Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 240 The bans accumulated until one could no longer breathe.

"Commands are not a language."

It is the silence left when the light shines on your shadow.

The sound of the loudspeaker in the lobby still echoed, appearing exceptionally clear in the mirror-like silence of the space, each syllable like a lingering echo after being interlocked by some kind of "orderly resonance".

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

"Current Prohibition: Do not swing your left hand."

"The next ban will be updated at 02:00."

As the broadcast ended, the entire hall fell silent once more. A layer of transparent oppression seemed to float in the air, so light it was almost imperceptible, yet undeniably present.

Si Ming looked down and, sure enough, saw that a new entry had automatically appeared on the inner page of his medical record, the printed text so clear it was almost sharp:

[Currently Forbidden]: Swing your left hand (Disobeying this order will trigger the Reverse Curse Burning)

"This is the beginning of the 'Forbidden Game'," Lin Wanqing said calmly, her tone completely unwavering, as if announcing an irrefutable, established rule.

“This isn’t a script choice question,” she continued, “it’s a mandatory process.”

"We are already patients."

"Not an actor."

"Do we have to go along with it?" Duan Xingzhou asked in a low voice, his tone carrying an instinctive reluctance.

“This is not an ‘option’,” Lin Wanqing glanced at him, her gaze steady.

Si Ming nodded slightly: "Once the script for the Mysterious Realm begins, we become the variables."

“Besides, this is a hospital for madmen.” He looked up at the only lit corridor that pointed the way. “It was the stage he wrote. The moment we entered, we were already part of the script.”

Lynn silently gripped the medical record book in her hand and whispered:

“Have you noticed that the restrictions on medical records are the same for everyone?”

Her gaze swept over the crowd: "It's not a restriction on names, but a general rule for the group."

Duan Xingzhou was taken aback and immediately checked his medical records, which were indeed identical.

“In other words—” Si Ming’s eyes darkened slightly, “if any one of us violates this rule, the entire group could face consequences.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze.

The overhead corridor lights flickered subtly, their white light blurring the boundaries as they flashed repeatedly. Those streaks of cold light seemed to be warning everyone that the second act of the theater had quietly begun.

Gregory coughed, his voice weak, but his tone remained as steady and sharp as ever:
"Collective responsibility."

"clever."

"It can cause infighting and make the trust within a team collapse even faster than a collapsing spell array."

"The further we go, the more bans there will be."

“In the end…” he paused, as if delivering a verdict, “even breathing had to be discussed with others.”

Si Ming sighed softly, slowly tightened his left arm, tucked it inside his coat, and hid the back of his hand. His movements were as quiet as some kind of understated "surrender ritual."

"Then let's go."

"Do as it says."

"Don't try to change the plot before we figure out the script."

—

The five people began their operation.

Deep in the corridor, the ENT department sign, bathed in a white halo, emitted a soft, faint light, like an eye patiently waiting for them.

Walking through the corridors of this sacred place of healing is like stepping into the perfectly sealed "core of a script"—

Every wall was so clean it looked like it had just been wiped, and so white it was almost dust-free.

The walls are made of bone-white stone, and the floor is as smooth as a mirror, yet the sound of footsteps seems to be muffled by a "delay membrane".
The sound was stretched and slowed down, as if it were being processed by some kind of monitoring and judgment system.

The embedded light strip above the head didn't flash, yet it gave the feeling of being "dissected".

There was no putrid smell or disinfectant odor in the air.

It's the kind of cleanliness that's "too clean," so clean it's like—

Waiting for them to get dirty.

The doors on both sides are neatly arranged, and the doorplates are engraved with silver metal, each one looking brand new and shiny.

orthopedics
Thoracic Surgery

皮肤科

……

The lettering is clear and the ink is still fresh, but the door handle is covered in rust, as if no one has really touched it for decades.

Lin Wanqing walked in the middle of the group.

Her left hand was completely hidden inside the cuff of her cloak, her knuckles taut.

She tried to regulate her breathing, attempting to suppress the chill that was creeping up her neck from her feet.

"You..." she began softly, her voice so low it seemed she didn't want to disturb the air.

