Chapter 7: The Specimen Room

The air on the first floor hung thick and cold, pressing down on him like an invisible weight.

Most of the lights were dead. Only a handful of emergency lamps clung to the walls, their faint green glow barely outlining the corridor ahead. The air was thick with an indescribable blend of smells: formaldehyde, rotting organic matter, and a cloying sweetness reminiscent of cheap perfume. The longer he breathed it in, the more lightheaded he became.

Lin Yan tightened his grip on the short staff. The icy metal against his palm helped keep his mind clear.

He descended to the first floor without anyone—or anything—blocking his way. A long corridor stretched out before him, lined with closed doors on either side. Plaques on the doors read “Disposal Room 2,” “Equipment Storage,” “Storage Room,” and more.

At the far end stood a pair of heavy iron doors painted institutional green. Above them hung a sign bearing two blood-red characters: Specimen Room.

That was his destination.

Instead of heading straight for it, Lin Yan paused to survey his surroundings.

The terrazzo floor was mottled with countless stains that had long since dried black. Even so, the surface felt strangely tacky beneath his boots. Deep gouges scarred the walls, as though something had once fought desperately to claw its way free.

Drip… drip… 

The steady sound of dripping water hadn’t stopped. This time, it seemed to be coming from the specimen room.

Lin Yan took a slow, steadying breath, calming his racing heartbeat.

His fight with the security guard had taken a heavy toll on him. Enhancing his short staff had restored some of his mental energy, but it did nothing to ease the exhaustion weighing on his body or the dull ache lingering somewhere deep inside.

In his current condition, he’d have to tread even more carefully from here on out.

Keeping close to the wall, he advanced toward the specimen room one cautious step at a time.

As he passed a room marked Equipment Storage, he paused.

The door was locked, but he leaned toward the narrow observation window for a look inside.

The room lay in darkness. Shelves lined the walls, where the silhouettes of bone saws, osteotomes, retractors, and other surgical instruments could just be made out. Even in the dim light, the polished steel glinted with an icy sheen.

What a waste of good materials…

A trace of disappointment flickered in Lin Yan’s eyes. If he could get inside, he could craft something even more powerful. Unfortunately, the locked door put an end to that idea.

Hence, he moved on.

The closer he got to the specimen room, the stronger the cloying sweetness in the air became, until it nearly overwhelmed the sharp chemical odor of formaldehyde.

At last, he reached the weathered green double doors.

Rust had eaten away at the metal, leaving the surface mottled with reddish-brown corrosion. The handle was an old valve wheel, secured by a massive padlock so rusted it looked like it hadn’t been opened in years.

Lin Yan took out the silver key he’d found at the nurses’ station. The number “1” engraved on its bow caught the dim light.

Please be the right one.

He slid the key into the lock.

Click.

The padlock sprang open.

Relief washed over him. Wrapping his hand around the icy valve wheel, he put his weight into it.

Creeeak… Screeech…

The grating shriek of rusted metal echoed down the silent corridor, loud enough to make his teeth ache. It sounded almost as though it were rousing something ancient from its slumber.

The heavy doors slowly creaked open, leaving a gap just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

A far stronger wave of stench hit him the instant the gap appeared—a nauseating blend of sickly sweetness, decay, and chemicals so overpowering it nearly made him vomit.

Fighting back the urge to gag, Lin Yan turned sideways and squeezed inside before quickly pulling the doors shut behind him.

Bang.

The muffled impact cut him off from the outside world.

The specimen room was pitch-black—not the kind of darkness where his eyes simply needed time to adjust, but absolute darkness so complete he couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face. Only the cloying sweetness and the stench of rot remained, so dense they felt almost tangible as they coiled around him.

Holding his breath, Lin Yan tightened his grip on his short staff. Every muscle in his body tensed as he braced for an attack from any direction.

Seconds ticked by, yet nothing happened.

Only then did he cautiously take a step forward.

Snap.

One of the exposed incandescent bulbs overhead flickered twice before sputtering to life.

Its sickly yellow glow pushed back just enough of the darkness to reveal the room in full.

Even Lin Yan, who prided himself on keeping his composure, couldn’t suppress a sharp intake of breath as his stomach lurched.

The room was enormous, more like a warehouse than a laboratory.

Along both walls stood rows of towering cylindrical glass tanks. They were filled with cloudy formaldehyde, each preserving something suspended within.

They weren’t intact human specimens.

They were grotesque works of art.

A torso with three arms and two legs.

A severed head split cleanly down the middle, its exposed brain glistening while an unnervingly cheerful smile remained frozen on its face.

A basketball-sized sphere of flesh painstakingly stitched together from countless human eyeballs…

It was less a specimen room than a gallery curated by hell itself.

At the center of the room stood a massive stone slab resembling an operating table. An overhead surgical light hung above it, its once-white housing caked with dried blood and tiny shreds of flesh.

Beside the table sat a stainless steel instrument cart laden with scalpels, bone saws, forceps, and other dissecting tools, all stained by years of filth and old blood.

On the lower shelf rested a brown leather-bound notebook.

It looked identical to the one he’d seen in the dispensary. Yet the moment his eyes landed on it, Lin Yan sensed something different.

A faint yet remarkably pure psychic energy emanated from it.

