Chapter 180: Solution For The Yin Energy |
Word count: 5,5k!!!!
Zhao Lan’s eyes were fixed on the screen, her finger tapping furiously on her phone calculator. “Are you sure this is right, Smiley? Shouldn’t we pool our points and divide them equally? This way, you have way less than us.”
A muffled groan came from beneath a pile of blankets. Zhou Xiao Zhen, still groggy from sleep, mumbled, “What’s with the noise? This morning music therapy session feels like it’s been going on for hours…”
“Precious, wake up and check your points!” Zhao Lan’s voice was filled with excitement.
“My points?” Zhou Xiao Zhen fumbled for her phone, pulling the blanket over her head like a disgruntled tortoise. She squinted at the backstage forum, her eyes widening with each passing second.
“Wow!” She sat up in bed, throwing the blanket aside. “Is this a dream? Please tell me I’m not seeing things!”
“We sold everything!” Zhao Lan squealed, practically buzzing with joy. “Smiley just transferred us our share of the points.”
“No way!” Zhou Xiao Zhen pounded her fist on the bed, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Does this mean… are we actually getting out of this place?”
Zhao Lan’s excitement dimmed slightly. “Wait, this isn’t right. You have way fewer points than us. We need to redistribute.”
“It’s fine,” Yu Xiao brushed aside her concerns. “It’s just a few points.”
“Just a few?” Zhao Lan scoffed. “One point gets us ten days! That’s over two years we’re talking about!”
Yu Xiao paused. She tapped on her phone. “Actually, I just sold two more function cards. Now I have more points than you.”
Zhao Lan and Zhou Xiao Zhen exchanged dumbfounded looks before crowding around Yu Xiao’s phone, their jaws dropping in unison.
Zhou Xiao Zhen blinked, her voice barely a whisper. “So… should we cash in our points and get the hell out of here?”
“Don’t you want to leave?” Yu Xiao raised an eyebrow.
“Of course! It’s just…” Zhou Xiao Zhen glanced down at her wrinkled pyjamas and tangled hair. “Shouldn’t we, you know, do something to celebrate? Look presentable at least?”
“We can celebrate outside.” Yu Xiao’s fingers danced across her phone screen. “Done. I’ve exchanged all my points. Are you two coming or what?”
The words spurred Zhao Lan and Zhou Xiao Zhen into action. They frantically navigated the mall interface, their fingers trembling with anticipation.
Zhou Xiao Zhen leaned back with a sigh of relief. “Done! Now we just wait?”
“All set.” Zhao Lan nodded. “Check your messages.”
A new message notification blinked on Zhou Xiao Zhen’s phone.
“Dear patient,” she read aloud, “after receiving treatment in our hospital over several days, your condition has fully recovered and meets the discharge criteria. All discharge procedures have been completed, and you will be discharged in ten minutes. Thank you for your support, and we wish you a happy life…
Ten minutes…”
Zhou Xiao Zhen’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, crap!” She smacked her forehead. “We haven’t packed! Smiley, did you bring Teng Jing Zhi and Flying to Someone Else’s Bed’s phones? We need to contact their families. Misty, what about the necklace from that Sage Hospital?”
“Oh no!” Panic flooded Zhao Lan’s eyes. She scrambled to rummage through her bedside drawer. “We shouldn’t have rushed! I’m not ready…”
“A beautiful day starts from now on. Here’s the morning news,” a cheerful voice announced from the loudspeaker.
Zhou Xiao Zhen paused, her eyebrows furrowing. “Has anyone else noticed how long that music session was? And it’s only just now that they’re broadcasting the news…”
“Now that you mention it…” Zhao Lan paused, momentarily forgetting her rummaging.
The radio crackled back to life. “Yesterday, the esteemed Director of our Horror Hospital gracefully retired from his beloved post after eighty-three years of dedicated service. Under the leadership of our new Director, our hospital will…”
“Hold on.” Zhou Xiao Zhen’s head snapped up, intrigued. “The Director retired? Do ghosts even age? And retire? Who’s the new Director, anyway?”
