Hospital

The Biggs Apartment was utterly silent at three in the morning.

Night seeped in through gaps in the glass windows, staining the lamplight and enveloping Sean. A feeling of profound absurdity welled up in his chest. He stared at the solidified milk on the floor, his gaze filled with disbelief, his own heart pounding like a drum in his ears.

He swallowed and reached out, attempting to touch the milk.

It was still warm, but it no longer had the smooth, viscous texture of milk. Instead, it felt hard, almost like steel.

And sharp.

Sean ran his finger along the edge of the milk block. With a slight press, he felt a sharp sting.

The skin on his fingertip had been cut, and crimson blood dripped into the solidified milk. It slowly dissolved, like a vibrant red flower blooming on pure white coffee.

Sean's throat felt dry. Suddenly, he felt like he was sick too.

The same condition as Chris.

Milk could really harden??

Chris was a real wizard, the kind who knew magic. Was everything he wrote in his novels also true?

The laptop screen was still lit. As Sean looked up at the draft text on the white background with black characters, the letters seemed to come alive. They spun and leaped from the screen, each stroke separating and then reforming, vaguely piecing together the gray face of a young girl. Her lips were slightly parted, as if questioning him, asking why he had forgotten her.

Sean violently shook his head. The illusion in front of him vanished, and the text settled back onto the screen.

The blood-stained milk had returned to its liquid state, spreading across the floor.

In the corner of the sofa lay a fiery red feather.

It seemed to have been dropped by that crow earlier.

More precisely, in his books, crows with flame-like feathers were called "Flame Crows."

"Am I going crazy, or is the world going crazy..."

Sean looked blankly at the window, where a hole, like one made by a giant bullet, was covered in cracks.

For a moment, he felt as though not just the glass, but his entire worldview had shattered.

Sean felt lost.

As a fantasy writer who often had similar dreams, he should have been more accepting of all this than the average person. But—if everything Chris said was true, if all the stories in his dreams were real and had actually happened to him, then what was his current life?

Or perhaps, these were events from a past life. Was he a wizard in his previous life?

Sean couldn't quite tell.

He didn't know if he should believe it—or rather, if he should realize that he had once been a wizard.

The second hand of the wall clock ticked relentlessly.

The crow that had broken into his home earlier did not reappear. Sean stared at the fiery feather in his palm for a long, long time. He sat on the sofa until dawn, finally seeming to make a decision. He clenched his fist, shut the laptop, and got up to change in his bedroom.

The oversized slippers crunched on the glass-strewn floor.

He was going to find Chris.

To get to the bottom of things.

The autumn weather in Holkodo was never pleasant.

It was a sunless morning. Gloomy clouds obscured almost the entire sky, like large clumps of waterlogged cotton, dripping incessantly.

It was raining.

The cold wind slanted the rain curtain, drilling into people's sleeves and collars. Commuters hunched their necks, quickening their pace.

Their leather shoes splashed through the puddles, shattering mirrors. As they hurried away, the puddles mended themselves, reflecting Floris Hospital, which had no customers.

Sean stood outside the iron gate, holding a black umbrella.

The security guard at the entrance asked, "Family?"

"Friend," Sean replied.

"Do you have a relationship certificate issued by us?"

"No, but you can ask him... if he's awake."

"You should know that patients here have very low credibility," the guard reminded him. The answers of mental patients couldn't be used as valid evidence, but he still asked, "What's his name?"

"Chris Hendry."

"Please wait a moment, I'll check."

"Okay."

The guard picked up the phone and dialed inside the hospital.

Soon, a man in a white coat hurried over, holding an umbrella.

He glanced at Sean, then at the guard. Seeing the guard nod, he smiled, extended his hand through the gap in the iron gate, and shook Sean's hand. "Hello, sir. I'm Chris's attending physician, Quill," he introduced himself.

Sean smiled back. "Hello, Dr. Quill. I'm Sean, Chris's friend."

Quill wore a pair of small, round glasses, his coffee-colored hair neatly combed. His gentle demeanor gave people an excellent first impression. Smiling, he said, "The police officers who brought Chris back early this morning mentioned you. They said you'd visit him in a couple of days, so I didn't expect it to be so soon."

"I only found out this morning from my boss that I have something to do in a couple of days and need to go on a business trip, so I came ahead of schedule," Sean explained with a smile. "It's a good opportunity to check on his recovery."

"To be honest, it's not going well," Quill shook his head and added, "His current condition isn't really suitable for visitors. But if today is the only time you have recently, I can make an exception to arrange a meeting."

"Thank you for the trouble, Dr. Quill," Sean said.

"You're welcome."

Quill gestured for the security guard to open the door and led Sean into the hospital.