"Don't you feel..."

She paused, then said in a barely audible voice:
“These doors… are all watching us.”

No one responded.

But no one denies it.

Less than three seconds after those words were spoken, an unusual light flashed slightly at a corner in the corridor ahead.

—The first “patient” appeared.

A middle-aged man in a hospital gown was moving forward at an extremely slow pace, dragging his feet.

He had his back to everyone, his hair was neatly styled, his clothes were tidy, and he was holding an IV drip bottle in his hand.

The liquid in the bottle shimmered with a pale golden light, flickering slightly under the overhead corridor lights, like some kind of semi-liquid "technique mark".

But he walked on the floor—leaving no footprints.

"It's not a physical entity," Lynn whispered a reminder.

Her eyes quickly scanned the man's feet and the floor, confirming there were no shadows or indentations.

Duan Xingzhou quickly activated the sensor, and the mechanical butler appeared as a projection, scanning with a red dot.

There were no abnormal signals on the screen.

However, the instrument itself became slightly warm, as if the data layers encountered residual interference during the "erasure".

The "patient" slowly walked to a door on the side of the corridor, his movements extremely quiet—

Push door.

"Squeak-yah."

The sound of the door opening was so real it was jarring.

But the moment the door was pushed open—

The space behind the door was as dark as a well.

It's not a room with the lights off.

Rather, the space was "hollowed out".

He walked into that "well".

There was no looking back.

No sound was left behind.

His shadow vanished along with it, as if he had been "eaten up" by the entire hospital.

"The moment he went in..." Si Ming whispered, his gaze fixed on the closed door.

"It looked like something had been swallowed behind the door."

"Can you feel it?" Lin Wanqing asked.

Si Ming nodded slowly, his lips cold and stern.
"I am a gambler."

“I am particularly sensitive to ‘the opponents I bet on’.”

"And at this moment—"

"It's watching us."

A "second patient" has appeared.

She—the silhouette of an elderly woman in a wheelchair—slowly approached from the direction of the elevator.

There were no pushers. There were no mechanical sounds. Yet the wheelchair moved forward steadily with an undeniable rhythm.

It felt as if an invisible hand was gently pushing me from behind.

She was wearing a neat hospital gown, with a worn name tag pinned to her chest; the patient number was already blurred.
Her back was ramrod straight, her posture upright, like a "benign patient" who had already accepted her fate and was waiting for the doctor's call.

She slowly walked past them—

Then, she turned her head.

The blurry face suddenly "focused" on Lin Wanqing.

She smiled.

The smile was slow and precise, the corners of the mouth curving upwards little by little over a few seconds until they stretched to the roots of the ears.

Their teeth were excessively white, each one perfectly aligned, as if they had been soaked in preservatives for decades and remained intact.

But her eyes... were empty.

It's not that it's closed, it's that it's "not there" at all.

Lin Wanqing took a step back abruptly, her face turning deathly pale, her fingertips trembling slightly.

"She...she smiled."

She murmured, her voice like fragments squeezed out of her throat.

"She's smiling at me."

She instinctively raised her hand to her chest, but before she could even move her fingertips, Duan Xingzhou had already grabbed her shoulder.

"Wanqing!" he hissed, his eyes sharp. "Don't make a move, don't raise your left arm."

At that moment, Lin Wanqing realized—

She almost triggered the ban.

The left hand had almost crossed the protective line.

She gritted her teeth and slowly withdrew her movement, her voice hoarse like a shredded piece of paper:
"That shadow... was trying to force me to 'break the rules'."

Si Ming stood on her other side, his eyes narrowed, his voice low and deep:

"This hospital—is alive."

"It observes each patient's 'instincts,' from visual stimuli and auditory stimuli to the subtle twitching of your muscles in every movement."

"It doesn't forbid you from moving."

"It's 'luring' you to commit a foul."

"The ban is not just a restriction on behavior." Si Ming's voice grew colder, his words like knives.

"It's watching you—whether you 'want' to disobey."

"It remembers as soon as you think about it."

—

The radio sounded again.

A gentle yet cold voice echoed in my ears, like a doctor who had just wiped his scalpel and was about to turn to the next page of a medical record:
"Patient E-059, please proceed to the ENT department."

"The next phase of the ban is about to be announced."

"17 minutes remaining until the current command is refreshed."

The five of them exchanged glances.

No one spoke. But everyone, instinctively, quickened their pace.

The corridor began to grow longer and quieter. The sound of each footstep became incredibly soft, as if someone were quietly turning down the volume of their presence.

"Have you noticed—our footsteps are getting quieter and quieter?" Lynn suddenly whispered.

Duan Xingzhou was taken aback and immediately realized the strangeness of the problem.

They didn't deliberately slow down, but the sound did become quieter.

It's not because they're light, but rather—they've been "reduced in size".

It's like someone in the background is gradually lowering their presence weight in the console.

“If we can’t get there quickly…” Lynn gritted his teeth, his fingers unconsciously gripping the medical record book tightly, “the next ban might be ‘restricting walking’.”

“It will gradually—remove the very premise of our existence.”

Si Ming sneered, a glint of ruthlessness, typical of a gambler, flashing in his eyes:
"Then I'll double the speed right now."

Their pace quickened as they walked through the endlessly stretching corridor.

Finally, after passing through the third ward corridor, they arrived at the "main passage" leading to the ENT department.

A flowing pattern of light illuminated the ground.

It wasn't a conventional medical projection, but rather fluorescent nerve lines that looked like some kind of semi-biological substance "crawling out" from the cracks in the floor tiles.

The fine lines, like veins, shimmer gently and rhythmically, pulsating like "breathing."

It forms a straight line, and text is projected onto the wall at the corner in front:
[ENT Department Direction: Turn right ahead]

Please follow your breathing rhythm and walk slowly.

Patients must complete the guided pathway; otherwise, it will be considered treatment avoidance.

“It doesn’t want us to get lost,” Lynn said softly, looking at the flowing light veins beneath his feet that resembled cellular structures.

"It wants us to—follow the route."

"Like a 'patient'."

She paused, her eyes turning cold:
"Like being wheeled into the operating room."

“Yes.” Si Ming nodded, his tone calm.

"The further we went, the more it treated us like characters written in a script."

"For every step you take, it writes a sentence in your medical record."

"When you get to the operating table, it will say: 'We have completed our observation, please prepare to start the operation.'"

—

Just as they were about to turn the corner, Duan Xingzhou suddenly whispered:

"Don't look up."

Everyone was startled and instinctively looked away.

But Si Ming still quickly glanced at the left wall—

It was an old, round camera with incantations embossed on its metal casing and a ring of pale gold, inverted prayers engraved around its edge. The lens rotated continuously like a pupil.

It's not surveillance.

It means "observation".

It is turning precisely in time with their rhythm.

"It's watching us," Duan Xingzhou said through gritted teeth, his voice extremely low.

“I can feel it—it’s like an eye, it has warmth.”

"We are no longer strangers."

"We are—the marked objects."

At that very moment, a very soft, cold snort came from behind.

"Ugh—this is so annoying."

It's Celian.

Her voice carried her usual disdain and arrogance, like a sharp silver line slicing through the silent air.

As a member of the vampire royal family, she has an innate aversion to being bound by others.

What's more, right now—in this eerie and desolate hospital, they are ordered to refrain from moving by a "rule" broadcast over the loudspeaker that doesn't even have a physical form.

"Can you become a god by playing these tricks?"

She glanced coldly at the still-rotating security camera at the end of the corridor, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

She raised her left hand, her fingers long and slender, and slowly lifted it, elegantly pointing it at the camera—making a highly provocative middle finger gesture.

She pursed her lips and chuckled softly.

"—Is it any of your business?"

"No—!" Si Ming suddenly turned around, his eyes filled with horror, and his voice rose sharply!
But it was too late.

—

There was no warning at that moment.

There was no alarm.

There was no sound.

There wasn't even a red light warning.

There was only one sound, a "silk tearing" sound that pierced the eardrums.

--laugh!

