Bai Haorui put his fingertips on the Zhiyang point on her back, closed his eyes, calmed his mind, and slowly ran "Three Altars Body-Refining True Fire Art". The already weak purple-gold True Gang in the Dantian was mobilized by him little by little, and rushed to the fingertips along the meridians of the arm. Gang Qi brings the unique warmth of True Fire, penetrates into Qiao's body through the acupuncture points, carefully wraps up the accumulated blood clots deep in the organs, slowly warms and dissolves them with the power of True Fire, and then guides the congestion to the surface of the body bit by bit along the meridians.
This is a delicate job and there is no room for error.
He already had some real energy deficiency, but now that he was forcing his energy to move, the dark energy in his meridians began to become chaotic, and a tearing pain came from the area on his back where Lucifer had burned him.
The originally scabbed wound opened up a small crack, and the warm blood slowly soaked into the clothes.
Bai Haorui didn't even frown, and Gang Qi on the fingertips was as stable as an ordinary CNC machine tool.
He had only been practicing for a quarter of an hour when cold sweat began to break out on his forehead and dripped down his jawline.
Qiao felt warm inside her body. The pain from the endless needle pricks was relieved a lot, and her whole body felt much more relaxed.
She turned around to say thank you, but when she saw Bai Haorui's pale face and the cold sweat on her forehead, her eyes suddenly turned red.
"Brother Haorui, please stop holding on..." Qiao's voice was filled with tears, "I'm fine, I just need to cultivate myself slowly..."
Bai Haorui stopped the exercise, retracted his hand, and his voice was a little hoarse than before. "You can get out of bed after two more treatments."
He didn't rest. He turned around and massaged the acupuncture points on Ellen's head, and injected the weak True Gang into it to dissolve the remaining congestion in his skull. After finishing all this, he walked to his room while holding on to the wall. As soon as he entered the door, his legs became weak, and he held on to the door frame before standing still.
Bobby leaned against the opposite wall with his arms folded, looking at him, angry and helpless. "You are so stubborn, what a bad virtue. You shoulder everything on yourself, do you really think you are invincible?"
Bai Haorui leaned against the door frame, took a breath and did not refute.
The path of a hunter has always been like this. You have to bear your own injuries and protect those around you. There is nothing to say.
The corridors of the mental hospital are always filled with the smell of disinfectant, and pale lights fall from above, making people's shadows very long.
Both brothers put on baggy blue and white striped hospital gowns and bumped into each other at the corner.
Dean was holding on to the collar with his hands, looking disgusted - the fabric was so rough that it rubbed the skin, and the shower and the nurse's examination were also so detailed that it made people feel uncomfortable.
When he saw Sam, he couldn't help complaining. "This is a ghost place. If it weren't for old Martin, I wouldn't have suffered like this."
He said it calmly, but he felt a little inexplicably panicked in his heart.
The closed space, pale lights, and the ubiquitous smell of disinfectant always reminded him of the cell in Hell and the days and nights of torture.
His palms were slightly sweaty, and he clenched his fists to suppress the panic.
Sam looked at the thick blue and black eyes under his eyes and said softly, "To be honest, you have worried me a lot in the past few weeks. Ellen, Qiao and Haorui's injuries, please don't keep holding them back."
Dean's face immediately sank, he looked away, and said in a firm tone, "Stop it, Sam, did you really analyze yourself as a patient after entering the lunatic asylum? I'm fine, I'm very fine."
It wasn't that he was fine, but he didn't dare to think about it. When he closed his eyes, he saw the figure of Qiao being thrown away, the blood-stained skirt of Bai Haorui's clothes, and the mocking face of Lucifer standing in the firelight.
He could only force himself to get busy, investigating cases, driving, and chatting with people. As long as he didn't stop, those emotions would not catch up with him.
Sam sighed and didn't try to persuade him again. He knew Dean too well. He gritted his teeth and swallowed everything in his stomach, like a tightly covered iron box that couldn't be pried open.
