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

Han Yingying said, "There are shift schedules on the computers at the nurses' station on the fourth floor. I looked through a portion of them. The shift schedule from the day the hospital director disappeared six months ago was deleted, but there are operation logs in the system. The person who deleted it was Fang Xuming."

"Not surprising." Zhou Lang shared the information from the medical record, including the missing sentence, "The hospital director isn't dead, he's—"

"Where is he?" the boxer asked.

"It was torn."

"..."

"But we can guess." Zhou Lang leaned back in his old wheelchair. "Rule number six: the second basement level does not exist."

The group looked at each other.

Xu Lan adjusted her glasses: "You mean the dean is on the second basement level?"

"It's very likely. Fang Xuming also emphasized in the meeting that we shouldn't go to the basement. The places he forbids us from going to are the ones with the most hidden things."

The boxer rubbed his hands together: "Shall we sneak over there and check it out tonight?"

"No way," Zhou Lang said quickly. "Going on the first day is too risky. We haven't figured out the rules, and we don't know the strange patterns of the activities. Let's focus on our work and gather more intelligence first."

"Go to work..." the boxer repeated the word, his face full of absurdity. "I came to play a horror game, but I have to go to work."

Han Yingying couldn't help but laugh out loud, and quickly covered her mouth.

"There are still a few players we haven't met," Zhou Lang continued. "Those who are patients are probably in more danger than us. We should try to contact them if we get the chance."

"Where's that VIP in the suit?" Xu Lan asked.

Zhou Lang remembered that face—young, arrogant, with his chin held high when he walked. The Phnom Penh work badge read "Sun Qiming".

Sun.

The wealthy businessman was named Sun Dehai.

"That's the son of a wealthy businessman," Zhou Lang said.

The boxer frowned: "The rich businessman's son? How did he get into the dungeon?"

"The copy gives him his identity. The fact that he enjoys super VIP treatment means he has special privileges in this hospital. This kind of person is either a breakthrough point or a major problem."

"He has both qualities," Han Yingying suddenly said.

After the meeting, everyone returned to their posts.

Zhou Lang went to ward 317.

Pushing open the door, one sees a middle-aged man lying on a hospital bed, his face ashen and his eyes sunken. When he sees Zhou Lang enter, he instinctively shrinks back.

"Don't be afraid, I'm the new doctor." Zhou Lang flipped through the medical record board on the bedside table. "Wang Jianguo?"

"You...you're a newcomer?" The man's voice was hoarse.

"First day at work today."

Wang Jianguo stared intently at his face for a long time, his lips trembling slightly.

"Hello newcomer... The newcomer hasn't changed yet..."

"Transform into what?"

Wang Jianguo looked around to make sure the door was closed before moving closer: "You don't know? The doctors and nurses here... at night..."

He didn't finish speaking. The sound of medicine carts rolling in the corridor came from behind him. Wang Jianguo immediately shut up, shrank back under the covers, and curled up into a ball.

The door was pushed open, and a nurse walked in carrying a tray with syringes on it.

"Mr. Wang Jianguo, it's time for your injection," the nurse said with a smile.

A standard smile.

Zhou Lang stopped him: "I just took over his medical record, and the treatment plan hasn't been confirmed yet. We won't administer the injection today."

The nurse's smile remained, but it stopped. She tilted her head and looked at Zhou Lang for a few seconds.

"Dean Fang said that ZX-7 cannot be stopped."

"Dean Fang asked me to make the arrangements tomorrow. Today is not tomorrow."

The logic is impeccable.

The nurse looked at him for a few more seconds, then turned and pushed the cart away.

Wang Jianguo poked half his face out from under the covers, staring intently at Zhou Lang with his eyes wide open.

"Thank you... thank you."

"Don't thank me." Zhou Lang sat down on the edge of the bed. "Tell me about what happened on the 47th."

"What?"

"What exactly is ZX-7?"

Wang Jianguo swallowed hard. "That stuff... after you take it, you'll feel great for a while. You'll be energetic, strong, and all your illnesses will disappear. But after a few days... things start to change. First, your eyes. Your pupils will dilate, to the point where there's no white in your eyes. Then your teeth... extra teeth will grow in. Finally..."

He lifted the blanket and stretched out his left hand.

There's an extra finger where the little finger should be. Six fingers in total.

"Have you already fought them?" Zhou Lang asked.

"I had two shots during the first round, but I absolutely refused to get a third, which is why it's been delayed until now. But they won't let me off the hook, that Director Fang..."

"Alright, I understand." Zhou Lang stood up. "Until I notify you, no matter who comes, don't sign anything or agree to the injection."

"But--"

"You are a patient, and you have the right to refuse treatment. At least on the surface, they are still following this procedure."

Zhou Lang left the ward.

At 5 p.m., he met another player at the end of the corridor.

Chen Yuan, a thin young man in a hospital gown, was identified as a patient by his name tag. He leaned against the window, the afternoon sun casting a sallow glow on his face, making his skin almost translucent.

"Are you a player?" Chen Yuan asked first. He spoke with the shortness of breath typical of a patient, taking a breath after every three words.

"Surgery." Zhou Lang walked over.

Chen Yuan gave a wry smile: "The identity I was given is that of a critically ill patient. It's not something the game gave me; it's my real condition. I have myelofibrosis, and I'm undergoing treatment in real life."

Zhou Lang didn't respond.

"The background of the story says that the patient is seriously ill and about to be experimented on." Chen Yuan looked at the overcast sky outside the window. "That's me."

"A few days later?"

"The schedule says the day after tomorrow."

"drag."

"How do we drag it?"

"I'll think of a way."

Chen Yuan glanced at him and didn't refuse again. A person this ill has no right to be pretentious.

8 p.m. The last hour before curfew.

Zhou Lang returned to his assigned duty room, pinned a piece of paper to the wall, and hand-wrote a timeline table.

The information gathered on the first day of hospitalization:

—ZX-7 is a mutation drug that will turn people into monsters.

Fang Xuming was the mastermind; he took over the hospital after the hospital director was murdered.

—The dean might be on the second basement level.

—Sun Qiming, the son of a wealthy businessman, enjoys special privileges at the hospital and has a special status.

—The work schedule was altered; records from six months ago are missing.

—At least 15 patients have been "transferred" to other hospitals and their whereabouts are unknown.

He tore off a strip of tape and stuck it to the edge of the paper, then checked his inventory. The oil lamp was still there, as were the healer's gloves. The chainsaw and scissors, used in the last dungeon, were all gone.

We don't have many weapons, so we have to use them sparingly.

At 8:50 p.m., the loudspeaker announced: "There are 10 minutes left until curfew. Please return to the safe area."

Zhou Lang locked the door.

His safe area was the duty room, which contained a cot, a table, and a toilet next door. The door could be locked from the inside.

At nine o'clock sharp, half of the lights in the corridor went out.

Then--

The music started.

It wasn't a requiem. It was a gentle piano piece, flowing softly from the radio. It was very beautiful, with a nocturne-like melody.

Zhou Lang remained vigilant. The rules stated that one should close their eyes and not move when the requiem was playing, but they didn't mention any other music as safe.

He pressed his ear against the door to listen.