223"

……

The name tag doesn't have a name, only a number.

On the seat cushion of each chair, a set of clean white medical gowns, a pair of latex gloves, and a disposable mask were neatly folded.

There was also a small note.

The handwriting on the paper is delicate and graceful, as if leaving someone with the most dignified farewell:
"Please be dressed and ready to receive prayer."

For a moment, everyone was silent.

It wasn't out of fear, but rather a kind of almost unspeakable sorrow—as if they had entered a daytime underworld, stepping into a "waiting" that never ended.

On the small lectern at the very front, there was a thick, black notebook.

Duan Xingzhou walked over, squatted down, and carefully opened the cover.

First page, blank.

Page 2 is blank.

The writing didn't appear until the third page.

It was a passage written very quickly and hastily.

It was as if someone had grasped the last piece of paper, the last drop of ink, and the last shred of reason before time ran out:
"We all know that the celestial disaster cannot be healed."

"We just pray that we won't be among the first patients behind that door."

"But we also know that the door will eventually open."

"We are waiting for the doctor, but we have forgotten... that we are His patients."

Below the signature was a line of hastily written handwriting:
—Katerina S (former attending physician)

The crowd stood in front of the podium, speechless for a long time.

“This isn’t a hospital,” Lynn said softly, his eyes darting between rows of chairs and white sheets.

"It's not a theater either."

“This is…” she gritted her teeth, “a forgotten altar.”

"They knew all along that the patients weren't there for treatment."

"We have come to wait for God."

"A god who can say 'Welcome to the hospital'."

Gregory stood between the chairs, his fingers lightly touching a name tag.