Zhao Lan didn’t answer. She had gone still, the blood draining from her face as she stared at something in the drawer. Then, with a gasp, she whirled around, her eyes fixed on Yu Xiao.
Yu Xiao stood behind them, with a serene smile playing on her lips.
“It’s…you?” Zhao Lan scrambled to her feet, only to lose her balance and crumple to the floor, her face ashen.
“Misty!” Zhou Xiao Zhen rushed to her side. “What’s wrong?”
Zhao Lan struggled to sit up, tears streaming down her face. “Smiley…it’s you, isn’t it? Why…?”
“What’s going on?” Zhou Xiao Zhen was utterly bewildered. “What’s wrong with Smiley?”
“To save us…to save Precious and me…” Zhao Lan choked back a sob. “You promised you wouldn’t! What about us? What about our future?”
Panic seized Zhou Xiao Zhen. “Misty, what are you talking about?”
“You won’t remember,” Yu Xiao said calmly, but there was a flicker in her eyes, a deep sadness in their depths. “Once you leave…you forget.”
“Don’t joke about this!” Zhou Xiao Zhen’s voice trembled. She crouched beside Zhao Lan, gazing up at Yu Xiao with wide eyes filled with fear. “Smiley, please, I don’t understand!”
“She can’t leave,” Zhao Lan whispered, wiping her tears with a trembling hand. “She’s the new Director. To save us…she became the Director. She can never leave.”
“No…” Zhou Xiao Zhen’s eyes filled with tears. “Misty, you’re lying! That’s not possible! Waaaah, Smiley…” She scrambled to her feet and lunged towards Yu Xiao. “Smiley, I won’t leave you! I won’t!”
But before she could reach her, a voice echoed through the room, cutting through her cries: “Ding dong! Your discharge time has arrived. Please prepare to leave.”
And just like that, silence. The air in the room seemed to empty, the sounds of weeping and shouting vanishing as quickly as they had come. Zhao Lan and Zhou Xiao Zhen were gone.
The room had never felt so vast, so utterly silent.
Yu Xiao stood there, unmoving. She would never hear Precious’s boisterous laughter again, nor share another meal with Misty, their animated chatter filling the air.
The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of her own breath. Then, with a resolute look, she turned towards the door. It slid open, revealing the swirling vortex of the dark hallway. Yu Xiao stepped inside, her footsteps echoing with an unsettling finality.
The door to Room 4 clicked shut, enveloping the corridor in an oppressive darkness. Yu Xiao continued walking, her footsteps resounding through the stillness. The ghosts lining the hallway recoiled, bowing low, their spectral whispers silenced. Even in the gloom, her power was undeniable.
Nightmare trailed behind her, a silent shadow in the oppressive darkness.
**
The Director’s house, perched precariously on the crimson riverbank, was shrouded in an eerie silence. Inside, Nightmare, dressed impeccably in his new suit, carried a steaming cup of tea to the study. He knocked softly, then pushed the door open.
The new Director sat behind a grand mahogany desk, her posture weary, her expression aloof. The change in leadership did little to alleviate the atmosphere. If anything, the air felt heavier, the silence more profound.
Nightmare placed the delicate porcelain cup before Yu Xiao, his gaze lingering on her for a fleeting moment before respectfully lowering. He noticed, with a pang of concern, that her complexion had grown paler, her vitality fading, replaced by a spectral pallor.
“You will go talk to News Department,” Yu Xiao gestured towards a worn leather-bound notebook on the desk. “Starting today, discharge announcements will be broadcast during the morning news.”
“As you wish,” Nightmare replied with a curt nod.
Yu Xiao reached for her phone, her fingers brushing against the teacup. It tipped, spilling scalding tea onto her hand. She didn’t flinch, seemingly oblivious to the burning liquid.
