Chapter 64: Dialectical Game (II) Death Records

The meticulous scientific descriptions recorded a rather fantastical diagnosis, yet it eerily connected with reality, aligning with common sense as one knows it.

Qi Si continued to browse the remaining paper records with great interest.

Dozens of pages in a row were laboratory test reports, with arrows pointing up and down following the test data, and various unfamiliar scientific terms written below.

In addition, there were several ultrasound images in shades of black, white, and gray, covered in various symbols drawn in scribbled handwriting. Qi Si feigned a look for two seconds before giving up on trying to understand them.

The test reports were arranged in chronological order, maintaining a frequency of a minor check every three days and a major check every seven days. The final date was 【January 1, 2038】.

This instance was undoubtedly generated with reality as its background, yet the time had been pushed forward by three years.

Qi Si was not surprised; after all, the Carnivore instance had already proven that reality and the game share some sort of connection, and the timeline could be inverted, stretched, or muddled.

Regarding the fact that the instance had incorporated his real information, he didn’t feel offended; instead, he found it quite interesting.

He had always maintained a perfect sense of detachment from the identity of ‘Qi Si’ constructed within human society, much like controlling a character from a third-person perspective in a 3D game.

Although he was used to the configuration of his starter account, if he were to restart with a smurf account—changing his name, appearance, or even gender—he wouldn’t feel any extra sentimentality beyond a bit of unfamiliarity in the first few days.

At this moment, he detached himself from the situation, analyzing it calmly from an onlooker’s perspective.

“From the existing clues, ‘Qi Si’ should have died from his illness three years ago, but was somehow kept by someone in some form, ‘living’ in a vegetative state.”

“Someone would actually burn money on me for three years? A fascinating setting. Could it be that before I died, I told someone I left a massive inheritance somewhere, but deliberately only told them half the story?”

“Or does the influence of the Eerie Game exist, or is it just an illogical custom setting of the instance?”

Qi Si picked up the last sheet of paper, skimming the text on it at a glance:

【Clone No. 9’s vital signs are normal. Data such as conditioned reflexes and EEG responses are consistent with the original. Dimensions such as intelligence level, thinking patterns, and behavioral choices are yet to be measured.】

【No soul fluctuations have been detected yet, but combined with relevant data, it cannot be immediately judged as a cultivation failure. A three-day observation period is recommended before deciding whether to destroy it.】

Qi Si put down the paper and looked down at his right cuff, where the number ‘9’ was written in red pen.

He turned his head to look back; the number ‘9’ on the surface of the giant glass tank behind him was vivid and piercing.

“So, I am not ‘Qi Si.’ I am just a clone numbered ‘9,’ and the meaning of my existence is to cultivate Qi Si’s soul?”

“This design… is truly full of malice.”

Qi Si chuckled softly, put the paper back in its place, and stepped onto the cold tiles with bare feet, standing up and walking toward the object on the right wall covered by black canvas.

He pulled back the canvas, revealing a row of jars and bottles beneath.

Giant glass tanks, one meter in diameter, were squeezed tightly together in a neat row. The numbered sides faced outward, with the digits ‘1’ through ‘8’ written in red pen in sequence.

These tanks were all empty, with more or less of the liquid missing. Presumably, something had been soaked inside before, and later those things were fished out and never put back in.

Combining this with the clues found earlier, Qi Si could be certain that these tanks originally contained ‘clones’ just like him—his eight predecessors who had been destroyed due to ‘cultivation failure.’

Suddenly, a ‘click’ of a key being inserted into a lock came from behind his ear, followed by the sound of a doorknob turning.

Qi Si reacted extremely quickly, flipping over to pounce onto the operating table and completing a seamless series of actions: turning off the light, lying flat, closing his eyes, and playing dead.

Screeeak—

The iron door of the room was pushed open, and the sound of disorganized footsteps entered in single file, surrounding the bed.

Because his eyes were closed, Qi Si found it difficult to estimate how many people had entered for a moment; he only knew there were definitely many, and he most likely couldn’t escape.

“It seems No. 9 woke up early.” A deep male voice came from by the door. “He consciously explored his surroundings and could choose the best option in an emergency; he is closer to the original than the previous ones.”

