At dawn the next day, Monday, six-thirty in the morning.
Bai Liu, unwilling to sleep on the mushroom-ridden straw mattress, had spent the night on the floor, using books as a makeshift bed. By morning, the pages beneath him had fused to the damp ground, saturated by the oppressive humidity that filled the room. Dew beaded on the walls, and Bai Liu frowned in distaste—the relentless work of three humidifiers had rendered the air even more stifling than the rainy season.
Yet the humidifiers, like the prohibition on bright lights, were a strict rule of the hospital, enforced by the nurses.
He sat quietly atop the sodden pages, waiting for Bai Liu the Sixth's call—certain the boy, ever mercenary, would ring him at dawn to earn his per-minute fee.
At six forty-five, the walkie-talkie buzzed. This time, Bai Liu the Sixth's breathing and footsteps were soft, as if he were sneaking out.
"Good morning, benefactor," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "The child who chased us yesterday is gone. As I came out, I overheard the teachers in the corridor discussing how today we'll be taken to the chapel for a ceremony—a symbolic rebirth for children who have suffered, marking our entry into a place of sanctuary."
These children had entered the orphanage just yesterday, and today was Monday. Bai Liu immediately recalled the nursery rhyme: "Born on Monday."
Following the rhyme's logic—"Baptized on Tuesday"—the baptism would be tomorrow.
"Tomorrow, Tuesday, we'll be baptized, to wash away the hardships we've endured outside," Bai Liu the Sixth continued softly. "Parents are supposed to attend, but except for Liu Jiayi, none of us have parents, so the benefactors will witness the ceremony. Tuesday is Parent's Day; you'll be invited to attend. I heard the teachers say invitations will be sent to all of you."
Bai Liu asked, "Did anything happen last night?"
"Of the children who went out to make calls, only Xiao Miao Feichi and I from my room returned safely. He cried all night, but he ran fast and wasn't caught. Despite his tears, he was unharmed." Bai Liu the Sixth's tone was flat. "But something strange happened before dawn. I heard the footsteps of children following the sound of the flute down the corridor."
"They were humming the nursery rhymes played on the flute. I got up to look—they seemed fully awake, not sleepwalking, laughing and chatting as they lined up and skipped away, just like in the fairy tale. But as of now, with daylight breaking, none of them have returned."
This matched what Bai Liu knew from reality: a group of children had vanished at dawn, following the flute's call, never to be found in the sealed orphanage.
"Do you think the flute has a hypnotic or enchanting effect?" Bai Liu mused. "Did you feel compelled to follow it?"
"Not at all," Bai Liu the Sixth replied without hesitation. "It was so badly played, it just made me want to use the bathroom."
"…" Considering his own resistance to suggestion, Bai Liu pressed, "Did any of the other children in your room seem affected?"
There was a pause, as if recalling, then Bai Liu the Sixth answered, "I don't think so. Apart from Xiao Miao Feichi crying all night, the others slept soundly."
If the flute had no hypnotic effect, why did the children willingly follow it?
Bai Liu pondered. Could there truly be a "Pied Piper" monster in this instance? But if so, why did it only lure away a few children each time, rather than all at once, as in the story? And why did the children go willingly?
Suddenly, Bai Liu the Sixth's voice dropped to a whisper: "The teacher's coming to check on us. This call lasted twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds—rounded up, thirteen minutes. That's thirteen hundred, plus last night's seventeen hundred, for a total of three thousand. Thank you for your patronage. Until next time, benefactor."
With chilling efficiency, he hung up.
Bai Liu was now certain—the boy was timing their calls to the second.
At nine o'clock, an announcement echoed through the wards and corridors:
"Good morning, patients. After nine, you may open your doors. Those who have found their medication will receive it from the nurses in five minutes. Those who have not, please proceed to the first-floor dining hall for breakfast, then continue your search. You are all critically ill…"
Bai Liu opened his door and saw the other patients on his floor doing the same.
After a night's rest, the patients seemed more vigorous, as if they had absorbed the humidity and were no longer so withered.
Nurses, heels clicking, rushed down the corridor with trolleys, delivering medicine to certain rooms. Bai Liu tried to follow, but they moved too quickly. He caught a glimpse of the medicine—sealed in stainless steel containers—and heard the slosh of liquid as the nurse passed by.
So, the medicine was likely a liquid. Bai Liu made a mental note.
Before moving in, Mu Ke and Bai Liu had exchanged signals. Both were on the ninth floor. Mu Ke emerged, dark circles under his eyes even deeper than before, looking like a student cramming for finals—yawning, exhausted.
