C51 — Nightmare Ward

“Don’t make a sound.”

A young voice whispered in Zhuo Yu’s ear.

“If you want to get caught, go ahead and try—I won’t be able to save you.”

Zhuo Yu’s whole body stiffened. He suspected he might have suffered a concussion from the fall. His vision was unclear and dark, and his stomach churned while he sat on the ground gasping for a long while.

The man behind him, seeing that he wasn’t moving, grew a little anxious. “It’s too late to leave now. Come with me.”

Zhuo Yu wanted to get up, but his legs were completely useless. When his vision finally cleared, he realized he was sitting on a clean white tiled floor. The room was brightly lit, the lights glaring—nothing like the ruined state he had seen it in before.

A beautifully crafted grandfather clock stood in the corner, its hands pointing to exactly one o’clock in the afternoon.

Zhuo Yu thought to himself that he must have arrived at a disordered point in time. Just moments ago, it had been one in the morning. Now, he was likely seeing what St. Rebecca used to look like.

He picked up his fallen camera, clipped it back onto his collar, and reinserted the miniature earpiece into his ear—he wasn’t ready to lose contact just yet.

The man beside him watched curiously. “What are you doing? Your legs gave out?”

Clicking his tongue in exasperation, the man sighed helplessly before propping Zhuo Yu up and leading him toward the storage lockers.

Dazed, Zhuo Yu tilted his head and caught a glimpse of dazzling golden hair and a sharply defined profile. Like a child being handled by a strong adult, he was half-dragged, half-carried into a locker. The man squeezed in with him right after.

In the cramped space, Zhuo Yu finally regained some of his senses, only to realize he was in a rather awkward position.

The man had an arm wrapped around his waist, pinning him against the back of the locker. If he didn’t hold onto the man’s upper body, he’d end up sitting directly on his lap. Their bodies were pressed together, warmth radiating between them as their skin touched. Zhuo Yu could even hear the man’s heartbeat.

“Shh. Stay quiet.”

The man covered his mouth with one hand, eyes sharply focused on the slatted vents of the locker door.

Zhuo Yu took the opportunity to study him.

Golden hair. Young. Tall—he had to crouch slightly to fit inside the locker, likely close to 1.9 meters in height.

That face…

It looked like Asha.

Like a version of Asha who was unscathed, untouched by gigantism.

His golden hair fell smoothly around his face, framing a pair of enchanting lake-blue eyes tinged with a ring of green. Even without taking into account his straight nose and well-shaped lips, his striking brows and confident expression alone were enough to make him look like the perfect leading man in a movie.

Asha had red hair. But this man’s golden locks carried a more symbolic allure—Zhuo Yu thought he resembled the quintessential American sweetheart.

Yet, compared to the otherworldly perfection of Number One—the kind of beauty that could steal a person’s soul at a glance—this young man had a more approachable, boy-next-door quality.

The creak of a door interrupted Zhuo Yu’s thoughts. The two of them turned their attention to the gap in the locker door.

Two nurses pushed in a surgical bed, followed closely by a well-dressed doctor.

“There are too many patients. The operating rooms are full. We’ll do it here—it’s at least quiet,” the doctor said in a pleasant, scholarly voice. He wore framed glasses, but unlike modern doctors, he had no protective gown or gloves on.

A woman was soon escorted in by security, forcibly strapped to the surgical bed. The restraints held her in place, leaving her unable to move.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

She looked no older than eighteen or nineteen, but exhaustion was written all over her face. Her hair was dry and brittle, her body frail and emaciated, except for her unnaturally swollen abdomen.

She was a pregnant woman.

“I can give birth on my own, I don’t need you! I’m not even at full term yet!” The girl’s eyes bulged as she struggled with all her strength, her wrists rubbed raw and bleeding.

She knew what happened to the people who were pushed onto the operating table—she had never seen them again! They were all dead!

“Too noisy. You must remain quiet during surgery.”

The doctor glanced at her indifferently, golden strands of hair falling over his brows before he tucked them behind his ear.

Zhuo Yu suddenly noticed that this man bore a striking resemblance to the young man standing beside him. The same blond hair, the same blue eyes, even the shape of their eyes was identical. Apart from looking a few years older, they were almost identical.

But their temperaments were completely different.

The doctor outside gave Zhuo Yu the distinct impression of a well-dressed beast in human clothing.

