A bizarre and terrifying experience; I messed up the dungeon world.

Scattered around, four or five more players were identified, but most were hiding in corners, afraid to approach or reveal their identities. Two people exchanged a glance and then hurriedly left, clearly intending to go it alone.

"Alright, that's all we can do." Zhou Lang turned back. "Let's divide the tasks. Dr. Zhao, you're in the obstetrics and gynecology department, so you have a better chance of finding out about the hospital's personnel than I do. Han Yingying, nurses can go to various departments for rounds, so you're responsible for figuring out the layout and any abnormalities on each floor. Xiong Batian and Li Ming, you two stay in the wards and chat with the other patients to see if anyone knows anything about the history of this hospital."

"And you?" Han Yingying asked.

"I'm an intern, and according to the rules, I have to follow the orders of my superiors. I'll see what they're going to assign me first, and also try to get to know the key figures in this hospital."

"Who are the key figures?"

Zhou Lang took out the note and pointed to the blurred words: "The last line of the note tells us to submit the evidence to a certain person, but the name is illegible. This person should be the key. The dungeon description mentions the Dean, the one who was murdered—if he became a monster but occasionally regains his senses, then I need to find him."

Zhao Minzhi asked, "How did you know about the dean's affairs?"

"There was a notification before entering the instance, didn't you read it carefully?" Zhou Lang casually replied. Actually, this information came from the background introduction during instance loading, but not everyone could receive it completely. He could receive more, probably because of his special attribute.

Zhao Minzhi didn't press further and nodded, "Then I'll go back to the obstetrics and gynecology department first. Contact me by phone if there's any news."

The crowd dispersed and went about their own business.

Zhou Lang walked along the corridor, observing the hospital's structure. The first floor housed the outpatient hall, emergency room, and pharmacy; the second floor contained surgery and operating rooms; the third floor was the internal medicine department, with the east corridor locked by an iron gate bearing a sign that read "Under Construction, No Entry"; the fourth floor was the inpatient ward; and the fifth floor was the administrative office area, where the hospital director's office should be located.

As he passed the nurses' station, a chubby nurse called out to him.

"A new intern?"

"right."

"Come with me, the doctor wants you to go to the third floor to change your dressing."

Third floor.

Zhou Lang followed the plump nurse upstairs. The lights in the third-floor corridor were dimmer than on the other floors, and the smell of disinfectant was stronger, mixed with a faint, sweet, rotten odor. The ward doors were all closed, and occasionally, low groans could be heard coming from inside.

The plump nurse stopped at the door of ward 307: "Go in. There's a dressing kit on the bedside table. The patient's name is Zhang Hai; he needs a dressing change after suturing an external injury. Note—"

She lowered her voice: "Zhang Hai has a bad temper, don't talk to him too much, just leave after you're done changing."

Zhou Lang pushed the door open and went in.

There was only one bed in the ward, and the curtains were drawn tightly shut. Zhang Hai lay with his back to the door, the blanket covering his neck, and he didn't move at all.

Zhou Lang walked to the bedside table, opened the dressing kit, and took out iodine, gauze, and tweezers.

"Zhang Hai, turn over, I'll change your dressing."

No response.

Zhou Lang called out again, "Zhang Hai?"

The blanket shifted. Zhang Hai slowly turned over.

Zhou Lang paused for a moment.

The man's face was ashen, his eyes were bloodshot, his pupils were dilated, and his mouth was stretched to his ears. It wasn't a smile; it was a bizarre expression caused by facial muscle spasms.

"Change...the dressing..." Zhang Hai's voice squeezed out from deep in his throat, each word escaping one by one.

Zhou Lang glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 10:30 AM, not the time when the strange occurrences would happen. In other words, this guy was just an "ordinary patient" right now.

Although it doesn't look ordinary at all.

He lifted the blanket and found the wound on Zhang Hai's abdomen. The stitches were neat and tidy, but the skin around the wound had an abnormal bluish-purple tinge, with fine black lines spreading outwards, like ink flowing from a blood vessel.

Zhou Lang disinfected the area with iodine without changing his expression, then changed the gauze and applied tape.

"alright."

Zhang Hai stared at him intently, his bloodshot eyes never blinking.

Zhou Lang packed up his dressing kit and turned to leave. As he reached the door, he heard a muffled voice behind him:

"Don't...go east..."

Zhou Lang paused for a moment, but without turning around, he pushed open the door and went out.

The chubby nurse was nowhere to be seen in the corridor.

He glanced to his right—the iron gate to the east corridor was just twenty meters away. Through the gate, he could see that the corridor inside was pitch black, with several wheelchairs scattered on the ground, one of which was slowly turning its wheels.

There is no wind.

Zhou Lang withdrew his gaze and walked towards the stairs.

When I got back to the first floor, my flip phone rang. It was a text message from Han Yingying:

There's a problem with the operating room on the second floor. I heard noises coming from inside when I passed by, but there are no surgeries scheduled for that time.

Zhou Lang replied: 【Don't come any closer, write this down first. Go check the medical records room on the fourth floor of the inpatient department and see if you can find any admission records from the last three months.】

【it is good. 】

Another text message came in, from Xiong Batian: "The old man in the bed next to mine said this hospital used to be called Chongren Medical Research Institute, not Ren'an Hospital. It was renamed five years ago. He also said the east side of the third floor used to be a laboratory."

laboratory.

Zhou Lang matched this message with Zhang Hai's words, "Don't go to the east." The former laboratory on the east side of the third floor is now sealed off.

He was lost in thought in the hallway when a voice came from behind him:

"You're the new intern?"

Zhou Lang turned around.

A man in his thirties stood behind him, his white coat neatly pressed, and his name tag on his chest read "Vice Dean Chen Zhiyuan." The man had a kind face, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled, but when he looked at someone, his eyes barely moved.

"Starting today, you'll be making rounds with me." Chen Zhiyuan patted his shoulder, the pressure neither too strong nor too weak. "Welcome to Ren'an Hospital. Do a good job."

Chen Zhiyuan spent the afternoon checking rooms with Zhou Lang.

From the second-floor surgery ward to the fourth-floor inpatient department, he went into every room and examined every patient. Chen Zhiyuan was highly skilled; his procedures for consultation, prescription, and treatment plan adjustments were streamlined—no, efficient and decisive. Zhou Lang followed behind, taking notes and observing this "vice president."

On the surface, there is nothing wrong with it.

But Zhou Lang noticed a few details.

First, Chen Zhiyuan deliberately avoided the east side of the third floor during his rounds. When he reached the iron gate of the east corridor, he even subconsciously quickened his pace.

Secondly, he had subtle differences in his attitude towards different patients. He would ask patients with common injuries and colds or fevers a normal consultation; but when he encountered a few specific patients, he would look at their medical records more often and spend a particularly long time on a particular page.

Third, his left index finger was trembling slightly.

After the ward rounds, Chen Zhiyuan led Zhou Lang to the office area on the fifth floor. At the end of the corridor was a locked door with a sign that read "Dean's Office".