Chapter 232: Frog Hospital (24) – A Sweet Home

Cheng Xiaoyu marched at the front, a candy bulging in his cheek, swaggering like a child pretending to be a grown-up—an endearingly clumsy sight.

Sun Dekuan trailed behind him, eyes glazed and vacant.

After days of watching Qi Si’s endless tricks, he’d given up trying to understand and resolved to lie flat like a salted fish.

Qi Si slipped into the kitchen on the way, topped up the Candy Jar with a few more tadpoles, then sauntered to the rear of the little procession.

A clearly inhuman child, a distracted fatty, and a harmless-looking young man—an odd trio however you looked at it.

The two humans and one ghost threaded through the corridor; the doors to operating theatres and wards stayed shut as ever, while the radio droned its tired slogans on loop.

From cracks in the walls came croaks, light then heavy, pressing in from every direction like hallucinations—impossible to trace or escape.

The farther they walked, the fainter the croaks and broadcasts became. A faint smell of blood lurked beneath the thick stench of decay, cloying and noisy to the senses.

Qi Si looked down: the once-grey floor was now veiled in a thin sheet of blood-tinged water, its pale pink eerily reminiscent of freshly flayed skin.

This was clearly a new path; if he had walked it before, he would remember.

The unchanging scene of the past three days had shifted today—perhaps because of the deal struck with Cheng Xiaoyu.

Still, for players desperate for fresh clues, danger notwithstanding, it wasn’t entirely bad news.

Cheng Xiaoyu kept up his steady, unhurried pace.

The bloody water splashed under his steps, rippling outward like a shallow lake dyed crimson.

Sun Dekuan and Qi Si followed one after another, feet cleaving through the viscous pool.

The deeper they went, the deeper their feet sank; the cold, sticky liquid licked at soles, insteps, then ankles.

“We’re here—ahead is the office.” Cheng Xiaoyu stopped abruptly and pointed to a dark, gaping door.

It was only slightly smaller than the door by the stairwell; from outside, not a sliver of light escaped, and what lay within was anyone’s guess.

A faint chill breathed out, curling around the napes of the two men outside.

“Thanks, Xiaoyu.” Qi Si flashed an obviously fake smile, fished two candies from his backpack and tossed them to Cheng Xiaoyu.

Cheng Xiaoyu caught them, unwrapped one without looking, and crunched it noisily.

In the hush, every chew and swallow was audible; together with those dark, lightless eyes, it felt distinctly eerie.

Qi Si stepped past Sun Dekuan to the front, studying the doorway.

The draught of his movement jolted Sun back to his senses. He glanced at the gloomy doorway, then at Cheng Xiaoyu beside him, his chubby face pale and shiny. “Do we really have to go in? It’s pitch-black—what if something kills us the moment we step through?”

He thought Qi Si would ignore him, but the young man turned, nodded solemnly and said, “You’re right. No lights in there—looks fishy, could be a trap.”

“Exactly!” Sun Dekuan agreed eagerly. “It’s dead silent—doesn’t feel like anyone lives here. Even creepier than the morgue…”

As he spoke, Qi Si moved to his side.

Despite his misgivings, Sun stuck his neck out: “Should we fetch Lu Zimo first? One more pair of eyes would help…”

“Let’s do it tomorrow.” Qi Si said lightly, resting a hand on Sun’s shoulder.

“No time like the present—” Crack! Sun felt the hand shove hard while a foot kicked his backside.

Off balance, he flailed helplessly and crashed headlong into the black doorway.

Qi Si waited outside until he heard muffled curses from within—Sun sounded lively enough; no ghost had pounced.

From the corner of his eye he glanced at Cheng Xiaoyu, who was still savouring his candy with no flicker of emotion.

“You’re ‘playing the Director’ right now—aren’t you coming in?” Qi Si asked with interest.

Cheng Xiaoyu shook his head. “Dad doesn’t like me going into his office. If he finds out, he won’t give me any more candy.”

Qi Si clearly remembered that yesterday, using the Contract, he had asked Cheng Xiaoyu for Entry Permits; the boy vanished for a moment and returned with four permits.

When asked, Cheng Xiaoyu cheerfully admitted he’d sneaked into the office and stolen a template.

The rule “the Director dislikes Cheng Xiaoyu entering the office” had likely been added after yesterday’s incident.

Seems the hospital… could adapt.

Qi Si looked down at Cheng Xiaoyu, smiling. “Since your father doesn’t like you entering, he surely wouldn’t want strangers barging in either. Why didn’t you tell Uncle earlier?”

Cheng Xiaoyu licked his lips, baring a row of white teeth. “Uncle didn’t ask—why should I tell?”

The little brat, candy finished, had decided not to cooperate.

Qi Si chuckled and said no more, stepping into the doorway.

A stale, decaying breath greeted him; for an instant it felt as though he were submerged in soft, formless matter—or squeezed through a slit in some unseen barrier into another world.

Darkness wrapped him, then colour returned as dim lights flickered overhead, revealing the room in detail.

It was a small, murky chamber. In the centre stood an enormous mahogany desk piled with files and clutter.

A towering bookcase blocked the window; books of every kind crammed the wooden shelves, most veiled in ash.

Qi Si scanned them—no titles or covers visible, only vague differences in colour.

On the wall beside the bookcase hung a yellowed photograph: a young couple in white coats holding a little boy, all three smiling sweetly at the camera.

Sun Dekuan swallowed his curses the instant Qi Si entered, putting on a look of resigned obedience.

