Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 239 Welcome the Patients at Night

"You think you're a doctor?"
But when you wake up,
Holding the medical record in his hand.

The moment the sun finally sank below the horizon, all the lights in the Sanctuary were turned on.

It wasn't the glaring, cold white light of an operating room, nor the rigid, anti-theft lighting of a hospital corridor.

Instead, it's a soft, warm light—like the chandelier in a family kitchen at dusk, shining on the dining table, waiting for someone to come home.

In the wards, corridors, and waiting halls, every corner seemed to know in advance that night had fallen, with lights turning on one by one, carrying a strange "living atmosphere".

The motorized blinds closed automatically without any human intervention, blocking out the last rays of the setting sun.

The two stone lanterns at the entrance went out, and in their place, a ring of pale golden fluorescent prayer symbols appeared on the ground—lighting up silently and precisely.

It's like an automatic boundary recognition program that activates at night inside a hospital.

That light was not for illumination.

It was for "drawing lines".

It is to remind visitors that the boundary has been drawn.

Five people stood in the center of the first-floor lobby.

No one speaks.

No one dared to speak.

The air suddenly became so still it seemed to freeze for a second—

Then, the first broadcast sounded.

It was the tone of a standard hospital female voice broadcasting system—gentle, slow, each syllable like a soothing voice designed specifically for anxious patients.
However, there is a subtle, almost imperceptible "dullness delay" mixed in, like the "mechanical enunciation" after repeated processing of the recording:
"Nighttime medical services are now officially open."

"Welcome to the late-night treatment."

"Patients, please collect your medical records."

Snapped.

Suddenly, the God of Fate had a piece of paper in his hand.

A white card, dry yet cold, as if it had been sealed in a refrigerator at a constant temperature for a long time before being directly placed into his palm.

He caught it instinctively and looked down.

The front of the card has neatly printed words:
Patient ID: E-059

[Admission Category: Experimental Treatment]

Attending Physician: Nicholas L.

He slowly looked up.

Lynn was looking down at the cards in his hand; Duan Xingzhou, Lin Wanqing, and Gregory were also silently staring at the cards in their own hands.

They appeared silently, just like that.

There is no messenger.

There are no machines to complain.

It seems to have been generated from "the definition of their existence".

Lin Wanqing frowned slightly, turned to the first page of the card album, and said softly:
"It's calling us 'patients'."

“Not only that.” Duan Xingzhou turned to the second page, his tone turning cold. “It’s ‘experimental subjects’.”

He pointed to a small item on the card.

Under the category of "Admission", the following are marked: Experimental Treatment/Informal Clinical/Projective Record of Mental Structure.

Si Ming slowly turned to the second page of the card.

Each page smelled of old hospital paper pulp, and the printing was faint.
Yet it was so neatly arranged that it didn't seem like human writing; it looked more like it was "printed" out by a pre-programmed program in a database.

The first page reads:
[Current Treatment Phase: First Night - Observation Status]

The enforcement mechanism for the ban has been activated, and the behavioral restrictions will gradually take effect.

[Note: Prohibited behaviors will accumulate and cannot be removed.]

Please do not touch the night shift doctor.

Si Ming frowned: "'Night shift doctor'?"

"What do you mean?"

This time, no one answered him.

Because the answer he received was—a sound.

A man's voice.

Extremely low, extremely slow, extremely clear.

It was as if it had crawled out from some layer of data behind the hospital walls and drilled directly into the eardrums of each of them:

"This is the place of healing."

"You are my patients tonight."

"Welcome—it's night."

Before the echoes of the broadcast had faded, the entire Holy Place of Healing seemed to gently change its "breathing pattern".

The first thing to change was light.

The lights in the hall were not turned off, but they shifted slightly at a frequency imperceptible to the naked eye.

From warm yellow, it gradually cools to a soft, cool white—the brightness remains the same, but the "temperature" is quietly removed.

It's like taking a patient from home and putting them into a ward under a disinfection lamp.

Then came the sound.

Intermittent sounds began to emanate from those once deathly quiet corners of the hospital—

It wasn't a howling sound filled with hostility.

This is not a metal collision alarm.

Rather, it is the subtle noise of life.

The sound of breathing was barely audible.

The sound of coughing came intermittently from the depths of the corridor.

The clattering sound of the wheelchair rolling across the floor came through the crack in the door, but no one passed by.

"We weren't teleported away." Duan Xingzhou swallowed hard, his voice dry.

"It's this building... that has started to 'activate' its nighttime module."

Si Ming didn't speak, but slowly brought the medical record book in his hand closer to his chest.

The paper was cold, slightly damp, and even seemed to have a faint "adhesive" quality.

It's like a medical record pulled from the pocket of a still-warm corpse.

pat.

A footstep echoed down the second-floor stairwell.

Everyone looked up at the same time.

She was a woman in a nurse's uniform, slender, with her hair piled high and a perfect smile on her lips.

But her face—was blurry.

It's not hidden.

Rather, the focus can never be aligned, as if the camera is forcibly pulled away from the person's face, and can never be focused.

She looked down at the medical record book in her hand, as if she was about to make her rounds.

As she walked down the corridor, the lights automatically switched on one by one in sync with her steps, emitting precise, emotionless "beep, beep, beep."

She walked past the crowd without stopping, her gaze never faltering.

“She…didn’t see us,” Lynn said in a low voice.

“It’s not that I didn’t see it,” Lin Wanqing said softly, gazing at the nurse’s retreating figure.
"Yes—we shouldn't be 'seen'."

“We are not on her patient schedule.”

“We were just—a stray ‘case draft’.”

At this moment, the sounds of footsteps and the soft rustling of doors could be heard from more corridors and departments.

A middle-aged man in a hospital gown slowly walked out of the "Internal Medicine Clinic".