Nightmare, however, frowned. He knelt swiftly, taking her hand in his. Her skin was icy cold, unaffected by the heat. He gently dabbed at the spilled tea with a silk handkerchief, his concern growing.
Unfazed, Yu Xiao dialled a number. The voice on the other end answered immediately.
**
“Yu Xiao! Have you heard the news? Quite the shake-up, huh? I’ve been here for nearly twenty years and have never seen the Director’s position change hands before!”
“How many points do you need?” Yu Xiao got straight to the point.
“Huh? Why do you ask?”
“We have gathered more than enough. I can spare some.”
“That quickly?” Disbelief coloured Yu Qing Lang’s voice. “Are you leaving already?”
“Yes. How many?”
“Not many, a couple dozen…” Yu Qing Lang hesitated. “Wait, are you serious? Did you actually get enough?”
In a punctuation of her words, a notification pinged on Yu Qing Lang’s phone. Yu Xiao had transferred one hundred points.
“Leave,” Yu Xiao said firmly. “Go home.”
The phone went silent. Yu Qing Lang stared at the screen, her mind struggling to catch up. Just like that? They were leaving?
She opened the online shop, her finger hovering over the ‘exchange points for time’ button.
Memories, long buried under layers of hospital dust, flickered to life: her parents’ faces, blurred with time; the ghost of a forgotten name; laughter shared with friends; the sweet taste of her favourite ice cream; the vibrant yellow of sunflowers blooming in her childhood garden.
Decision made, she dialled her friend, Wang Dong Dong.
“Wang Dong Dong, I-“
“I was just about to call you!” His voice crackled through the phone, laced with excitement. “Yu Xiao just transferred me a hundred points! I’m getting out of here!”
Yu Qing Lang paused. “She sent me a hundred too.”
“Really?” Wang Dong Dong’s voice was tinged with disbelief. “Just casually handing out two hundred points like it’s no big deal? How many did they even earn?”
A shiver ran down Yu Qing Lang’s spine. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
“I know, right?” Wang Dong Dong agreed, his usual cheer replaced by a nervous tremor. “And her voice… I also feel it’s odd. It was as if she wasn’t even present.”
**
Back in the Director’s study, Yu Xiao opened the dusty notebook that Nightmare had retrieved for her. It was the diary of the previous Director.
She had always assumed that her predecessor was a ghost or a monster, a resident of this realm of Horror Hospital. It wasn’t until she became the Director herself that she discovered that he, too, had once been a patient trapped within these walls. The discovery filled her with a chilling sense of foreboding. It was only today, upon hearing the news of his departure, that she learned he had been bound to the hospital for over eighty years.
Eighty years. This meant that the hospital itself… How long had it been standing here, silently claiming souls? There must have been others before him, other Directors lost to the shadows.
The diary was hidden away in a forgotten corner, its leather cover thick with dust, and its pages brittle with age. It hadn’t been touched in years.
Yu Xiao carefully untied the faded silk ribbon that held it closed. The scent of ageing paper and time itself wafted up, tinged with a faint, unsettling… despear.
The first entry was dated February 13th. The elegant script, written in traditional Chinese characters, spoke of a bygone era.
【February 13th. I don’t know what the weather is like outside.
Today, I became Director. A strange sense of calm washes over me, an unexpected serenity. Not at all what I imagined.
For my friends, for those still struggling, I choose to stay. To become the guardian of this place. Forever.
I expected sorrow. Maybe a foolish pride in my sacrifice. Relief for those I helped escape. Yet, I feel nothing. It’s as if my heart has been replaced with a cold, hollow shell. My thoughts, my emotions… altered.
Maybe it’s for the best. This world, this purgatory of lingering emotions, is no place for emotions.】
The early entries were frequent, detailing the hospital’s operations, the rules he refined, the changes he implemented. A Director’s logbook disguised as a diary.
Then, the entries became sporadic, the neat script growing erratic.