The windows of the activity room were equipped with iron bars, and the sunlight was cut into fine pieces and fell on the floor. The patients sat in twos and threes, some stared at the ceiling in a daze, some muttered words, and some mechanically repeated the same action without stopping.
Martin was sitting on a single chair by the window. His hair was gray and messy and stuck to his scalp, the corners of his eyes were covered with wrinkles, and his knuckles were thick and covered with calluses - they were honed from a lifetime of holding guns and knives.
His fingertips scratched the window edge unconsciously, again and again, his eyes became a little distracted, and he turned his head when he heard the footsteps behind him.
Seeing Dean and Sam, his cloudy eyes lit up for a moment, as if a spark was burning, but soon dimmed again.
He rubbed his hands awkwardly and smiled to himself, "In the past, I could handle this kind of case with my hands tied behind my back, but now..."
He didn't finish speaking, but the meaning was already obvious. The legendary hunter who was famous back then has now become a lunatic in a mental hospital. Who would believe it?
Sam didn't answer the call and cut directly to the point, asking about the situation of the deceased.
"Five people have died in the past four months." Martin's voice was very low. "The hospital considered them all suicides. Those who hung themselves, hit the wall, and swallowed medicine. The methods of death were different, but they were all very evil. It was definitely done by monsters. I can feel in my bones that there is something wrong with these ways of death."
Dean frowned and asked, "Has anyone seen that thing? Are their words... reliable?"
He regretted it as soon as he said the words. Martin The smile on his face faded instantly, and a trace of hurt flashed in his eyes.
Dean quickly added, "I didn't mean that, I meant..."
"It's okay." Martin twitched the corner of his mouth, with a bit of numbness in his tone, "I know I am a madman now. Who would believe what a madman says? But I didn't lie to you."
Dean felt heavy in his heart.
Martin is their future shadow
After a lifetime of hunting monsters, dealing with monsters, and living in symbiosis with the darkness, he either dies at the hands of monsters, or is dragged down by the accumulated mental trauma over time, and finally ends up being known as a "madman", and no one even believes him when he tells the truth.
This is the fate of most hunters, and there is no escape.
The nurse came over and interrupted their conversation, holding the registration form in her hand, and said with a smile, "Two, it's time for group therapy. I specially assigned you to different groups. The doctor said that it would be good for you to separate."
Dean rolled his eyes hugely and cursed the codependency theory eight hundred times in his mind.
The chairs were arranged in a circle, and the female doctor sat in the middle, spinning a pen in her hand.
The patients were drooping, some were picking their fingers, some were staring at the floor in a daze, and the whole room was depressingly quiet.
"Let's talk about fear today." Just as the female doctor spoke, Ted in the corner suddenly raised his head.
He looked to be in his thirties, and his eyes were full of fear. He interrupted the doctor excitedly, "It's not fear! There is really a monster! It is chasing us, and it will bite off people's faces! It will get into the brain!"
"Ted, calm down." The female doctor immediately interrupted him with a stylized gentle tone.
Immediately afterwards, the patients began to argue in all directions.
Some said the monster had giant lobster claws, some said it was an alien coming to capture the experimental subjects, and some said there were ghosts hiding in the shadows, creating a chaotic mess.
Finally, Ted screamed "We are all dead", but the doctor sternly stopped him, and the whole room suddenly became quiet again.
Sam was sitting in the corner, listening to these messy words, feeling inexplicably nervous.
This monster is very good at picking places.
The mental hospital is its perfect hunting ground - no one will take what these people say seriously.
No matter how loud they shout, no matter how realistic their description is, everyone will think that they are sick.
It can do whatever it wants here and never be exposed.
Dean felt very irritable after hearing this. He kept tapping his knees with his fingers, but he was muttering in his heart.
The details mentioned by these people include noses and eyes, drilling into people's brains, and chewing on people's faces. It doesn't look like they are all made up.
What kind of monster can sneak into people's heads silently?
The light in the consulting room was dim, the curtains were half-opened, and there was a faint smell of perfume in the air. Erica Dr. Cartwright sat across from her. She looked to be in her thirties, with brown curly hair tied behind her head, wearing a pair of thin-rimmed glasses, and her eyes were bright, with a sense of serenity that could penetrate people's hearts.