“Director, I’ll make her quiet,” the nurse sneered, pulling out a gag and shoving it roughly into the woman’s mouth. Unable to speak, she could only whimper in pain, blood trickling from the corners of her lips.

The director tacitly allowed the nurse’s actions.

“Mary Hedda. Admitted last March. Now, just one month away from giving birth. You really have a great husband.”

Mary just wanted to curse. A great husband, my ass! That man had cheated on her with prostitutes, and when she, already pregnant, caught him in the act, he didn’t even bother making excuses. He simply sent her to Saint Rebecca.

He was scum!

The doctor, addressed as the director, casually pulled out a scalpel. “You’re lucky. Because of your child, you won’t have to undergo the ice pick therapy.”

Tears streamed from Mary’s bloodshot eyes.

Hiding inside a storage cabinet, Zhuo Yu was stunned. Mary Hedda—wasn’t she the ghost who had made a request through the Ouija board?

“A nine-month-old fetus… I haven’t seen one before.” The man’s voice was cold, tinged with a hint of curiosity. “There’s no method to save a premature baby yet. It all depends on luck. I wonder if your child will survive.”

Mary shook her head desperately, struggling even harder, but as a severely malnourished pregnant woman, she had no chance of breaking free from the devil’s grasp.

“Well then, let’s begin the operation.”

An old-fashioned video recorder was set up by the bedside, manned by the nurse. The director wiped the scalpel clean, then lifted Mary’s hospital gown, exposing her swollen belly.

No anesthesia, no sterile equipment—he simply, calmly, and meticulously made his incision, sinking the blade into the woman’s skin.

Mary’s muffled cries turned into distorted wails.

Zhuo Yu frowned at the scene before him. Though he had performed dissections before, never had he done such a thing to a living person—let alone a pregnant woman.

The young man beside him had already begun trembling. Zhuo Yu looked up at him and saw that his fists were clenched so tightly with rage that he was ready to rush out and beat the director to a pulp. But reason held him back, forcing him to endure and witness the cruelty before him.

If he acted rashly, the security guards would catch him. In a place like Saint Rebecca, where people were devoured without a trace, he would be trapped forever.

But if he endured, he would still have a chance to escape—perhaps even to save more people.

After a fierce internal struggle, he suppressed his impulse.

The director’s hands were steady. Within half a minute, he had cut through layers of flesh and tissue, revealing a fully-formed infant still squirming inside. Without hesitation, he wrenched the child from its mother’s womb and severed the umbilical cord.

The newborn’s blood-covered face immediately turned a purplish-blue.

Mary was still somewhat conscious. Her face was drenched, a mixture of sweat from pain and tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. She stared in despair at her now-empty abdominal cavity and at the child who was slowly slipping away into death. Blood dripped down the legs of the bed, pooling into a dark red puddle.

The infant ultimately didn’t survive.

The interest in the director’s eyes vanished. Bored, he pulled out a glass jar filled with preservative liquid, submerging the dead baby inside before washing the blood off his hands in the sink.

“What a shame, it died. I really would have liked to study the developmental differences between a premature infant and a full-term baby.”

The nurses, unfazed, placed the formalin jar at the back of the specimen shelf and stopped recording.

“Director, what should we do with the body?”

The blond man cast a glance at Mary’s lifeless form. “Toss it into the incinerator. Bury the ashes behind the hospital.”

“Understood, Director.”

The nurses skillfully wheeled the corpse away, leaving one person behind to clean the bloodstained floor. The director scanned the specimen room with satisfaction before exiting.

After the last nurse finished scrubbing the tiles, they too left.

Zhuo Yu finally let out a breath of relief.

He had spent the entire ordeal frowning, the stench of blood overwhelming his senses. It was rare for him to feel such strong disgust toward someone—but that director had successfully earned his loathing.

“Bastard…”

The young man beside him suddenly kicked the cabinet door open in frustration. Whether out of guilt or sheer disbelief, he paced around the room in agitation.

Zhuo Yu, still stuck in the storage cabinet due to his injuries, sighed helplessly. “Hey, shouldn’t you at least tell me your name?”

The young man finally turned to look at him and exhaled deeply.

“I’m Arthur Cornell.” He brushed back his sweat-dampened blond hair, revealing a pair of striking blue eyes. “As you can see, I look just like that bastard. He’s my brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah.” Arthur gritted his teeth. “I didn’t think he’d actually go this far. If I can escape, I’m going to report him—to my father and to the President himself.”