A tiny, yet breathtaking trail sliced ​​through the air.

Like the sound waves of a surgical scalpel precisely cutting, it's as if some kind of "rule entity" descended from the sky, silently carrying out the judgment.

The next second, blood gushed out!

Selene's left arm was severed cleanly at the shoulder!

In that instant, she didn't even have time to react.

I just felt a sudden emptiness on the left side of my body, and then blood gushed out, spraying across half the corridor like a spring.

The severed arm rolled twice on the ground, still warm and covered in bits of flesh, making a dull thud.

But before the blood could even flow—

A beam of holy golden light slanted down from the ceiling, mercilessly enveloping and devouring the severed limb!
laugh!
The blazing white flames instantly burned the severed limbs into thick smoke, even purifying the bloodstains on the floor tiles, silently "erasing" them.

A chilling smell filled the air.

It doesn't smell like blood.

It's not rotten.

But -

The aroma of incense and holy oil blended together.

Like a Mass, like an altar offering.

“She was subjected to… the ‘injunction’,” Lynn said, emphasizing each word, his face pale.

"She was identified by the system as a 'contaminated patient,' triggering a pre-operative 'divine purification.'"

Lin Wanqing gritted her teeth: "Those who disobey orders will be treated as foreign objects in the surgical area."

The result was—elimination.

—

Selene knelt on the ground, her entire left arm churning with blood and flesh, the limb writhing and beginning to regenerate.

She is a vampire with superhuman regenerative abilities.

But at this moment, under the suppression of the mysterious domain, the growth process became slow and painful, with each inch of new tissue seemingly fighting against the space itself.

Her breathing became increasingly rapid, cold sweat appeared on her forehead, and her lips turned white.

"I...I didn't expect this..."

She gritted her teeth and whispered, a genuine look of shock and anger appearing in her eyes for the first time.

She looked up and glared at the rotating security camera above her in the hallway, her voice laced with suppressed fury:
"It...is not a threat."

"It is—the executor."

Si Ming stepped forward in a deep voice, shielding her behind him, his left hand pressed tightly against her body, while his right hand gently supported her still-healing shoulder.

He didn't speak.

I just quietly looked up.

Look directly into the camera.

What was hidden in that glance?
It wasn't anger, it wasn't fear.

Yes—a gambler's warning.

Everyone can see it.

At that moment, his eyes held an unspoken curse:

"I'm looking at you."

—

The corridor fell into dead silence.

The camera paused slightly.

Then, it gently shifted its perspective.

It's like "recording" this page of the script.

—

They said nothing more.

I quickened my pace and finally arrived at the door of the ENT department.

The door hung askew, but the sign remained pristine white, with a line of words printed on it in red spray paint:

"The consultation is in progress late at night. Please remain quiet and cooperate with the attending physician."

An invisible breeze wafted out from the crack in the door, carrying a faint scent mixed with disinfectant and incense.

The door slid open silently and automatically.

The indoor lighting was extremely bright.

That wasn't a hospital's soft light, but a type of incandescent lamp designed for "observational purposes."
It seems to have been created not for lighting, but for "taking pictures," "cutting," and "operating."

They saw—

A giant mannequin dressed in a doctor's white coat stood with its back to them in front of a metal workbench.

Its neck was inlaid with thick iron wire, connecting it to the ceiling, and its shoulders and back looked like they were pieced together from multiple stitched human skin and scraps of cloth.

The fabric still has stitches, and several "bulging pouches" are faintly visible on the back.

Its hand—a non-human prosthetic—gently flipped through the medical records on the table, its knuckles clicking like mortise and tenon joints.

It doesn't move, yet it has a "presence".

Then, it slowly turned its head.

There are no facial features on its face.

There was only a mouth painted in red, always smiling, like a toy smiley face stuck on in the wrong place, too wide and too deep in the smile.

It opened its mouth and emitted a strange sound that mixed medical jargon, low-frequency incantations, mechanical noises, and old-fashioned radio frequencies:

"Next person--"

"Please come in for inspection."

"It's not about what you want to do."
It's not about what you can do anymore.

(End of this chapter)