She turned the notepad in her hand, raised her eyes and looked at Dean, with a faint smile on her lips, but no warmth. "Mr. Winchester, according to our assessment, you have severe avoidant personality disorder, accompanied by alcohol dependence and post-traumatic stress reaction."
"Oh, is it so serious?" Dean leaned back in his chair with a smile, "Then doctor, you have to treat me well. I still want to live for two more years."
He asked about the recent suicide case in a casual tone, "Doctor, have you had several people die recently? Is there anything strange? Like black smoke, the smell of sulfur, or... did someone see something strange? Let me tell you, this is probably caused by demons."
Dr. Cartwright didn't answer his words and continued to ask questions along the topic, asking him how he was sleeping, how much he drank, and his relationship history.
Dean was talkative at first, saying that he was very charming and had girlfriends lined up, but when he said "I have never been in a relationship for more than two months", his tone unconsciously dropped and his eyes drifted to the window.
It's not that he doesn't want stability.
I don't dare.
In the hunter's profession, when you get emotional, you expose your weakness.
He has seen too many hunters' lovers die at the hands of monsters.
He didn't dare to give anyone a chance to hurt him, let alone watch the people around him die because of him.
It's better to be alone than to be lost.
Until Dr. Cartwright said softly, "Let's talk about your father."
Dean's mouth instantly pursed into a straight line, and his fingertips clenched the seam of his pants so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
His father, responsibility, and instructions from childhood have weighed on him like a mountain for more than 20 years.
Since he was four years old, he has had only one goal in life: to take good care of Sam and complete his father's mission. He has lived the way his father expected, but he has long forgotten who he is.
He opened his mouth, his throat was tight, and not even a single word came out.
Dr. Cartwright didn't ask any more questions, just looked at him quietly, with a bit of understanding in his eyes.
Dean was on pins and needles, and ran out of the consultation room, leaning against the wall of the corridor and gasping for air, feeling panicked.
Dean shook his head at the door of the activity room, trying to shake off the emotions just now.
As soon as I looked up, I saw a girl walking over with a smile.
She is Wendy. She has blond hair and blue eyes. She has two shallow dimples on her cheeks when she smiles. She also looks clean and beautiful in the hospital gown.
She walked briskly, and before the two brothers could react, she leaned over and kissed them both on the cheek, with a faint scent of soap.
"Maybe this place isn't that bad after all." She winked at the two of them, turned around and left with a smile.
Dean stared at her back with a tangled look on her face, and her heart was at war with nature: she is really beautiful, but she is a patient, and this place is very evil, so you can't mess around.
Sam bumped him with his elbow and raised his eyebrows. "Don't look at me, I'm a patient."
"I know." Dean rubbed his face irritably, feeling panicked.
He is just an ordinary person, with all kinds of emotions and desires, and he also wants to have a family and someone waiting for him when he returns home.
But his identity and his mission cannot tolerate any stability at all. Even being tempted has become a luxury, and I feel aggrieved just thinking about it.
None of them noticed that the place where the cheek had been kissed left an almost invisible gray-black mark, like tiny toxins, slowly seeping into the blood vessels along the skin.
It was around one o'clock in the morning and it was freezing cold inside the morgue.
A dim night light hung from the ceiling, the metal cabinet door glowed with a cold light, and the smell of formalin made one's nose sore.
The two brothers crept in. Dean held the stolen key in his hand and gently opened the door of cabinet No. 306.
The icy mist spread out, and the cold air hit my face.
The two worked together to move the body out a little. The deceased was Susan, a middle-aged woman, with a frightened expression still on her face. There was a small hole in the middle of her head, smaller than a coin, and the edge was so smooth that it looked like it had been pierced by something sharp.
Dean put on gloves and gently pressed around the hole. There was space under the scalp.
"The brain was sucked dry." He frowned and spoke in a low voice, "It drilled in from the thinnest part of the skull. The technique was very accurate and the speed was so fast that the victim couldn't even call for help."