【What day is it? I haven’t seen the sun in so long.
I am bored. What is there to do? Has the war ended yet?】
Five years passed before the next entry.
【As I read back, it’s strange. Who is this Li De that I keep mentioning? I have no recollection.
A new patient said that a new country has been established, and that the living are at peace. Yet, the patients keep coming. The hospital is almost full.
Goldie suggested opening a Second Hospital. Such a bother. We shall wait. Let more die. Then there will be space.】
Years bled into decades. The entries became fewer and further between, filled with a chilling detachment.
【The living have invented something called a mobile phone. How curious. Perhaps I should introduce it here, for amusement’s sake.
The outside world grows more fascinating. Perhaps I should see it again. I have saved many. At least, I believe I have. Yes, I have saved some.
I used my position to manipulate the things the dead discard: love, affection, pity… I twisted them into those cards. And yes, maybe I saved a few lives out there.
I’ve done so much. Don’t I deserve a reward? Life. That’s what I want. Life.
I’ve done enough. Even this broken heart craves it.
I. Want. To. Live!】
He had arrived during a time of war, a time when the world outside was still struggling to be born. He chose to stay, to become the warden of this prison of souls, sacrificing himself for the sake of friends and strangers alike. His early entries spoke of unwavering resolve, of a heart determined to endure an eternity of solitude. However, even the strongest hearts could be eroded by the crushing weight of loneliness.
Yu Xiao remembered her vow to be the last Director and the unsettling smile given to her by the former Director. At that moment, it seemed insignificant. Now, it felt like an indelible mark on her soul.
Would she also give in to the subtle whispers of this place? Would she eventually orchestrate her own replacement, continuing this vicious cycle? The pages that were missing provided no answers, only a chilling reminder of what could await her.
“Nightmare.”
He turned away from the bookshelf, his hands still paused above a stack of ancient tomes. “Yes, Director?”
“You have a good memory, don’t you?”
“Impeccable, Director.”
Yu Xiao turned to face him, her gaze unwavering. “Remember me. Remember me as I am now. Promise me.”
“I promise,” Nightmare replied, his voice solemn, his eyes filled with an unfamiliar sadness. “I will never forget.”
A wave of relief washed over Yu Xiao. At least Nightmare would remember, even if one day she no longer remembered herself.
The diary had made one thing clear: the functional cards were a byproduct of ghosts’ despair, a cruel distillation of emotions the dead no longer needed or wanted. As the Director, the responsibility to act weighed heavily on her.
Reforms were desperately needed, but she had to tread carefully. The Director was powerful, but not omnipotent. Some rules, some threads in the tapestry of this place, were beyond even her reach. Change would be a slow and agonising process.
She spent the night lost in thought, the endless night of the Director’s quarters stretching on, devoid of the comforting rhythm of sunrise and sunset.
Only when Nightmare arrived with her morning tea, informing her that dawn had broken in the world outside, did she stir from her contemplation.
“Ding dong!”
The clock chimed eight times, the sound jarring in the oppressive silence. Yu Xiao raised her head, listening to the familiar strains of morning music echoing through the hospital. Perhaps that’s where she would begin. This infernal music had been playing for far too long.
But what should she replace it with?
“In the morning, one needs something invigorating,” Yu Xiao mused, tapping a finger against the polished surface of the desk. “Something to awaken the soul. ‘Calories‘? Or perhaps a bit of ‘The Most Dazzling Folk Style’?”
- (卡路里 (Calories); kǎ lù lǐ; literal translation: calories; a popular Chinese pop song about fitness and energy, often used to uplift spirits.
- 最炫民族风 (The Most Dazzling Folk Style); zuì xuàn mín zú fēng; literal translation: most dazzling ethnic style; a catchy Chinese folk-pop song known for its energising beat.)
The decision, however momentous, would have to wait. The morning news had begun.
