Chapter 30: The writer's pen will cut my back, ink...
"It seems that this time the patient is still lacking something."
Dr. Zhang smacked his lips regretfully, lamenting that he had not been able to participate in this amazing work.
"That may not be the case."
the bespectacled doctor retorted.
"Cake Man is a completely new type of disease. Although it is still a long way from being a tooth-shaped skull, the patient has not been discharged yet, so their attitude is still unknown."
"Yes, you saw it just now. They have been surrounding the patient. This time the patient is a rare type II. I have a feeling that the cake man's evaluation is definitely not low."
Another doctor agreed, and with difficulty he turned his eyes away from the display cabinet, turned around and patted Dr. Zhang on the shoulder.
"Xiao Zhang, maybe you will be promoted this time, and then you can be responsible for the patients alone."
"This is all thanks to Dr. Li!" Dr. Zhang smiled and touched his nose. "If it weren't for Dr. Li, such a perfect work wouldn't have been created. I guess the dentate skull must have a special meaning to Dr. Li."
"Hey? Come to think of it, Lao Li is very silent today."
When Li Feng was mentioned, several doctors turned their attention to Cecia, who was following behind.
"Old Li, the cake man and the toothed skull are both your masterpieces, so why don't you give some pointers to the newbies?"
During their discussion, Cecilia listened attentively, but to her, those terms were too unfamiliar, as if a bunch of incomprehensible things were forced into her head.
Being called out unexpectedly, she was stunned for a moment, then put on an arrogant attitude of looking down on others.
“It’s all talent.”
She deliberately dragged out the last syllable, and a deep voice came out of her mouth: "No matter how hard a person without talent works, he can never stand shoulder to shoulder with a genius."
These words were extremely straightforward, leaving no face for others. However, due to Li Feng's status, other doctors could only follow suit and compliment him.
Although they had long been accustomed to Li Feng's expression, they no longer had the interest to continue the discussion. They simply locked the iron door again and pushed the mobile bed out.
"...Do you know where "that person" is now?"
After entering the elevator, Cecilia pretended to chat and asked other doctors.
"Old Li, you don't know about this, do you? This has spread everywhere!"
The spectacled doctor looked at her in surprise.
Before she could answer, the doctor next to her asked, "Have you forgotten that Lao Li was not feeling well this morning?"
"He took half a day off today, so it's normal that he doesn't know. Xiao Zhang, tell Lao Li what happened."
Hearing this, Dr. Zhang rubbed his hands and said, "This morning, Dr. Wang and I went to the treatment room together. On the way, we wanted to check on 'that person', but a stranger suddenly appeared in the activity room on the first floor."
"That person was wearing outer clothes, and no one knew how she got in. The doctors who were traveling with her went to catch her, but she disappeared in the blink of an eye, as if she had the ability to walk through walls."
"Dr. Wang and I checked the surveillance footage, but we didn't see that person in the footage. It was as if he appeared out of nowhere and disappeared out of nowhere."
"It was because of this farce that the hospital focused all its energy on arresting outsiders, thus relaxing its supervision of that person..."
"You know, that person didn't want to stay in the hospital anymore, so -"
"So he committed suicide."
The spectacled doctor continued, sighing heavily and shaking his head in confusion.
"I don't understand either. He has no worries about food and clothing in the hospital. We give him whatever he wants. Why would he want to die for no reason?"
The writer committed suicide?
She was still a step late...
"Where is the body of that person?"
Cecia asked coldly.
"It has been disposed of. They take the body very seriously and do not allow us to spread the news of 'that's' death to the outside world."
bite--
During the conversation, the elevator reached the first floor. Outside was still a spacious and bright corridor, but Cecilia felt inexplicably depressed.
"Where did you commit suicide?"
“The free activity area on the first floor.”
"You guys go back first, I'll go to the first floor to take a look."
After that, she walked towards the activity area according to the route she remembered, ignoring the doctor's deliberate flattery behind her.
Stopping in front of the familiar iron gate, she pulled out her ID card and tapped it on the door.
The door slowly opened, and the cotton wool that was flying in the air in the morning now lay quietly on the ground, as if it had fallen into a deep sleep with its owner.
Cecilia observed the layout of the activity room and found it ironic and funny.
According to the doctor, the writer had everything he wanted and lived a life like an emperor, but this was clearly just a more sophisticated cage.
Although it is called the free activity area, one has to go through a heavy iron door to enter and exit. Although the internal space is ten times that of an ordinary ward, there is only one window in the entire room.