Wait. Zhuo Yu was surprised. He had suspected Arthur was another persona of Number One, but hearing him casually mention the President made the whole thing feel surreal.

“You can meet the President?”

Arthur cleared his throat, a hint of pride flashing in his bright blue eyes. “Of course. I’m the heir of the Cornell family. The President wouldn’t have made it to office without our support.”

Zhuo Yu vaguely remembered hearing about how financial dynasties dominated the U.S. in the last century. The Cornells were probably one of those powerful conglomerates.

“Oh? So, young master, how exactly did you end up in Saint Rebecca? Isn’t this place a psychiatric hospital?”

The moment Zhuo Yu asked, Arthur’s expression darkened. He suddenly looked like a betrayed puppy, drooping in dejection. “It’s all because of my brother. He insisted I had a mental illness—God knows I only have an issue with sleepwalking! He convinced my father to bring me here for treatment. My father trusts him completely, so…”

“So, your brother screwed you over?”

“Yeah. He’s always despised me. Just a week after I was officially named the heir, he had me locked up in this place. My father even said I need to ‘cure my illness’ before inheriting the family business. Who knows what kind of poison Brant’s been feeding him.”

“Oh, right. Brant is that bastard.”

Arthur was so furious he started pacing again. “When I get out, I’m going to expose him, even if he is my own brother.”

Zhuo Yu thought to himself, ‘Naive rich kid, you’ve really been sheltered too well. You think you can just leave?’

More likely, he’d be driven insane in here, then die in some “medical accident.” Afterward, his brother would shed crocodile tears while pleading for forgiveness before their father, wiping his hands clean of the whole affair. He’d probably just blame it on an incompetent doctor or claim Arthur had taken his own life due to his supposed illness.

“So, is this Saint Rebecca part of your family’s business?” Zhuo Yu asked.

Arthur shook his head. “No, but my brother has always been obsessed with medicine. Now he’s the new director here. Saint Rebecca is a public hospital—it’s been around for decades.”

“I’ve heard rumors about this place before, but I never expected it to be this dark.”

Arthur glanced around before his gaze settled on Zhuo Yu, who was still sitting in place. Curiously, he asked, “Why are you just sitting there?”

“Well, unfortunately, I was also kid-napped and dumped here,” Zhuo Yu shrugged. “Oh, and I’m disabled. I can’t walk.”

Arthur’s expression softened with a hint of sympathy.

Zhuo Yu didn’t find it offensive. He didn’t mind Arthur’s reaction because the guy was genuinely feeling bad for him. Naive rich heirs like Arthur were probably a dying breed.

Arthur stepped forward and helped Zhuo Yu up. “We should get out of here before someone finds us. Don’t worry, I’ll help you escape too.”

Zhuo Yu was stunned by the sincere, fiery determination in Arthur’s gaze. He couldn’t help but chuckle, reaching out to ruffle Arthur’s hair.

He was like a little puppy wagging its tail.

Though this little puppy’s face was a bit pale—probably still shaken by his deranged brother. Arthur had never witnessed a live dissection before. Watching two lives disappear right in front of him had clearly shaken him.

“I think it’s hitting me now—I want to throw up,” Arthur suddenly muttered.

“Please don’t,” Zhuo Yu hissed. “Just don’t do it on me.”

But after waiting a few moments, Arthur didn’t respond.

Zhuo Yu looked up and saw Arthur frozen in place, standing like a lifeless puppet. He was stiff, unmoving—not even blinking.

“Hey, Arthur?” Zhuo Yu waved a hand in front of his face.

No response.

Then, after a long pause, Arthur finally moved.

His once-warm gaze had turned frigid, sweeping over Zhuo Yu like he was a complete stranger.

Zhuo Yu frowned in confusion, but before he could react, Arthur’s fingers wrapped around his throat in a death grip, slamming him against the storage cabinet.

Arthur’s strength was terrifying. Zhuo Yu couldn’t utter a single word, his breath squeezed out of him. That was when he noticed the old, deep restraint marks on Arthur’s wrists—scars that had clearly been there for a long time.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, as if unsure how he had ended up in the specimen room. He seemed to have no recollection of Zhuo Yu, regarding him like a stranger. His grip tightened further, eyes cold as if he were watching the life drain away with detached curiosity.