“A beautiful day starts now,” a chirpy voice announced, echoing through the halls of the hospital. “Here’s your morning bulletin.”
Doctors paused their rounds, radios crackling to life. Nurses stopped mid-step, their attention drawn to the nearest speaker. Even the ghostly patients, usually oblivious to the mundane routines of the hospital, seemed to still, a sense of anticipation hanging heavy in the air.
“Gongs and drums resounded, firecrackers blazed!” the announcer exclaimed, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. “Yesterday, at the Sixth Hospital, patients nicknamed ‘Nickname Hassle’ and ‘Talisman Shop — Only three points each!’ successfully completed their treatments and were discharged! On this exhilarating day, our hospital wishes all patients a speedy recovery and an early discharge…”
- (锣鼓喧天，鞭炮齐鸣 (Gongs and drums resounded, and firecrackers blazed); luó gǔ xuān tiān, biān pào qí míng; a traditional expression used to describe festive and jubilant celebrations, indicating something significant or joyous has happened.)
The news hit the hospital grapevine like a bolt of lightning. Excitement crackled through the wards, whispers rippling through the corridors.
Hospitals Three, Four, Five, and Six, all equipped with online forums, erupted. Within seconds, a new post shot to the top of the Fourth Hospital’s forum. Yu Xiao, out of habit, clicked on it.
【Holy moly! (╯°Д°）╯︵ /(.□. ) Someone actually got discharged!!】 The original poster was practically incoherent with excitement.
【Did you guys hear that? Someone actually got out! ♪┏(・o･)┛♪┗ (･o･) ┓♪】
【Heard it!! (╯’□’)╯︵ ┻━┻】
【Holy moly, holy moly, holy moly…】
【Waaaaah…I thought it was just a rumour! I didn’t think it was actually possible!】
【So, what are the discharge criteria again?】
【Seriously? Someone doesn’t know? (－‸ლ)】
【Don’t be mean. It’s not exactly common knowledge. I only found out last week. You need enough points to live to, like, seventy or something. Average lifespan on the outside.】
Amongst the excited chatter, a note of confusion, of unease, crept in.
【(ノ`Д ́)ノ Wait, why was the Sixth Hospital the first?】
The original poster, clearly as bewildered as everyone else, chimed in.
【٩(̾●̮̮̃̾•̃̾)۶ Right? I mean, it’s not like the discharge criteria are a state secret, but still… We’ve been stuck in the Fourth for years, and don’t even get me started on those top three hospitals. The Sixth has only been around for, what, a year? Why them?】
【Couldn’t have been my Sister Dragon, could it?】
【Wait, I know those two! They were in Sister Dragon’s ward!】
【Where’s my Sister Dragon?!】
【(∩｀-´)⊃━ﾟﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Ahhhh, I want to leave too!!!】
【Waaaaah, imagine finally getting out and not even knowing how to live anymore!】
【[¬º-°]¬ How did they do it?】
【Anyone know anyone from the Sixth? Any insider info? Spill the tea, people!】
For the first time, a flicker of hope, fragile and uncertain, sparked in the hearts of the patients. Whether they’d arrived a year ago or been trapped for decades, the impossible had suddenly become real.
Discharges were no longer a rumour, a whisper in the dark. They were a possibility.
A terrifying, exhilarating possibility.
A ripple of confusion spread through the hospital grapevine. Patients familiar with the usual discharge procedures scratched their heads. Discharge announcements on the morning news? That was new. And for two seemingly unremarkable patients, no less.
Those more in the know, like Yu Qing Lang and Luo Jin, were first hit by a wave of astonishment, quickly followed by a cold dread. They knew ‘Nickname Hassle’ and ‘Talisman Shop — Only three points each!’ It wasn’t their discharge that was shocking but the fact that it was only *them*.
Over in the Fourth Hospital, Lu Xu lowered his phone, his brow furrowed. “Did I miss something? I don’t think they mentioned the ‘Deaf Descendant’.”