The’shasha’ sound of a pen tip rubbing against paper rang out; it seemed someone was taking notes.

Qi Si remembered that his body was covered in slime like nutrient solution, and he had left footprints when walking; it was only natural that he had been seen through.

He simply opened his eyes and sat up, greeting them with a smile: “Hello there, I wonder what time it is now?”

No one paid him any mind. After one person made eye contact with him, the corner of their eye twitched as if they had seen something hideous.

“Am I disfigured? Or… in the eyes of these people, am I some kind of strange existence?” Qi Si speculated, pursing his lips and remaining quiet to convey a cooperative attitude.

There were a total of nine doctors in white coats standing in the room. Judging by their burly physiques, they could pin Qi Si to the ground and pummel him with one hand; a direct confrontation was definitely the worst strategy.

Two young doctors quickly stepped forward, fished handcuffs out of their wide pockets, and cuffed Qi Si’s hands behind his back.

This set of movements was incredibly practiced, as if it had been performed many times. Given the plot, they must have practiced on his eight unlucky predecessors.

Qi Si remained motionless, letting these people transfer him to a wheelchair and secure him with restraint straps, while inconspicuously moving his gaze to scan every face.

Through the masks, he couldn’t see their specific features clearly, but he could still discern some information just by looking at their eyes.

For instance, their expressions were far too cold; they didn’t seem like doctors saving lives, but rather researchers tinkering with lab rats.

The white coats stepped forward one by one; some used lancets to draw blood, some used thermometers to check his temperature, and others measured his blood pressure and heart rate. The steps were numerous but orderly.

Data was reported one after another, and someone with a pen recorded it skillfully.

A wise man knows when to submit. Qi Si remained motionless, letting the white coats poke and prod him.

Only when they were almost done did he ask tentatively, “Gentlemen, could you tell me where this is?”

No one responded; not even a single person gave him an extra glance.

Qi Si felt slighted, once again sensing the immense malice of this instance.

His most proficient methods were built upon words, yet these people refused to communicate with him—it was simply unsportsmanlike… The white coats finally finished their work and pushed the wheelchair Qi Si was tied to out of the room.

Outside the room was a long, narrow corridor extending to both sides, with no end in sight. Doors to various departments were embedded in the walls like tombstones, leaving only faint cracks.

The light tubes overhead shed white light, and the metallic white walls reflected it, squeezing what should have been shadows into the crevices, projecting pale gray shades like fly wings.

This place felt more like a research institute than a hospital—the kind that conducted mad experiments. It wouldn’t even feel unreasonable if a zombie suddenly lunged out from a corner.

The white coats—or rather, the researchers—laid the wheelchair flat and fixed it. Only then did Qi Si realize that this wheelchair was actually a folding hospital bed; it just hadn’t been unfolded to accommodate the small size of the previous room.

The hospital bed was pushed forward rapidly, his body swaying with the bumps before being pulled back into place by the restraint straps.

Qi Si couldn’t move, so he could only stare at the ceiling from his supine position, counting the equipment embedded in it.

Square light, square light, vent, square light, round light… The bed stopped, and a researcher beside him reported in a smooth tone that favored good news over bad: “Director, No. 9’s emotions are stable, and he hasn’t shown any aggression for the time being. His speech and behavior are more human-like; I think we are not far from success.”

“But he still has no soul.” A young voice sighed. “Don’t let your guard down. I know him; he’s very good at feigning a harmless appearance only to deliver a fatal blow from behind.”

…I must say, you do indeed know me very well.

Qi Si felt the person’s voice sounded somewhat familiar. The conclusion was about to emerge, which instead made him suspect it was a trap.

He struggled, adjusting the angle of his neck, wanting to look toward the direction of the voice.

“There’s still a three-day observation period; we might not fail this time. All his data remains consistent with the original, if not for the lack of a soul…”

The young voice interrupted, “But as long as there is no soul, he is nothing.”

After struggling for a while, Qi Si finally managed to lift his head.

Upon seeing the appearance of the so-called ‘Director,’ he couldn’t help but burst into loud laughter.

He laughed until he was out of breath, then began to cough frantically.

After a long while, he coughed out a few words as if coughing up blood: “Long… time… no… see…”