Yanhai City.
Qingshan Psychiatric Hospital.
A top-tier mental health institution, boasting state-of-the-art facilities and an immaculate environment.
Doctors in white coats strolled through spotless hallways, inspecting each room. Every ward housed four patients—each officially diagnosed with mental illness through rigorous psychological evaluations.
Though their behaviors diverged sharply from the norm, they had, in their own strange way, formed small, self-contained societies.
Some delivered impassioned speeches with dramatic flair.
Others clutched books, fervently reciting predictions about the future world.
"After decades of dedicated research, I've concluded that tonight marks the end of the world. But fear not—I've found the safest haven. When the time comes, I'll secretly lead you all there."
"Blue Star is actually flat! They say it's round, but they're the sick ones. They need treatment, not us."
"I've developed a formula that allows men to conceive. Next year, I'll claim the highest honor in medicine. You're all witnesses!"
Doctors, holding medical records, paused briefly at each room, listening intently before nodding in satisfaction.
Excellent.
They're all beyond saving.
TVs were embedded in the corridor walls. On the screen, a delicate-featured female anchor delivered the latest news:
"A Rank-7 Evil Entity has emerged due to a massive sinkhole at Mount Tai. Numerous hikers are either dead or missing. Authorities have dispatched elite enforcers to contain the situation. Citizens are advised to avoid wilderness travel for their own safety."
Inside a special ward—
Unlike the standard rooms, this one housed only two patients: one elderly, one young.
The room was cluttered with training equipment—barbells, sandbags, and the like.
At that moment—
A handsome young man lay on the bed, his body bound in copper wires. He was the youngest patient in the facility.
Nineteen years old.
His name: Lin Fan.
At ten, he began bashing his skull with a hammer, claiming he was cultivating the "Iron Head Technique." His head was split open; he nearly returned to dust and ashes.
At eleven, he stared intently at his crotch with a welding torch in hand, murmuring, "Pure Yang is supreme. But the world is sinister—demons crave your purity. You must guard it, even if it hurts."
Thankfully, he was stopped in time and sent for psychiatric evaluation.
The results were not surprising.
Level-5 Severe Psychosis.
No danger to others, but fully capable of devastating self-harm.
Beside the bed stood an old man, his mind clearly not intact, gripping two copper wires with solemn determination.
"I'm ready. Any last words?"
Today's experiment involved muscle stimulation via electric current.
They'd already tested everything—from AA batteries to car batteries—with remarkable results. Lin Fan had danced on the edge of death many times.
"I'm looking forward to it," Lin Fan replied calmly. "Just like the books say, electricity will temper the body."
"Good."
Old Zhang was Lin Fan's only believer—the lone soul in the entire hospital who thought Lin Fan was on the path of martial cultivation. He had supported Lin Fan's training from day one.
Now, with great reverence, he guided the copper wires toward the wall socket.
To others, the socket was a one-way ticket to the afterlife.
To Old Zhang, it was a gateway to truth and miracles.
And then—
Zzzzttt!
BOOM!
Lin Fan convulsed violently on the bed, his entire body shuddering, accompanied by a thunderous sound.
Alarms blared in the hallway.
Smoke drifted out of the ward, curling into the corridor.
"Ahhh!"
"Room 666 again! The old man and the boy are at it once more. Bring a fire extinguisher—now!"
"And call an ambulance!"
Before long—
Wee-woo! Wee-woo!
An ambulance screeched to a halt outside the hospital.
Several doctors in lab coats sprinted out, pushing an emergency stretcher.
Voices rose around the ward:
"He's foaming at the mouth! He's barely breathing!"
"He's dying!"
"Clear the way! Emergency team incoming!"
"Someone remove Old Zhang! He's making it worse!"
Old Zhang, hair frizzed and eyes wild like he'd been electrocuted, clung to the stretcher and wailed:
"I'm not leaving! I need to observe him! I must record the data! Let me come with him!"
The doctors had no choice but to let him follow—he could get a check-up too while he was at the hospital.
Inside the ambulance—
Old Zhang held Lin Fan's hand tightly.
"How do you feel?"
"Amazing," Lin Fan whispered weakly. "My mind is sharp. My qi channels must've opened up, just like in the books. A bit of acupuncture now would take me to the next level."
"Don't worry—I brought the silver needles," Old Zhang declared, patting his chest with pride.
He wasn't a doctor, nor had he received any formal training. He'd simply read a book about acupuncture from the hospital's donated library.
To the two of them, it was a sacred text.
They studied it day and night.
Old Zhang had jabbed Lin Fan with needles hundreds of times. The results were clear—he'd ended up in the emergency room dozens of times.
Yet Lin Fan always claimed it was effective.
To them, acupuncture points were meant to be stabbed—and the more often, the better.
Wee-woo!
Wee-woo!
The ambulance sped away, its sirens fading into the distance.
Back at the psychiatric hospital—
The director, a weary man in his fifties with a head of white hair, looked utterly exhausted.
Other patients dabbled in literature, invention, fortune-telling, or anatomy.
Such wholesome hobbies.
But the old man and the boy in Room 666? They were always dancing with death.
"Director, the contractor for repairs is on standby," a doctor informed.
"Seal off every power socket in the building," the director sighed.
"Understood."
"And contact White Crane Cemetery. Reserve two plots. Better to prepare than regret later. Assign two caregivers to monitor them 24/7 when they return."
The director had done all he could. Whatever happened next was up to fate.
The doctor watched the director walk away, deeply moved.
A man who gave his all.
A truly dedicated administrator.
At the hospital—
The red light above the emergency room flickered on.
Lin Fan lay expressionless on the operating table, surrounded by a flurry of medical staff. He was used to it by now—this place felt like home.
"It's him again. What happened this time?"
"Wrapped in copper wire, plugged into the wall. Self-inflicted electrocution."
"Second-degree burns."
"Stable vitals. Heart rate at 250 bpm—abnormally high."
Lin Fan stared deeply into the surgical light above, murmuring:
"I feel fantastic. That charred flesh? Just old waste being purged. Don't worry—just scrape it off."
The lead surgeon nearly exploded.
"Waste? More like roasted pork belly!"
Still, Lin Fan remained calm.
"Don't give me anesthesia. I want the pain to temper my will. My mind is stronger than you think."
"If you inject me—"
He paused for effect, then delivered what he believed to be his ultimate threat:
"I'm not paying the bill."
The medical team exchanged helpless glances.
Perhaps this was the line between sanity and madness.
Do you even have money?!
(End of Chapter)