Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

The boy pressed his face even flatter.

"Do you have telekinesis? Can you grab people and fly them through the air? Can you teach me?"

Li Su remained silent.

She knew she wasn't a superhero.

Heroes will save everyone.

All she wanted to do was kill.

Only kill those who deserve to die.

Behind the boy, all the other patients in the ward woke up.

They crowded at the doorway, peering out through the tiny glass window.

Someone saw the body and broken bricks in the corridor and screamed in terror.

Someone saw Li Su walking barefoot across the broken bricks and cheered excitedly.

"He is the savior!"

A patient shouted loudly.

"It's a Bodhisattva!"

Another patient knelt on the ground and kowtowed to Li Su's back.

"Judgment Day! Judgment Day is here! I told you the world would end! But none of you believed me!"

The third patient was so moved that tears streamed down his face, and he clasped his hands together in prayer towards the ceiling.

Li Su did not turn around.

She walked into the stairwell, stepped over the caregiver who had fallen on the steps and was still groaning, and with a flick of her mind, the groans on the steps stopped abruptly.

She pushed open the fire door in the stairwell and walked into the lobby on the first floor of the mental hospital.

The fluorescent lights in the lobby were brighter than those in the corridor, making the white walls and floors reflect a dazzling light.

All the staff on duty behind the registration window had left, and the teacups on the table were still steaming.

The main gate was locked.

The rusty iron gate was tightly shut, and the bolt on it was thicker than her arm.

Li Su raised her hand.

The psychic power surged from his palm and slammed into the large iron gate.

The iron gate remained completely still.

She increased her output.

The iron gate emitted a dull groan, and the door panel began to dent inward.

The expansion bolts of the hinges in the wall began to loosen, and chunks of plaster and cement fell down in a flurry.

She put in another push.

The hinge broke.

The expansion bolts popped out of the wall, tumbling through the air and shattering the glass of the registration window.

The iron gate flew outwards, crashed onto the concrete ground in the yard, bounced twice, and smashed a row of iron fences into scrap metal.

Li Su stepped barefoot across the threshold and into the courtyard.

It's raining outside.

The rain in the early morning was light; the fine raindrops looked like countless silver needles falling from the sky under the lamplight.

Raindrops fell on her hair, face, and shoulders, blurring the bloodstains on her hospital gown into patches of pink.

She looked up at the sky.

The sky was overcast, with no stars or moon in sight.

She looked down at her feet.

My feet were on the wet cement floor, and there was still dust from broken bricks stuck between my toes.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the rainy night air.

The cold air filled her lungs, making her mind clearer than ever before.

She remembered all those people's faces.

Li Su opened her eyes.

Rainwater streamed down her eyelashes, blurring her vision.

She wiped her face with her sleeve and found that her hands were still trembling.

Eleven people were killed.

Caregivers in the corridors, security guards in the stairwells, and administrative staff on duty in the lobby.

Her hands were still trembling.

But it wasn't fear.

That's not enough.

Not enough killings.

The seed of her soul in her chest was still burning hot, like a red-hot charcoal embedded behind her sternum, making the blood in her body scald.

She looked up, her gaze passing over the iron fence in the courtyard and landing on the building across the street.

Administration building.

The six-story building has beige tiles on the exterior walls. The lobby on the first floor is lit up, and several windows on the second floor are also lit up.

The attending physician's office at the mental hospital is in that building.

The doctor who signed the diagnosis report.

Order the doctor who gave her the olanzapine injection.

The doctor who asked her during rounds, "Do you feel like you're not sick?"

Li Su remembered.

She remembered that face.

He was in his fifties, wore gold-rimmed glasses, spoke slowly and deliberately, and always had a faint smile on his lips.

During rounds, he stood by her bedside, holding her medical record folder, and used the end of his pen to push up his glasses.

Do you think you're not sick?

He asked the question in a very casual tone.

It's like asking how the weather is today.

It's like asking you what you want to eat for lunch.

Li Su did not answer at the time.

Then he wrote a line on the medical record.

"Lack of awareness of illness indicates that the patient's mental symptoms have worsened and their insight is severely impaired. It is recommended to increase the medication dosage."

That afternoon, she received an extra large dose of olanzapine in her indwelling catheter.

Then her brain turned to mush.

She could barely remember her own name.

I almost forgot even the child's face.

She almost forgot the smile Zhao Yuan gave her through the glass of the iron gate before he died.

Li Su clenched her teeth.

Her feet sank into the rain as she walked step by step toward the administration building.

The rain washed away the mud and blood from her feet, leaving a trail of pale red footprints on the ground.

------

Administration building, second floor, attending physician's office.

Qi Jianmin sat behind his desk, the computer screen in front of him lit up, displaying a bank account login page.

He tapped a few keys on the keyboard, entered a verification code, and his account balance appeared.

One million two hundred thousand.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

The money just arrived last week.

The research center provides a "special case handling fee"—for every "problem patient" he handles, his personal account receives an extra 30,000 yuan.

Li Su's case is quite special. She was sent directly from the research center without even notifying her family, so the cost was doubled.

Sixty thousand yuan.

Including the dozens of "problem patients" he had previously treated, his account balance rose from zero to 1.2 million.

Qi Jianmin picked up the teacup on the table and took a sip of the now-cold Longjing tea.

He worked in a mental hospital for twelve years, and he handled so many "problem patients" that he couldn't even remember them all.

Some of them were sent here because they genuinely offended people they shouldn't have.

Some of them were brought in because they saw things they shouldn't have seen.

Some, like Li Su, were sent here because they were used as experimental subjects and then disposed of.

But Qi Jianmin didn't care why they were sent in.

His only responsibility was to make sure that once these people came in, they could never get out.

Either use drugs to burn out their brains and turn them into real mental patients.

They could either kill someone under the guise of a "treatment accident" and then write "sudden heart failure" or "drug allergy reaction" on the medical record.

It's not like it's happening.

There has never been a mistake.

A commotion arose at the end of the corridor.

Qi Jianmin looked up at the office door.

The door was closed, and the blinds were drawn, so you couldn't see what was happening outside.

But the alarms on the main building had been going off for a while.

He casually looked away.