In front of the main building was a large garden with several pieces of exercise equipment and a shallow swimming pool. This was usually where patients spent their time outdoors, but it was raining today and too early, so no one was out. Raindrops fell on the water, creating ripples.

"The police said he ran out of the hospital yesterday to find you? How was it? Did he say anything strange to you?" Quill chatted with Sean as they walked.

Sean didn't answer. Quill continued on his own, "Even if you don't say, I can guess. I often talk to him too. He always talks about colorful crows, coffee-flavored potions, sometimes alchemy, sometimes dark magic. He even treats that pair of old stockings as a treasure, saying they can increase casting speed..."

Quill chuckled and shook his head as he spoke, "I've seen many patients with delusions, but your friend is the most severe."

"Is there any hope of recovery?" Sean asked.

"It's difficult," Quill replied. "His condition is quite complex. Besides delusions, he also has mania and a strong tendency towards aggression. Conventional treatments no longer work for him. After he woke up early this morning, it took us considerable effort to stabilize his emotions."

"It's good that he's stabilized," Sean replied, playing the part of an ordinary friend with conventional understanding.

"Emotional stability doesn't mean normal communication," Quill sighed. "But it's alright. Chris is my patient, and I know his physical condition best. You can ask me anything you want to know later."

Sean nodded. "Okay."

Floris Hospital had several buildings, but none of them had signs. Sean looked around and spotted several teams of uniformed security personnel patrolling in the rain. He thought that psychiatric hospitals were indeed as heavily guarded as depicted in movies.

"The conditions here seem good," he commented, as if inspecting the environment.

"Of course. Among all the hospitals in Holkodo, ours has the highest construction cost," Quill said cheerfully and talkatively. "This used to be a park. From a medical perspective, a beautiful environment is conducive to patient recovery. Our dean paid a considerable price to acquire it; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he invested a huge sum, almost emptying the hospital's coffers."

"These buildings, as well as the interior decoration and equipment, are all built to the highest standards. Even the patients' meals are delivered directly from a farm and prepared by specialized nutritionists. Sometimes, what they eat is even better than what we doctors eat."

Sean was surprised. "They're that generous?"

"Compassion for the sick," Quill chuckled heartily. "As long as it helps the patients, it's all worth it."

He led Sean around the main building towards the building in the farthest corner, casually explaining, "Your friend is over there. Patients like Chris, who are more difficult to treat, are managed collectively. It's more convenient this way."

Sean followed behind Quill. As soon as he stepped into the building, he felt a blast of cold air, as if the air conditioning was set too low, mixed with a strong smell of disinfectant. The interior of the building was much quieter than Sean had imagined, even desolate. Apart from the two orderly-looking staff members guarding the entrance, he didn't see anyone else.

"Are there no nurses here?" Sean asked.

"They haven't arrived yet. They officially start work at nine in the morning," Quill said, folding his umbrella. "But even when they're on duty, they usually don't come this way. You know, girls are generally timid, and they get scared."

Sean was confused. "Then who takes care of the patients?"

Quill seemed not to hear him. He took Sean's umbrella and his own, handing them to the front desk staff for safekeeping. He then instructed, "This gentleman is Chris's friend. I brought him in. Please make a call to the patient center later to process his paperwork and complete the necessary procedures."

"Okay," the orderly replied.

Quill led Sean towards the stairs. "Let's go, your friend is on the third floor."

The floor wasn't high, so they didn't need the elevator. Perhaps to accommodate patients with mobility issues, each step of the stairs was only about 12 centimeters high, and the treads were wide, over 30 centimeters, making them easy to walk on.

However, the higher they went, the colder Sean felt.

It wasn't just physically cold, but also visually and psychologically.

Upon reaching the third floor, the corridors on both sides were dark, like bottomless tunnels. Only when their footsteps approached did the lights overhead turn on, from near to far, emitting a cold, white light that illuminated the floor and walls, which were clean to the point of being unsettling.

The smell of disinfectant also became more pungent.

"Don't you think the temperature is too low?" Sean asked, frowning.

Something felt off.

It was already autumn, and it was raining today. There was no need to set the air conditioning so low.

"It is a bit cold," Quill nodded in agreement, then explained, "But some things must be kept at low temperatures to preserve them."

"And some smells must be masked with more disinfectant."

"We're here, Mr. Sean."

Quill's steps stopped in front of room number 307.

The white light shone on his face, making the lenses of his glasses appear pure white. He lowered his head slightly, a strange curve forming at the corner of his lips. He gently pushed open the dormitory door and called out, "Mr. Chris, your friend is here to see you."

Inside the room was a steel dissection table emitting a cold light, and a corpse covered with a white sheet lay quietly displayed on it.

This was the morgue.