Zhuo Yu cursed internally. Shit, Arthur wasn’t just pretending to be mentally ill—he actually was!

He had dissociative identity disorder!

Realizing he was seconds away from being strangled to death, Zhuo Yu hurriedly crushed a teleportation device from his grid space.

In an instant, he vanished from Arthur’s grasp, reappearing outside the specimen room and collapsing onto the cold corridor floor.

Earlier, before being forced into the specimen room, he had managed to toss a teleportation device outside. That split-second decision had just saved his life.

Patients wandered past him, glancing at the newcomer sprawled on the floor. They seemed indifferent, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. After a brief moment of curiosity, they simply continued on their way.

Meanwhile, the specimen room door had swung open.

Arthur stood there, now holding a scalpel—God knew where he got it.

And he was staring straight at Zhuo Yu.

Target locked.

Zhuo Yu felt the pressure immediately.

Screw staying hidden.

Summoning Dragon’s Wings, he scaled the ceiling at lightning speed, darting like a black shadow into the farthest corner while all eyes remained locked on the specimen room.

Arthur shoved past the patients roughly, sending them stumbling. Some of the more lucid ones screamed in terror.

“Nurse! Nurse! That lunatic’s out again! Somebody stop him!!”

The corridor erupted into chaos. The security guards stormed in, wielding batons and firearms, all rushing toward Arthur.

Zhuo Yu heard the rising commotion behind him but didn’t stop. Ducking into a stairwell, he grabbed a patient, swiftly yanked off their hospital gown—leaving them in nothing but their underwear—then pulled it over himself. He tousled his hair into a disheveled mess, making himself look as wild as the other patients. Snatching a wheelchair from another patient, he slumped into it, blending seamlessly into the crowd.

Meanwhile, the guards had already subdued Arthur with a tranquilizer shot. Zhuo Yu caught a glimpse of the tall young man collapsing before being pinned down by four or five burly men, handcuffed like a dangerous beast.

“How the hell did he get out again? He’s way too dangerous.”

The comment came from a rugged-looking man beside Zhuo Yu—broad-shouldered, with an old scar across his face but a surprisingly kind expression.

The man turned to Zhuo Yu, scrutinizing him. “An Asian? Haven’t seen you before. You new?”

Finally, someone he could talk to. Zhuo Yu quickly nodded. “Yeah, just got here.”

“Poor bastard,” the man sighed. “But not as unlucky as me.”

“Why’s that?” Zhuo Yu asked.

The man let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I just got discharged from the front lines. Gu-nfire messes me up now—PTSD, you know? I trusted the government hospitals and ignored all the bad rumors. So, I checked in for treatment.” He grinned bitterly. “Guess I walked into a damn trap myself.”

A retired soldier.

“I’m Rex. You?” The man extended a hand.

“Zhuo Yu.” He shook it.

Rex attempted to pronounce the name, struggling before giving up and just calling him “Yu.”

Arthur was already being dragged away. His golden head hung low, his body limp, like a broken puppet.

Zhuo Yu frowned. “What’s his deal?”

Rex clicked his tongue. “Some rich kid from a big-shot family. Tried to kill his own brother, so they locked him up here. He’s actually crazy—just snaps and turns into someone else. Then he goes berserk.”

“That bad?”

“Oh yeah. First week here, he killed two nurses, a surgeon, and three guards. They tried to lobotomize him, but the bastard tore through the restraints. Just snapped them like twigs.”

Zhuo Yu shuddered. “Why not just kill him?”

“They tried,” Rex muttered darkly. “Few days later, they straight-up shot him. Didn’t kill him. Just pissed him off. Eight guards died that night.”

Even as a soldier, Rex’s voice carried a rare trace of fear. “Now they just keep him locked up in the top ward. As long as no one provokes him, he just sits there like a doll.”

He glanced at Arthur’s retreating figure and sighed enviously. “Here in Saint Rebecca, the happiest people are the ones who are truly insane.”

A bell rang. The nurses all hurried downstairs.

“Alright! Free activity time is over, everyone get back to your rooms!”

The burly head nurse arrived, banging loudly on a gong. “Back to your rooms!”

The numb patients had no choice but to disperse. Anyone who refused to return would be dragged away by security, only to come back later bruised and battered.

Rex, having learned his lesson before, turned to Zhuo Yu before leaving. “I’m in Room 4011. I wonder if you’ll end up as my new neighbor.”