Rubbing his lower back, he stood and followed Qi Si’s gaze.

After studying the photo together, Sun suddenly pointed. “Hey, isn’t that woman the Pregnant Ghost who leads the parade in the corridor at night?”

“That kid looks familiar—Cheng Xiaoyu, right? And the man… I swear I saw him on a poster. He’s the Director… Holy cow, this hospital’s a family business!”

Qi Si walked over and lifted the photo off the wall, turning it to the back.

On the yellowed surface, three names were written in neat handwriting—

【Cheng Ping, Xu Qing, Cheng Xiaoyu】

The picture was clear: Director Cheng Ping, the Pregnant Ghost Xu Qing, and Cheng Xiaoyu were a family of three. Most likely, Xu Qing had been a doctor here like her husband.

What no one knew was how Xu Qing had ended up a Ghost, or why, as a being of the Eerie, she now roamed the corridors every night.

And as the hospital’s true master, what stance did Cheng Ping take toward her condition?

The photo’s edge grew damp; thin threads of blood seeped from the paper, carrying a biting chill.

The gazes of the three in the photo turned venomous and resentful; their dark eyes glared out with spectral malice, as though staring across time at whoever stood outside the frame.

Qi Si hung the picture back, stepped away, and the chill finally ebbed.

He returned to the desk and casually flipped through the files on it.

Sun Dekuan hadn’t noticed the photo’s change; seeing Qi Si move, he hurried over to the pile of documents.

He was scared, but he knew clues meant points at best and, at worst, life or death when crisis hit.

The minimum-death quota was always in force; when a party-wipe loomed and survivors were chosen, luck wasn’t everything—exploration rate and clear probability mattered too.

After all, the instance had to pick a logical survival route from what players already knew and design the easiest NE ending; it wouldn’t hand you a detailed instruction manual—what face would the Eerie Game have left?

For instance, you at least need to know eating a Ginseng Fruit clears the instance; only then can the system place one in front of you. Otherwise it’s useless, and you can’t expect a step-by-step manual—how would the Eerie Game keep its dignity?

In short, you’d better grab your own clues. Opportunity knocks; even a coward will brace himself if he wants to live.

“Brother Cheng, so many files—how do we split them?” Sun Dekuan hovered behind Qi Si.

“Divide the labor: I’ll take the desk, you search everywhere else.” Qi Si glanced up. “I’m a college student; I read papers daily, so I’m faster at spotting key points.”

It sounded reasonable. After a two-second hesitation Sun Dekuan retreated to the corner and began a careful search.

Qi Si pulled open a drawer and stacked every scrap of writing on the desk.

For some reason most pages were blurred, as if pixelated into gray-black blotches that no amount of squinting could decipher.

Patiently he sorted them, keeping only the legible ones, instantly cutting his reading load by more than half.

The most eye-catching was a document stating that, because a county had too many births last year, it resolved to ensure zero births for the next three months to show its determination to reform.

Under the file lay a personal letter to Cheng Ping:

(404 not found)

The letter appealed to both emotion and reason; a surgery consent form on the next sheet showed Cheng Ping had made his choice.

Next was a ragged sheet of lined paper, scrawl almost illegible but still decipherable.

It was a diary page:

(404 not found)

Behind the diary was clipped a cold death certificate that spelled out the ending—

Xu Qing died of massive hemorrhage during surgery.

Cheng Ping wrote in the diary:

“I’ve lost everything—no wife, no child. What’s the point of being Director?”

“So you gave up your humanity and started running a ghost realm collecting corpses?” Qi Si clicked his tongue, set the papers down, and looked up at the photo on the wall.

According to the diary, Xu Qing died on the operating table and Cheng Xiaoyu was aborted before birth—so how had they met an apparently seven-year-old Cheng Xiaoyu outside, and where did this perfect family photo come from?

How could there be a neat family portrait at all?

“Hmph, don’t tell me it’s the old ‘grief-stricken husband conjures phantom loved ones in his dreams’ trope…” Qi Si muttered, eyes half-lidded.

Behind him Sun Dekuan suddenly yelped.

Qi Si turned to see a square hidden door in the wall now ajar, oozing blood like a drain.

Bright-red fluid gushed out, branching across the floor like a tree and pooling into a crimson lake within moments.

It looked like a passage.

Having found no tunnel at the pond bottom, Qi Si paid special attention to any opening now.

While Sun Dekuan backed toward the entrance, Qi Si walked straight to the hidden door and peered in.

Beyond the narrow hole lay a surprisingly roomy chamber lit by a single dim lamp that cast a yellow haze over dense white shapes.

An overpowering stench of rot filled his nostrils; the white shapes were human corpses, stacked so long they had reached this advanced stage of decay.

Blood flowed from beneath them, green pus and dark-red gore blending into a lurid glaze over the scene.

Thick, nauseating, baroque… it evoked a medieval oil painting, only the subject was some cult ritual.

“These corpses don’t respawn at six o’clock?” Qi Si thought wryly, edging back on tiptoe.

Just then the nearest corpses began to writhe, stretching half-rotten arms toward him.

Feigning calm, he stepped out of the blood, then spun and sprinted for the door the instant his foot hit dry ground.

Sun Dekuan had already bolted; Qi Si followed the bloody footprints he’d left, plunging back through the dark doorway they’d entered by.

The moment he crossed the threshold he lost control of his body, drifting as if walking underwater.

A slightly distorted voice came from nowhere: “The patient’s responding; continue with this treatment plan…”