Luo Jin shook his head, his expression equally perplexed. “Neither did I.”
“She didn’t get discharged?” Lu Xu frowned. “Or did they leave separately? But why would Zhao Lan and Zhou Xiao Zhen be discharged without Yu Xiao?”
Luo Jin had no answers. Unable to shake the feeling of unease pooling in his gut, he decided to call Yu Xiao.
**
“I really wish I could live another five hundred years…”
The Director’s phone had been buzzing incessantly. The caller ID flashed ‘Sunny Sister’, but Yu Xiao ignored it.
“A little snack, perhaps?” Nightmare, ever the attentive assistant, leaned closer, a plate of delicacies in his hands.
Yu Xiao waved him off, her gaze fixed on her phone. “Change it to this.”
“Hmm?”
“The morning music, switch it to this. Give our patients a little… motivation.”
“As you wish.” Nightmare bowed his head, accepting the phone with a graceful flourish. Secretary, confidant, rumour mill extraordinaire – his duties were ever-evolving.
The news hadn’t just thrown the patients into a frenzy. The medical staff, even the unflappable attending physicians like George, were thrown into disarray.
**
At the St. Elizabeth construction site, George sat perched precariously on a couple of bricks, his face a mask of bewildered consternation. The morning news, blaring from a nearby radio, had just ended, leaving a trail of unanswered questions in its wake.
He’d worked closely with Yu Xiao, more so than any other attending doctor. He knew her companions well too. Those three were inseparable, joined at the hip. Bathroom breaks, canteen runs, even ghostly hauntings – they did it all together.
So why were the other two discharged, but not the one who had a concerning fondness for power tools and a disconcerting lack of fear? Could she be so reluctant to relinquish control of St. Elizabeth that she deliberately stayed behind?
The more he thought about it, the more uneasy George felt. He yearned for simpler times, for the days before Yu Xiao, when his biggest concerns were finding new ways to terrify patients, spicing up his meals with a dash of brains, and spending his shifts daydreaming in his office, blissfully patient-free.
Were those halcyon days gone forever?
“Hmm…” Gluttony set down his shovel, his brow furrowed. “Those nicknames… they sound familiar.”
Qing Shi nodded, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I thought so too.” But his mind was on other matters. “Yesterday’s news mentioned a new Director. Gluttony, any ideas who it might be?”
Gluttony shrugged. “Don’t know the old bloke that well. New boss, same gig, eh? We still gotta work here.”
Qin Shi counted down the days on his fingers. “Almost done with our community service anyway.”
“Right you are.” Gluttony shot Qin Shi a knowing look. “Almost done.”
George and the others, oblivious to the inner workings of the ghost world, remained baffled. But two former attending doctors, Gu Shu and Lolita, were slowly piecing together a terrifying truth.
Back in Poisoned Town, Yu Xiao had claimed to be the Director’s heir. At the time, they’d scoffed. Especially Gu Shu. To him, every word out of her mouth was a lie, a calculated manipulation.
But yesterday’s news… the announcement of a new Director… And now, today, those two scheming companions of hers were gone, free, while Yu Xiao remained. It was all adding up to a horrifying conclusion.
Gu Shu, forced to deliver packages for the Third Hospital due to his dwindling finances and lack of marketable skills, stood frozen, a stack of parcels clutched in his trembling hands. Lolita, now relegated to serving meals to ungrateful patients, stared at him, her face ashen.
Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “You don’t think… she couldn’t possibly be…”
Gu Shu closed his eyes, a wave of regret washing over him. If only he’d swallowed his pride, stayed in Gu Family Village. He could be sipping tea, enjoying his retirement, instead of facing the wrath of a vengeful Director.
Lolita’s despair was even more profound. It was just an amusement park. Why the relentless pursuit of revenge? Her hatred had blinded her, had led to the deaths of her future.
“What do we do?” Her voice shook with unshed tears.
Gu Shu racked his brain, searching for an escape route, a way to appease the newly ascended Director. But there was nowhere to run. The hospital was her domain. And given his own repeated attempts to orchestrate Yu Xiao’s downfall… well, begging for mercy wasn’t likely to end well.
With a resigned sigh, he dropped the parcels, their contents scattering across the floor. “What will be, will be.”
**
Yu Xiao, meanwhile, had more pressing matters to attend to. The position of Security Team Leader remained vacant, and Nightmare had compiled a rather underwhelming list of potential candidates.
Most were woefully inadequate. The Security Team Leader needed brawn – dealing with unruly ghosts and enforcing hospital regulations was no job for a timid spirit. But they also needed brains. A sharp mind for investigation. A nose for sniffing out trouble. The last thing Yu Xiao needed was a repeat of the Counting Ghost.
No wonder the previous Director had gone with Goldie. A three-headed hellhound ticked all the boxes: intimidating, powerful, and with a nose for trouble that could rival a bloodhound on a scent.
“Are you sure there’s no one else?” Yu Xiao tapped her fingers impatiently against her desk, the lack of qualified candidates frustrating. “This is a hospital, not a retirement home. Surely there’s at least one competent ghost in this place.”
Nightmare was struggling. Finding a qualified candidate on such short notice was proving to be a herculean task.
The phone continued its relentless assault, each unanswered call a testament to severed ties. Yu Qing Lang, then Wang Dong Dong, then Luo Jin, then back to Yu Qing Lang – the cycle repeated.
Their desperation was palpable, but Yu Xiao refused to engage. Their paths had diverged, their fates sealed, and she saw no point in prolonging the inevitable. There was nothing left to say, no solace to offer, no hope to be gleaned from the outside world.
Her gaze fell on the marketplace ledger, a tome of exorbitant prices and unattainable dreams. It was time for a change.
The marketplace, while well-stocked, was designed to bleed patients dry. Tools, function cards, talismans – everything came with a price tag most could only dream of affording. A single function card cost a staggering fifty points – a lifetime’s worth of scavenging for most. Even Zhao Lan and Zhou Xiao Zhen, after braving countless instances, had barely scraped by with enough for one.
Even a basic talisman set you back ten points. Most patients limped out of scenarios with a passing grade and a measly three points to show for their efforts.
It was a vicious cycle. Patients remained weak, trapped in the hospital’s grasp. The longer they stayed, the more the dark yin energy seeped into their bodies, making escape even more unlikely.
Yu Xiao grabbed a sheet of paper, her resolve hardening with each stroke of her pen. No more exorbitant prices, no more bleeding the patients dry. She slashed prices across the board, imposing strict purchase limits to prevent hoarding.
Talismans – three points each, limit five per patient per week. Function cards – a much more manageable ten points. Props – twenty points apiece, a steal compared to the previous prices.
She signed the document with a flourish, pressing the Director’s seal into the crimson ink.
The Director’s power stemmed from two sources: the heart that beat, or rather, didn’t beat, in her chest, granting her dominion over this spectral realm; and the seal, imbuing her decisions with an authority that transcended life and death.
The former Director, wishing to prepare his successor for the role, had handed over the seal to that veteran before relinquishing the heart of obsession.
According to the former Director, the veteran must have used the seal for some purpose.
Yu Xiao had instructed Nightmare to retrieve previous official documents, but any files related to that predecessor had vanished, possibly destroyed by the former Director.
She had hoped to find a solution to the dark yin energy within those documents.
“I still wish to live another five hundred years…”
The phone sang out again, its persistence wearing down her last nerve. *Block the numbers*, she thought. *Sever the last thread.*
But as she reached for the phone, she realised it wasn’t one of *them*. It was the cannibal from the First Hospital.
“Hello.” Her voice was cold, devoid of the false warmth she’d once offered.
“Such indifference,” the woman purred, her voice a sibilant whisper. “A far cry from your tone a few days ago.”