So this is the real diary?

Forcing down the nausea clawing at his throat, Lin Yan carefully threaded his way between the revolting specimen tanks and headed toward the stone table.

He moved with practiced silence, but in the deathly stillness of the room, even his lightest footsteps echoed with unsettling clarity.

Drip… drip…

The sound of water dripping grew louder, clearer.

It sounded as if it were right beside him.

Lin Yan’s gaze swept across the rows of specimen tanks lining the walls. The things suspended inside seemed to sway gently with the cloudy preservative. Their eyeballs slowly… rolled until they were staring at him.

A jolt of icy terror shot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.

These things… are alive?

No, there wasn’t a trace of life in them, but the resentment clinging to their remains hadn’t faded. It still lingered, tainting the entire space.

Fighting down the chill, Lin Yan quickened his pace, reached the stone operating table, and grabbed for the diary.

Just as his fingertips were about to brush its worn leather cover…

Bang!

A hand shot in from the side, slamming down on the diary before his did.

It was pale and slender, its nails painted a glossy crimson.

Lin Yan’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest. Startled, he whipped his head around.

A woman in a white nurse’s uniform stood beside the operating table. Somehow, he hadn’t heard her approach.

She wore her long hair neatly pinned into a bun, and her delicate features were softened by a warm, professional smile. At first glance, she looked every bit the picture of a kind, conscientious nurse.

Until he saw her neck.

Lin Yan’s pupils contracted sharply.

It had been severed.

A grotesque seam encircled her neck, crudely stitched together with thick twine. The uneven stitches looked as though someone had hastily sewn her head back on. Her head rested at an impossible angle against one shoulder, held in place only by those crude stitches.

She was Su Wan, the nurse in Room 307.

“You’re finally here.”

Su Wan’s voice was soft, exactly as Lin Yan had heard it outside Room 307. But this time, there was no trace of the desperation or malice he’d heard before. Instead, her voice was calm, carrying an unmistakable hint of relief.

“Nurse… Su Wan?”

Lin Yan didn’t lower his guard. He leaned back ever so slightly, muscles tensed, ready to attack or retreat at a moment’s notice.

As if sensing his wariness, Su Wan smiled faintly. With her head barely attached to her body by crude stitches, even that small smile looked grotesquely out of place.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” She paused. “At least… not anymore.”

She picked up the diary and gently brushed her fingers across its worn leather cover, her eyes filling with emotions too complicated to name.

“This diary records every sin committed within these walls.” Her voice softened. “And my own… foolishness.”

“What happened here?” Lin Yan asked. “Who’s the director? And what exactly is this ‘treatment’?”

Su Wan slowly raised her head. Her clear eyes settled on him, yet seemed to look straight through him, as though she were staring into a past only she could see.

“The director…” Her voice trembled. “He’s not human.”

“He’s a madman, a monster obsessed with ‘perfection’ and ‘eternity.’ He believed illness was God’s curse upon mankind, and he wanted to create a new race free from disease… free from pain.”

Her gaze swept across the rows of grotesque specimen jars. “These are his masterpieces. Patients whose illnesses couldn’t be cured… patients who refused to cooperate… they were all brought here for ‘reconstruction.’”

A chill crawled down Lin Yan’s spine.

This wasn’t a hospital.

It was a slaughterhouse.

“And you?” His voice was quiet. “What happened to you?”

“Me?” A bitter smile crossed Su Wan’s face as she reached up to touch the crude stitches circling her neck. “I discovered his secret. I wanted to expose him. I wanted to save those children… Xiao Zhe included.” Her voice faltered. “But I was too naive. They found me.”

Two trails of bloody tears ran down her face. “He slit my throat… then hung my head above the door to Room 307 as a warning to every other staff member who dared disobey him.”

“My resentment kept me from moving on. My consciousness became bound to this diary, waiting… waiting for someone to uncover the truth and finally put an end to all of this.”

“Put an end to it?” Lin Yan pressed. “How?”

“The mirror.” Su Wan’s expression grew solemn. “The director has one secret. He’s afraid of mirrors because they reveal what he really is.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He’s no doctor. He’s a monster stitched together from countless corpses… held together by nothing but resentment. The fear and suffering of his patients are what sustain him.”

The numbers in the mirror are real. The words flashed through Lin Yan’s mind.

“So that’s what it meant…” Su Wan nodded. “There’s only one real mirror in this entire hospital: the one in the director’s office. It reflects the truth behind every illusion. If you destroy the core that lets him maintain his human form while standing before that mirror… he’ll die for good.”

“What’s a core?”

“A heart.” Her eyes darkened. “A heart that’s still beating. He hid it in the safest… and also the most dangerous place.”

“Where?”

Instead of answering, Su Wan slowly raised a hand and pointed behind him.

A chill ran through Lin Yan as he instinctively turned.

In the corner of the room stood something nearly seven feet tall, completely hidden beneath a white sheet.

His stomach tightened. “…What’s under there?”

“His greatest masterpiece… and the place where he hides what he treasures most.” Su Wan’s voice became distant, almost dreamlike. “Go. Pull the sheet away. The answers you’re looking for—and the key to escaping this place—are both waiting underneath.”

As the last words left her lips, her figure began fading away, dissolving into wisps of mist.

“Remember…” