Click.
The door locked automatically.
Chen Mo's heart lurched.
He turned and tugged at the handle, but the icy metal did not budge.
He was locked in.
The reception area was deserted.
The pungent smell of disinfectant flooded his senses.
He slipped a hand into his pocket and felt for the black clay token Red Hare had given him.
Thankfully, it was still there.
He took a deep breath where he stood.
Then he began surveying his surroundings.
To his left stood a row of empty waiting chairs.
Ahead to his right was the deserted reception area.
A faint ticking sound drifted from the consultation room next door.
Chen Mo stopped at the waiting room entrance.
He forced himself to breathe deeply.
He knocked gently on the door and spoke tentatively.
"Doctor, are you there?"
"Come in."
Hearing the voice from inside,
Chen Mo hesitated no longer and slowly pushed open the consultation room door.
A desk. A chair.
A man in a white coat faced him.
His head was lowered as he sorted through some documents.
The man was tall and thin, and looked quite young, around twenty-seven or twenty-eight.
He had refined features and wore gold-rimmed glasses.
His white coat was spotless, lying perfectly smooth without a single crease.
"Hello. Please sit down."
The man gestured toward the desk in front of him, a gentle smile on his face.
"My surname is Wen. You can call me Dr. Wen."
"What's troubling you?"
Chen Mo pulled out the chair and sat down, his mind racing.
Since he had come to a hospital,
he had to play the role of a patient properly.
That was basic common sense.
"I... have a bit of a headache."
Chen Mo held his forehead, pretending to feel weak.
It was one of the most common symptoms, and one of the hardest to disprove.
The man did not respond. He simply continued watching him gently.
An invisible pressure began spreading.
Cold sweat poured down Chen Mo's skin.
Had he seen through me?
"Is that so? Let me examine you."
After a long pause, Dr. Wen finally spoke.
He picked up the stethoscope from his desk and stood.
He walked around the desk and stopped in front of Chen Mo.
The cold stethoscope pressed against Chen Mo's chest.
Chen Mo's heart pounded rapidly.
Even without a stethoscope,
Chen Mo could hear his own heartbeat.
An icy presence slowly seeped into Chen Mo's body through his chest.
"Why did you lie?"
Doctor Wen's tone remained even.
He raised his head. The smile had vanished from his refined face.
"Why did you lie to your doctor?"
Chen Mo tried to stand, but his body felt as though it had been filled with lead.
He could not move.
That icy presence rampaged through his body.
His strength was rapidly drained away.
The scene before him began to warp and blur.
He saw the doctor's face draw close to his own. Behind those gold-rimmed glasses, the eyes held undisguised disgust and coldness.
"Dishonest patients have no need for treatment."
Those were the last words he heard.
Outside the clinic.
Red Hare was anxiously pawing at the ground with his hoof.
He kicked the pebbles at his feet back and forth.
Crack.
The sound of something shattering rang out in his mind.
"Fuck!"
The donkey bristled instantly, lifting his left leg and kicking the nearby trash can hard.
"You wasteful little shit!"
"I spent half a month kneading that clay!"
How long had he even been inside? Barely ten minutes!
And the kid had already lost a life?
"Fuck. Can't count on him for anything."
Red Hare sat down on the steps outside the clinic, grumbling curses.
He folded his forelegs across his chest, his donkey face filled with anguish at the loss.
He glanced back at the clinic doors.
The kid had no substitute token left.
Next time, he'd die for real.
His shattered vision pieced itself together again.
When Chen Mo regained consciousness, he was back outside the consultation room.
He abruptly lowered the hand he had been about to knock with.
He backed away several steps.
Leaning against the cold corridor wall, he gasped for breath.
He reached into his pocket.
His fingertips touched the token, now broken into pieces.
One life gone.
Next time, death would be real.
Chen Mo leaned against the wall and forced himself to calm down, reviewing everything that had led to his death.
He had uncovered the first rule.
He probably had to play the role of a patient.
The second rule was equally clear.
He could not lie to the doctor.
"Dishonest patients have no need for treatment."
That sentence was the heart of the rule.
He took several deep breaths.
Chen Mo approached the door, raised his hand, and knocked again.
"Come in."
The same words. The same scene.
"Hello. Please sit down."
"My surname is Wen. You can call me Dr. Wen."
"What's troubling you?"
The familiar question.
Chen Mo interlaced his fingers on the desk, leaned forward slightly, and looked straight into the doctor's eyes.
"I can't sleep."
He was telling the truth.
Since the apocalypse, he had hardly enjoyed a single peaceful night's sleep.
"Oh? Tell me more."
Doctor Wen continued to smile.
He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses with his slender fingers.
A hint of seriousness entered his eyes.
Chen Mo began speaking slowly.
He started recounting what he had actually experienced.
"I have nightmares every night. I dream of all kinds of monsters chasing me and tearing me apart."
"Sometimes, even when I don't dream, I sleep so lightly that the slightest sound wakes me."
"I'm exhausted during the day, but I'm afraid to let my guard down."
"I always feel like someone around me wants to hurt me, steal my things, or... kill me."
"I'm frightened and anxious, but sometimes I just feel numb."
"When I see someone die right in front of me, I don't feel anything at all."
A tremor crept into Chen Mo's voice. All of this was a true reflection of how he had been living lately.
Chen Mo paused, then finally asked:
"Doctor, am I ill?"
Both fell silent, and the ticking in the waiting room became clear again.
Chen Mo's heart was in his throat.
He did not know whether his judgment was correct.
He was gambling on this eerie being recognizing mental illness as an illness too.
At last, Doctor Wen spoke.
A trace of sympathy appeared on his gentle face.
"Based on your description, my preliminary diagnosis is-Doomsday Syndrome."
Doctor Wen's tone was calm, as though he were soothing Chen Mo.
"It's a stress disorder brought on by drastic changes in your surroundings."
As he spoke, the man picked up a pen and began scribbling on the medical chart.
When he finished, he tore the sheet from the pad and handed it to Chen Mo.
"Your condition is rather serious."
"You'll need a minor operation."
"Turn right when you leave, then go to the end of the corridor and up to the second floor."
"Wait in Ward 204. I'll be up shortly."
Chen Mo took the prescription sheet.
A single line was written on it in neat handwriting: Preoperative preparation for Cerebral Nerve Ablation.
Surgery?
Filled with apprehension, Chen Mo turned and left the room, heading into the corridor.
In the corridor, Chen Mo's gaze caught a noticeboard mounted on the wall.
[Decision Regarding the Disciplinary Reassignment of Surgeon Wen Li]
A one-inch black-and-white photograph was posted on the wall. It showed the young doctor.
Below it was a block of text detailing Dr. Wen Li's career.
He had once been a key medical specialist at a provincial Grade III Class A hospital. Young and accomplished, he had been hailed as a rising star in medicine.
"A medical dispute involving him has severely damaged this hospital's public reputation."
Under hospital regulations, Dr. Wen Li is hereby removed from his position and reassigned to the Apricot Blossom Town Clinic.
He will remain employed on probation.
Before you continue