Sam squatted down, looked carefully at the edge of the hole, and paused with his fingertips. "There is a slight gray-black residue around it, not blood, but some kind of secretion. This thing is not a demon, and demons will not eat brains."
Dean took a deep breath and was wondering what kind of monster it was when footsteps suddenly came from the corridor, getting closer and closer, and there was also the voice of a nurse talking.
"Someone is coming!" Sam said in a low voice, looking around in panic, trying to find a place to hide, but there was no place to hide from sight.
Just then the door was opened.
Dean's head got hot, so he pulled down his pants, stood next to the body, twisted his waist and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Pudding!"
Sam froze beside him, his face instantly turned green, and the corners of his mouth twitched, wishing he could find a crack in the ground and crawl in. He scolded Dean ten thousand times in his heart: How embarrassing!
The nurse's flashlight came over, and when she saw this scene, she glanced at them with no surprise, and her tone was as calm as if she was talking about dinner. "Okay, stop making trouble, and follow me back to the ward."
On the way to the ward, Dean leaned into Sam's ear and whispered proudly, "See? Pretending to be crazy still works."
Sam rolled his eyes hugely and turned his head, not wanting to talk to him. He felt that all his face had been lost today.
There are several brightly colored paintings on the wall of Martin's ward. The paintings are of clowns, with strange brushwork and strong and dazzling colors.
Dean glanced at the painting on the wall and asked casually, "Gacy's original painting?"
"I drew it." Martin said lightly, bent down and pulled out an old yellowed notebook from the bedside table.
The pages are curled, filled with scrawled writing and hand-drawn monster designs, and the edges are frayed. It looks like they have been turned over for many years.
He turned to one of the pages and pointed it out to the brothers. "Nine times out of ten, this thing is Soul Eater."
The monster in the drawing has gray skin, sharp bone spurs on its fingertips, and black eyes, making it look particularly ferocious.
"Silver will burn and blister when it comes into contact with its skin. Looking at it in a mirror will reveal its original shape." Martin clicked on the pattern with his fingertips, "It is specially designed to pry open the skull and suck out the brains. It can perfectly disguise itself as a human being."
He paused and his voice became deeper. "A mental hospital is a natural hunting ground. Who would believe a patient if he said he saw a monster? It would just be regarded as a disease. It is safer hiding here than anywhere else."
Dean snorted, but felt heavy in his heart.
This is so true.
In this shitty place, no one will ever take the truth told by a madman seriously.
Now that they are in it, they understand the feeling of powerlessness - you clearly know the truth, but everyone thinks you are talking crazy again.
"The bad news is," Martin closed the note, "Soul Eater can become any staff member, doctor, nurse, caregiver. We can only check them one by one with a mirror, which is like looking for a needle in a haystack."
The midday sun shines in through the kitchen window, and a warm yellow glow falls on the wooden table.
The vegetable soup in the pot was steaming, and the aroma filled the room.
Bai Haorui is sitting at the table, holding a cinnabar pen in his hand, lowering his head and drawing Clear Heart Talisman on the yellow talisman paper.
His face was still bloodless, and his fingertips were a little slower than usual. Every time he drew a stroke, he had to breathe evenly, inducing his own weak True Qi to inject into the talisman paper. The cinnabar lines were smooth and agile, and when the last stroke fell, the talisman paper glowed slightly with a light golden light, which quickly disappeared again.
"Can't you take a break?" Bobby came over with two bowls of soup. When he saw him drawing talisman again, his brows furrowed tightly. "You're just trying to sit up, and you're going to die?"
Bai Haorui didn't stop the pen tip, and said quietly, "The mental hospital has a lot of Yin energy, which can easily disturb the mind. Draw a few lines of Clear Heart Talisman and wait until they come back to use it."
Bobby sighed, sat down opposite him, looked at his pale face, and said in a deeper tone, "You, you think of everything for others. This time you had a head-on confrontation with Lucifer, and you were hurt so badly, I don't know how long it will take to recover."