“Goodbye.” Yu Xiao moved to hang up.
“Wait!”
The woman’s frantic voice made Yu Xiao pause.
“You mentioned helping me sell those function cards…” The words tumbled out, infused with a desperation that couldn’t be ignored. “Is that offer still valid?”
“Yes.” Yu Xiao kept her voice neutral, although her patience was waning.
“Thank you, thank you…” The woman’s voice dropped to a shaky whisper. “I heard the news today… about those others who left. Do you think… is it possible… will I ever be able to leave this place?”
Yu Xiao tightened her grip on her composure. “I’ll send you the address. Mail the items there.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Sensing her irritation, the woman hurried to appease her. “I’ll send them right away. Oh, and about that patient from the First Hospital… the one who was discharged… I actually don’t know him.”
“I understand.” Yu Xiao was already mentally composing her next decree.
“Just heard rumours,” the woman continued, her voice a hushed torrent of words. “Something about him being a powerful talisman drawer…”
“Right.” Yu Xiao ended the call, severing the connection with a sigh.
Nightmare came back, the marketplace ledger in his hand. “The price cuts are having their intended effect, Director,” he reported. “Several items are flying off the shelves.”
He placed the ledger on her desk, his finger tapping a line item. “The talismans are particularly popular. Especially the Thunder Repelling Talismans. Stock is running low.”
Yu Xiao’s gaze scanned the numbers, her brow furrowing. They were running low. Critically low.
“Where do we usually restock those?”
“I… wouldn’t know, Director.” Nightmare’s tone was apologetic.
He’d been a creature of habit, his world contained within the instance. His ignorance, while frustrating, was understandable.
“Find out,” she ordered.
“Of course.” He turned to leave.
“Wait.” Yu Xiao called him back. “Bring me my talisman-drawing tools.”
After a moment, he was back.
Yu Xiao gaze drawn to the familiar weight of the brush in her hand. It had been a while. Drawing talismans… it was a reminder of her own ticking clock. Soon, the dark yin energy would claim her, too. Soon, she would be just another ghost, another cautionary tale whispered in the hospital corridors.
She dipped the brush in vermillion ink, the familiar scent filling her with a strange sense of foreboding. As she began to draw, a memory flickered to life, the former Director’s words echoing in her ears:
“…He has a rare courage, a unique mind, and an extraordinary talent, just like you…”
“I can only say that some answers are right before your eyes, but you fail to see them…”
“…Something about him being a powerful talisman drawer…”
The brush stilled, hovering over the paper. A jolt of understanding, electric and terrifying, shot through her. The answer had been there all along, hidden in plain sight.
Talismans. Sold in the marketplace. Untouchable and unusable by ghosts. So, where did they come from?
This was the lifeline that the patient, the talisman drawer, had left for them.
The talismans themselves were the answer.
The solution to the dark yin energy.
Yu Xiao’s hand trembled, the brush clattering onto the desk. Her heart, despite its stillness, felt like pounding against her ribs. She flipped through the ledger, her eyes scanning the endless columns of numbers, searching, seeking…
There. Old Lord’s Talisman. Listed in the marketplace inventory, but absent from the Fourth Hospital’s talisman guide, it had an unremarkable name and their use was unknown. Vermillion ink and yellow paper were precious, so it’s understandable that the senior from the Fourth Hospital didn’t want to waste them on rarely used talismans.
But Yu Xiao knew. She knew why those talismans were there, why they outnumbered even the ever-popular Thunder Repelling Talismans.
That patient, facing his own mortality, had stumbled upon the answer. He had poured his remaining time, his last reserves of energy, into creating a stockpile of hope. A legacy woven into the very fabric of the hospital he knew he might never escape.
Looking at the sheer volume of Old Lord’s Talisman, their numbers a testament to one man’s desperate hope, Yu Xiao felt a chill crawl down her spine.
The answer had been there all along.