The moment Bai Liu appeared, Mu Ke fixed him with a desperate, intense stare, like a cat after an all-nighter, silently begging for attention.
Clearly, he was eager for praise.
Bai Liu obligingly asked, "Did you discover anything?"
"This game wants us to find a prescription in the medical books. I've read a lot of related literature because of my illness, so I'm pretty familiar. I wanted to split the books with you, but since we couldn't leave our rooms last night, I just started reading. I finished twenty-one books."
Mu Ke yawned, rubbing his eyes, tears streaming from fatigue. "The game's setting is ridiculous—dark, damp, no lights allowed. My eyes are about to give out. Thank goodness for pens to mark my place, or I'd have gone cross-eyed."
Twenty-one books. Bai Liu fell into a strange silence.
The books in this game were all massive—so much so that Bai Liu hadn't even considered reading them. Yet Mu Ke had finished twenty-one in a single night…
"Can you remember everything you read?" Bai Liu asked.
Mu Ke gave him a puzzled look. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
Bai Liu: "…" He couldn't.
He felt the scorn of a scholar for a dunce.
"How many did you read?" Mu Ke asked.
Bai Liu hesitated, then answered honestly, "0.01." He'd only flipped through a couple of pages.
The sleep deprivation and mental strain slowed Mu Ke's reaction. He repeated, woodenly, "0.01?"
That was as good as none.
Then Mu Ke grew anxious, glancing around to ensure no one was listening, and whispered, "You're not really planning to sneak into the ICU for the remedy, are you? If you don't want to read, let me do it—I'm fast. I can finish the whole bookshelf in three days!"
"But even if you finish, do you know what the remedy looks like?" Bai Liu countered.
Mu Ke was taken aback.
He didn't.
Even if he could recall every word, he had no idea what the remedy actually was—the system's definition was too vague. Was it a specific drug, a treatment plan, or something else?
"Without clear instructions, it's hard to know what we're looking for," Bai Liu said patiently. "And the system only says to search the hospital's bookshelves, not just those in our own rooms."
"But all the bookshelves are the same," Mu Ke protested. "I checked other rooms when the doors were open. Every room has a bookshelf, and I remember the titles—they're all similar. If the system wants us to find the remedy by reading, sneaking into the ICU won't help; we'll just see the same books."
"But what's the difference between their books and ours?" Bai Liu asked. "What's the difference between the books you've read and those you haven't?"
Mu Ke paused, then realization dawned. "Notes! In this lighting, you have to use a pen to keep your place, so the books will be full of notes and markings."
"In a hospital without doctors, everyone is self-medicating," Bai Liu explained calmly. "They read the books, searching for a cure, using the poor lighting and the pens provided. Important information would be underlined or circled for easy reference."
He glanced at Mu Ke. "According to the rhyme, illness strikes on Thursday, worsens on Friday, and death comes on Saturday. The disease grows more severe with time. The ICU patients are the sickest and have been here the longest—they're the most likely to have found the remedy, and their notes will hold the clues."
Mu Ke frowned. "But even so, we can't get into the ICU."
With so many nurses and Miao Feichi watching, any attempt would draw attention. And the thing in the ICU… was likely a monster.
Bai Liu looked at Mu Ke. "I was worried I wouldn't be able to remember all the notes, but with you here, I'm reassured."
"I can help you remember!" Mu Ke nodded, though he was anxious. "But Bai Liu, how do we get into the ICU?"
Bai Liu patted Mu Ke's head, his voice low. "You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you, Mu Ke?"
Mu Ke hesitated, meeting Bai Liu's fathomless gaze. The darkness in those eyes was unsettling, but he bit his lip and replied, "I would, Bai Liu."
"Then would you kill me?" Bai Liu asked gently, placing a gleaming bone whip in Mu Ke's trembling hand. "Would you use my fishbone whip to wound me, to make me bleed, Mu Ke?"
Mu Ke froze.
————————
A few minutes later, an emergency alarm echoed through the private hospital.
At that moment, Miao Feichi and Miao Gaojiang were eating breakfast on the first floor, unconcerned with hunting Bai Liu—their priority was finding clues. But the sudden alarm made them tense, thinking a plot event had been triggered. Miao Feichi stood, drawing his weapons, while Liu Huai, in another corner, instinctively reached for his hidden blade.
A blood-soaked patient stumbled down the emergency stairs, clutching a white bone whip, panic etched across his face. The distinctive weapon immediately caught Miao Feichi's attention.