Bai Haorui The tip of the pen paused for a moment, then continued to draw symbols, with a very calm tone. "It's okay, just practice your cultivation slowly. As long as everything is okay."
"As long as everyone is fine." Bobby repeated and shook his head, "Hunters, each one can carry it better than the other. I always feel that I can hold on, but there will always be a day when I can't. Martin was no worse than John back then. He fought with his life at risk, but now he is not admitted to a mental hospital."
He thought of those old guys, all walking away one by one, scattered, and few of them had a good ending.
My heart felt sour.
Bai Haorui raised his eyes and looked at him, his eyes were calm, but his tone was extremely determined. "You have to hold on even if you can't hold on. You can't watch something happen to the people around you."
The pen tip came down, and the last stroke of Clear Heart Talisman was finished.
He folded the talisman and put it in his pocket.
This is the hunter's choice. It is also his choice.
The afternoon sun shines into Joe's room through the window
Bai Haorui sat beside the bed, trying to completely dissolve the congestion deep in Qiao's internal organs this time. The consumption was much greater than last time.
He closed his eyes, calmed his mind, and "Three Altars Body-Refining True Fire Art" was running at full strength. The purple-gold True Gang in his Dantian was continuously mobilized, more condensed than last time, and the warm True Fire breath poured into Qiao's body along his fingertips.
This time, True Gang divided into several small streams, like fine fishing nets, and penetrated into every tiny gap in the meridians, wrapping up and dissolving the blood congestion hidden in the depths little by little. At the same time, True Fire was used to warm and nourish the damaged mucosa of the internal organs and repair the broken small meridians.
Purple-gold light slowly circulated around the two of them, and the temperature in the room quietly increased a little.
Qiao's face gradually gained color, his breathing became much calmer, and his originally frowning brow slowly relaxed.
Bai Haorui's face is getting whiter and whiter, the cold sweat on his forehead is dripping down his cheeks, and his jawline is tense.
The burn on his back completely collapsed, blood soaked through his clothes, and a large dark mark spread on his back. The dark energy in his meridians took advantage of his weakened true energy and began to cause chaos. Pain like ice needles spread to the whole body along his meridians.
He gritted his teeth, and the Gang Qi on his fingertips was not disordered at all, and the output was steadily maintained.
When he finished the exercise, he swayed and quickly held on to the edge of the bed to keep from falling. A sweet taste filled his throat, and he swallowed it back calmly.
Qiao turned around and saw the blood marks oozing out of his back at a glance, and tears suddenly fell down. "Haorui! If you are like this, I will let my mother take me away!"
Bai Haorui straightened up, wiped away the bloodshot eyes oozing from the corner of his mouth, smiled, and said in a very light tone, "It's okay, it's a small injury. If you recover quickly, I will have more time to recover, and we can plan the next thing earlier. Apocalypse It's not over yet, we can't leave anyone behind."
Ellen stood at the door with red eyes. She had been a hunter for half her life and had seen a lot of desperate people and a lot of loyal people, but she had never seen someone like Bai Haorui - she only had half a life left, and she was still thinking about others first without even frowning.
Bai Haorui returned to his room, closed the door behind his back, sat cross-legged on the bed, and began to meditate and adjust his breathing.
He closed his eyes and guided the remaining True Gang to slowly swim along the meridians, trying to repair the walls of the meridians burned by the dark energy.
The purple-gold True Gang is like a small stream, slowly flowing through the dry and damaged meridians. Wherever it passes, the burning pain is slightly relieved.
But just when True Gang reached the meridians on his back, the dark energy that had been suppressed in the depths suddenly took action.
The gray-black cold air suddenly jumped out like an awakened poisonous snake, rushing along the meridians toward the Dantian. Wherever it passed, the meridians hurt as if they were cracked by frost, and even True Gang was scattered a few points.
Bai Haorui frowned, and cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead, and he immediately activated Three Altars True Fire - the purple-gold flame ignited in the meridians, pressing against the dark energy.