Zhuo Yu nodded. He was just about to slip away in the chaos when the sharp-eyed head nurse spotted him.

“You! The one with black hair! Stop right there!”

Zhuo Yu’s hand on the wheelchair froze.

The head nurse marched over, looking him up and down with disgust. “Where did this Asian come from? A new patient? Are you registered?”

Zhuo Yu could only pretend to be confused, staring at her blankly.

“Ugh, forget it. Too many new admissions recently, we probably missed you. No wonder you look unfamiliar. Follow me.”

The head nurse walked toward the front desk. Zhuo Yu, seeing an opportunity, went along with it.

“What’s going on? Why wasn’t this new one reported to me?”

The overwhelmed receptionist looked up, flustered. “Forgot, maybe? Over five hundred new patients came in. Missing a few is normal.”

“What’s your name?”

Zhuo Yu continued playing dumb.

The head nurse’s face twisted in even more disgust. “Oh, great, a real idiot.”

The receptionist casually wrote down a random name.

“Alright, registration’s done. Let’s see if we have an open room.” She flipped through the records. “Ugh, we’re completely full. Not a single bed left, even the dormitory floors are packed.”

The head nurse sneered. “Isn’t that lunatic’s room empty?”

The receptionist hesitated. “That’s… not a good idea. He’ll get killed.”

“It’s just an Asian idiot. What are you scared of? Put him in there.”

Left with no choice, the receptionist recorded it and signaled for a nurse to take Zhuo Yu to Room 5001.

For a government-run institution, this hospital was surprisingly well-equipped, even having an old-fashioned elevator. The nurse pulled open the metal gate and shoved Zhuo Yu inside, handling him like a piece of burning coal. She swiftly brought him to the fifth floor, expertly unlocked Room 5001, and without hesitation, kicked his wheelchair inside.

Bang!

The heavy door slammed shut behind him.

Zhuo Yu looked up—well, well. He and Arthur were reunited once again.

Arthur sat motionless, his icy gaze fixed on him. His entire body was bound in restraints, his ankles chained with heavy iron weights. The hospital was clearly terrified of him.

“Fancy seeing you again,” Zhuo Yu greeted, waving a hand.

Arthur didn’t respond. Those striking blue eyes of his were devoid of any emotion, a stark contrast to the person he had been in the specimen room.

If the Arthur from before was like a foolish little puppy, then the Arthur in front of him now was a bloodthirsty wolf.

Zhuo Yu had no doubt—if Arthur were freed, he would resume hunting him down.

“What did I even do to piss you off?”

There were no surveillance cameras in this era, which gave Zhuo Yu the confidence to extend his dragon wings again. Feeling emboldened, he casually walked up to Arthur, boldly reaching out to touch his handsome face.

“Schizophrenia?”

“Dissociative identity disorder?”

Zhuo Yu grinned at him. “No matter how dangerous you are, right now, you’re still at my mercy.”

Arthur tilted his head slightly, his gaze finally wavering. He seemed fascinated by Zhuo Yu’s wings, an emotion flickering deep within his otherwise lifeless eyes.

“You like my wings?” Zhuo Yu lifted a talon, bringing it close to Arthur’s face.

A wet sensation followed—Arthur had licked it.

Completely immobilized, the only way he could confirm the reality of Zhuo Yu’s wings was with his tongue.

Zhuo Yu abruptly retracted his wings, hiding them behind his back, his face flushing red.

What the hell…

Were dragon wings actually a sensitive spot?

He shot Arthur a glare, half-annoyed, half-flustered. How could this guy just go ahead and lick it?

Arthur, watching the faint blush spread across Zhuo Yu’s face, only grew more intrigued. For the first time, the blank puppet-like eyes showed a trace of expression. He stared at Zhuo Yu with the intense curiosity of a child who had just discovered a fascinating new toy.

“What are you looking at? You like them?” Zhuo Yu found Arthur’s reaction amusing. The more he watched this confused golden-haired wolf, the less he felt the urgency to escape this distorted timeline. Instead, he was more tempted to tease him.

“Too bad, even if you like them, you can’t touch them. You’re all tied u—”

Before he could finish speaking, the leather straps binding Arthur snapped apart in unison.

Zhuo Yu froze.

In Arthur’s hand—who knows where he had hidden it—was a scalpel.

Arthur had broken free. Again.

 

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TN:

I like Arthur, he seems cute 🥺