The only window is hung high up near the roof, making it impossible to see the outside world. One can only barely feel the sunlight shining in the early morning.
The "freedom" they talk about is false and self-deceptive freedom.
Without flying cotton wool to block her view, Cecia noticed the writing on the wall at once.
The writer filled the pure white wall with dense words. Most of the words were in black, except for one sentence written in scarlet, which was extremely eye-catching among the black words.
"The pen tip will cut my back, and the ink will penetrate my lungs until my heart is eaten away by them..."
She stroked the wall with her fingertips and read the words on it softly.
According to the copy background, the doctor is a normal person who tries to change the writer's ideas, and the writer is the only mentally ill person who can see "them".
But in the current copy, the doctor, on the contrary, highly respects "them" and even feeds patients medicine that can see "them". He also mentioned "them" after the patient in bed number three's condition worsened.
Apparently, this particular treatment has something to do with "them".
Perhaps if the patient's condition worsens, "they" will gain something from it?
Cecilia squatted down, pushed aside the thick layer of cotton wool on the ground, and pulled out a few handwritten manuscripts from it.
"August 9
Rain is flowing blood, mud is human flesh and blood. Hush - don't let them see you. "
"August 12
I created them, I awakened them, and I will kill them."
"August 15
Failed... failed again! How on earth can they disappear? I can't even lift the pen anymore..."
“…”
After a cursory reading of a few pages, she realized that it was not the manuscript she had imagined, but a writer's diary.
Most of the words recorded on it are incomprehensible, but it is obvious that the writer is hostile to "them".
In the scattered diaries, the writer tried to kill them many times, but failed every time.
The date on the last page of the diary is today.
"August 28
I will use my death to exchange for the life of mankind."
Even though she has obtained a lot of information now, she still lacks core information, so she cannot connect them together.
And the writer is the most crucial piece of the puzzle.
Cecia placed the diary neatly on the desk, then took out the hand bell from the system backpack.
[Item name: Bell of the Dead]
[It is said that the octagonal house was originally inhabited by nobles, and the bell was used to summon servants to serve. Unfortunately, after being forcibly taken away from the octagonal house, the bell of the dead lost its ability to command the dead.]
[If you shake it in a place with heavy yin energy, you can summon the dead spirits that exist there - perhaps, you can communicate with them? ]
Shake your wrist and a crisp ringtone will sound.
This was the purpose of her trip.
If the ghost of the writer could be summoned, all problems would be solved.
Two quick sounds...two seconds apart...three slow shakes...
She tried various ways of ringing the bell, but the writer never appeared.
...Is it the wrong place?
Cecia stopped shaking, and the ringing stopped abruptly. The call was fruitless, so she prepared to look for other clues in the room.
Looking around, his sight finally stopped on the bookshelf in the corner.
She walked to the bookshelf, casually pulled out a book titled "Death Canyon", and was about to open it to check...
"Don't open it!"
The voice that suddenly sounded behind me was filled with a strong chill.
In an instant, a black and red axe appeared in Cecia's hand. She turned slightly, a hint of vigilance flashed in her eyes, and faced the translucent figure behind her.
The figure was blurry, and looked to be in his 30s or 40s, but his eyes revealed weakness and pain. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the dark circles under his eyes showed his fatigue.
"Don't touch the books here."
His voice was low and weak, like a falling leaf in autumn, which would be blown away by the wind with the slightest touch.
"Why?"
Cecia asked, but the other party did not directly answer her question.
"I don't know how you got here, nor why you woke me up, but I advise you to leave this place as soon as possible."
He said in a deep voice, as if he saw through Cecia's disguise.
"I came here for them. Perhaps you can tell me what they are?"
Cecia's tone revealed an unquestionable determination, which made the writer silent for a moment.
"...You say that because you haven't seen their horror yet."
His figure floated in the air, his face full of regret.
"If I had known it would turn out this way, I would have starved to death rather than published those books... I created them, and I had a hand in every sin they committed."
As he spoke, he slowly closed his eyes, as if he was avoiding something. When he opened his eyes again, he looked much older.
"I will tell you everything I know, and I hope you will give up and never come back here again."
Recalling his past experiences, his body trembled and he continued with difficulty: "At first, I was just an unknown third-rate writer. Almost no one read my works, and I could only barely make a living by writing books."
"Until one day, at the suggestion of my editor, I began to try the thriller and weird writing style."
"I never thought that this accidental attempt would open Pandora's box—"
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