He vaulted over several tables, moving with predatory speed, and blocked the patient's path, his twin blades crashing to the floor. The terrified player, slipping on the wet ground, fell hard, tears streaming down his face as he threw the weapon aside and wailed, "Bai Liu, don't come after me! It was the monster that killed you! I just finished you off for the loot!"
Blood covered his face and hands, his breath ragged, eyes wild with terror. He collapsed, clutching his head, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Pathetic," Miao Feichi sneered, kicking the player so hard he crashed into a table leg. "Stand up and answer me."
The player howled in pain.
Mu Ke's eyes brimmed with tears—terror, guilt, and the agony of having harmed Bai Liu threatened to overwhelm him, sending his sanity spiraling.
When Bai Liu had wrapped the sharp, spiny bone whip around his own slender neck, Mu Ke had shaken his head in desperate refusal, begging Bai Liu not to torment him so.
He had pleaded, "Kill me instead, let me be the one to enter the ICU!" But Bai Liu had only smiled, "No. I have a poor memory—I can't remember all the notes. Only I can be the one to get hurt. You must stay clear-headed, Mu Ke."
"If you want to play in the league with me, you can't always rely on me. You need to grow. The first step is to try doing things on your own."
Bai Liu had tightened Mu Ke's grip on the whip, drawing it across his own throat. Blood welled from the wounds, staining the straw mattress and the white sheets.
Mu Ke, like a fledgling forced from the nest, had broken down in hysterical sobs, while Bai Liu, blood bubbling from his lips, had only smiled faintly, even as he coughed and stroked Mu Ke's head, as if imparting a final lesson: "Mu Ke, in this game and the next, we must win, and win to the end. It all depends on you now. You must deceive Miao Feichi and Miao Gaojiang, win their trust, or we're all doomed."
Gritting his teeth against the pain from Miao Feichi's kick, Mu Ke's heart pounded with fear and exertion, but he did his best to play the part of a clueless, opportunistic player.
Nurses hurried upstairs, some pushing emergency beds, exchanging anxious words:
"Which patient is in crisis? What's the name?"
"Patient Bai Liu! He pressed the emergency button himself. The nurse found a laceration on his neck—severe blood loss, needs immediate surgery!"
"How did he get a laceration? Did he open his door last night?"
"We checked with the night nurse—he did open his door. Maybe that's how something got in…"
"Hurry, get him to the OR for transfusion and sutures! Is there anyone here who can sew him up?"
"Yes! Prepare the ICU bed—he'll go there after surgery!"
Miao Feichi and Miao Gaojiang exchanged incredulous glances. Miao Gaojiang frowned, "Bai Liu opened his door and was attacked? Is it really him?"
"It must be. The NPCs don't make mistakes," Miao Feichi replied, a strange smile on his lips. Watching the nurses rush upstairs, he couldn't help but gloat, "Looks like Bai Liu's about to hand us a free first blood."
He sighed theatrically, "What a shame—I was planning to use him for my stream. If he dies, it'll ruin the show." Then, with a wicked grin, he used his blade to lift Mu Ke's chin, tapping his bloodstained face.
"Get up. We have some questions for you. Answer honestly," Miao Feichi sneered. "Or you'll regret it."
He produced a scale—a familiar item from Bai Liu's "Explosive Last Bus" VIP video, known as the Judge's Scales, a common lie-detecting tool among pro players.
Mu Ke's pupils contracted, but he quickly calmed himself—he remembered the scale could only answer yes or no, and that it could be fooled by emotional control.
"Don't even think about lying. I'm not as stupid as Mu Sicheng. Of course, if you are Mu Sicheng, my apologies." Miao Feichi crouched, his blades encircling Mu Ke. "Don't try any tricks. The scale might err on complex questions, but for simple ones, it's infallible. Lie, and I'll kill you in a second."
He pressed the blade to Mu Ke's throat. "First question: Did you really, as you claim, cut Bai Liu?"
"Yes, yes," Mu Ke stammered, forced to look up, his voice trembling. "I used his fishbone to cut his throat myself!"
He held up the bloodstained bone for Miao Feichi to see.
The scale tipped decisively toward "Truth."
"Fine. Even if you did, Bai Liu is cunning enough to fake his own death. Next question: Are you his accomplice…"
Mu Ke's heart pounded as Miao Feichi coldly finished, "—Mu Sicheng?"
Author's note:
Miao Feichi: Are you Bai Liu's accomplice…
Mu Ke: I am.
Xiang Chunhua: I am.
Liu Fu: I am.
Miao Feichi: —Mu Sicheng, damn, when did he get so many accomplices!
Mu Sicheng: Got sent to another game to train newbies. Still Bai Liu's accomplice.