His feet were still bound with restraints, he limped, and his expression was blank. As he passed through the center of the hall, his eyes stared blankly at a non-existent "registration desk".

Stand for one minute.

Then—kneel down.

"He's waiting for his number to be called," Duan Xingzhou said in a low voice, his voice sounding like it was stuck in his throat.

“And the doctor who called him…” Si Ming continued, his gaze icy:

"Not in this hospital."

Suddenly, the hospital's loudspeaker blared again.

The voice is different this time.

It was no longer the gentle female voice from the daytime, but a smooth, clean male voice, edited and perfectly articulated, devoid of joy or anger, like a rational fragment peeled from a recording tape:

"Patient E-059, please go to the ENT department during the first phase of the night."

"This round of restrictions: Do not swing your left hand."

"This ban will remain in effect until 02:00."

Snapped.

The God of Fate bowed his head, and the medical record book automatically popped open.

A line of newly printed text appeared at the edge of the paper:
[Currently Prohibited]: Swinging your left hand
[Punishment for Disobedience]: Burning with a curse/Sensory stripping
He raised an eyebrow, closed the medical record book, and clicked his tongue under his breath: "Starting with a 'restricted action type'... This game really doesn't intend to let anyone relax for even half a second."

“This is the beginning of the ‘forbidden game’,” Lin Wanqing said in a deep voice, her finger swiping across the medical record page. “If you don’t follow the script, you’re judged to have violated the treatment procedure.”

"What should we do now?" Lynn asked, his eyes still unconsciously scanning every door around them.

“…Keep playing.” Si Ming slowly uttered three words.

“We are already ‘patients’.”

He looked at the hospital ceiling, at the seemingly ordinary chandeliers...

A tiny surgical ring is slowly lighting up, as if some kind of "gaze" is descending from above the hospital.

"Either follow the 'treatment procedure' or..."

"Either you wait to be dragged away for an autopsy."

at the same time.

Deep within the Holy Healing Place, a passageway sealed off by a heavy blast door quietly lit up.

Behind the door is a monitoring room with constant temperature and lighting.

There was no smell of disinfectant in the corridor, nor the oppressive echoes of a hospital ward.

The light is white and even, and almost dust-free.

The walls are constructed of a special membrane and stainless steel, and the floor is inlaid with a pressure stabilizing device.

The most eye-catching thing is an entire wall—

It is composed of 36 high-precision monitoring screens, each of which is displaying different areas of the hospital in real time.

Including the five people in the lobby on the first floor.

They are like a piece of residual code in a system running smoothly, not controlled by the program, yet causing abnormal noises in the operation.

In the center of the monitoring room, a figure sat quietly.

The black priest's robe was neat and fitted, with his fingers folded and placed in front of his knees.

He wore a half-covering metal mask with inverted runes of holy light engraved on it.
A faint light emanated from behind it, but it was as cold as death light flowing up from the deep sea.

He wore a monastic chain around his neck, with an old-fashioned pocket watch hanging from the end.

The hands of the pocket watch are forever stuck at 03:00.

It was as if his time had ended at that moment.

He is:
Nicholas the Immortal

White Night Church, Place of Healing, Priest of the Night
Project Remains: Eighth Guardian
Code name: Father
At that moment, his gaze was fixed on the center of the screen.

There, Si Ming was looking down at the medical record book in his hand.

Number: E-059.

He remained silent, motionless, and showed no emotion.

Until—a faint blue light appeared in the air.

In the air above his left shoulder, a group of light spots reconstructed from data streams quietly converged.

— It forms a fuzzy geometric shape that looks like a smile.

It was a symbolic face—a smiling face.

Number 13.

Crazy Thirteen, the ghost behind the city's core system, a script-writing madman, a director who hides behind the scenes and never shows himself.

His voice had no gender, no source; it seemed to emanate simultaneously from the screen, the walls, the lights, and even the air itself.
"Progress Update".

"Experiments numbered E-059 to E-063 have entered the first stage of the pathology game."

"Please implement Phase One: Accumulated bans and psychological observation."

"And a 'third night - operating table' will be reserved for him."

Nicholas did not respond, but simply nodded slightly.

It was as if they had known this moment all along.

Number Thirteen's laughter twisted slightly:

"They are not key pieces, but their reactions are important parameters for model debugging."

"If the person dies before 03:00, their data can be used to fill in the injection template for the next batch."

"If anything unexpected happens... you know what to do."

As the voice finished speaking, the geometric smiley face instantly disintegrated into garbled numbers and evaporated into the air.

The room fell silent once more.

After a long while, Nicholas finally slowly raised his head.

His eyes were obscured by the mask.

But the corner of his mouth twitched.

That wasn't laughter, but a whisper that only he could hear:

"madman……"

You'll never understand.

"Destiny is not data."

"It is... a divinity that can be transmitted."

He slowly raised his right hand and placed it on the still pocket watch on his chest.

He gently stroked the dried bloodstain with his fingertips.

And in his ear—it seemed as if a very faint echo came.

That wasn't Number Thirteen's order.

Rather, it was a deeper calling—like the whispers of a celestial calamity, like undecipherable pages in a book of destiny, murmuring in his ear:
"You will become the shepherd of the Cataclysm."

"You will never die, never grow old, never sleep."

"You will preach eternal life with your flesh and blood."

Nicholas closed his eyes.

He stood up, his cloak falling to the ground, and walked silently to the other side of the room.

He stood before a dark gray door, its surface inscribed with golden patterns.

The four gilded characters on the door slowly lit up in the light:
Late Night Ward - Surgical Preparation Room

He reached out and pressed the door lock.

The door opened with a click.

"You think gods are givers?"
But some gods
We're just waiting for you to get on the operating table.

(End of this chapter)