Normally, he could refine this dark energy with a snap of his fingers.
But now that he has lost a lot of his true energy, True Fire's strength is more than half weaker than usual, making it extremely difficult to press him.
The dark energy was rushing around, causing pain in his meridians, as if it was going to tear his meridians into pieces completely.
"Haorui?" Bobby opened the door and came in to deliver medicine. At first glance, he saw that his face was pale, his whole body was shaking slightly, and his forehead was covered in cold sweat. He immediately panicked and rushed over in two steps, "What's wrong?!"
Bai Haorui gritted his teeth and squeezed out two words from between his teeth for a long time. "It's okay..."
He concentrated all his mind and guided True Fire to shrink little by little, forcing the dark energy deep into the meridians. It took him a full quarter of an hour to suppress the chaotic dark energy back to the depths of the meridians and seal it firmly.
When I opened my eyes, my whole body felt like I had been fished out of water.
Bobby handed him the medicine bowl with a stern face, and said in an angry and painful tone, "I think you are dying. If you continue like this, you will kill yourself first without Lucifer taking action."
Bai Haorui took the medicine bowl, raised his head and drank it. The bitter taste of the medicine spread, and he frowned and said nothing.
It's not that he doesn't know the danger. But he can't watch Joe suffer from a lifelong disease, nor can he watch the two brothers working hard outside while he lies down peacefully to recuperate.
He can't do it.
In the corridor late at night, the lights flickered on and off, and shadows swayed on the walls, like countless writhing monsters.
Sam stole three silver-plated knives from the nurse's station. The blades glowed coldly in the dark light.
He divided them between Dean and Martin. The blade was cold and heavy in his hand.
"After turning off the lights, search separately." Dean weighed the knife and lowered his voice, "Each side of the east wing and west wing, keep the mirror in hand, and take action when you see something is wrong. We will solve it tonight, and we can't delay it any longer."
Martin held the knife, his hands kept shaking, and his knuckles turned white.
He took a step back and leaned against the wall, his voice trembling. "I can't... I can't do it."
He talked about the case of Albuquerque.
He said that back then he also felt that he was invulnerable and that there was no monster that he could not kill. But that time when he saw his partner having his neck broken by a monster and dying in front of him, he realized that he was not invincible.
He was afraid.
I took the initiative to be admitted to a mental hospital because I just didn't want to hold on anymore.
Dean looked at him and wanted to say something encouraging, but he opened his mouth and no words came out.
He knew that feeling. After returning from Hell, he often woke up in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat, feeling that he couldn't hold on any longer.
But he can't say it or show his cowardice. He is the elder brother, Dean·Winchester, and he must bear it.
He is not qualified to persuade Martin.
Sam wanted to offer some words of advice, but Dean shook his head, patted Martin on the shoulder, and said in a softer voice, "Just stay well, we can go."
The two began to move separately, Sam turned to the west wing, and Dean walked to the east wing. Only footsteps were left in the corridor, echoing in the empty space, which was particularly clear.
Sam held the small mirror and looked at every door and corner he passed as he walked. The mirror was cold, reflecting the pale light and his tense face.
When he turned the corner, he bumped into Dr. Fuller head-on.
The shadow of Dr. Fuller was reflected in the mirror. Its outline was distorted and its facial features were blurred, making it look particularly strange.
Sam's brain was so hot that he didn't think about anything. He rushed forward and pushed the person against the wall. The silver knife in his hand slashed the other person's arm.
"Ah!" Dr. Fuller cried out in pain. A blood mark oozed out on his arm, and dark red blood flowed down his arm. It was just an ordinary wound, without any trace of burning or blistering.
"No!" Martin hurried over, grabbed Sam's wrist, and shouted urgently, "Look at his wound! It's not burning! It's not him!"
Sam was stunned, his mind buzzed and went blank.
How could it be? He clearly saw something wrong in the mirror... Could it be that he was dazzled?
Before he could react, two caregivers rushed over and pinned him to the ground.
The cold needle was inserted into the neck, and the sedative was rapidly pushed into the blood vessels.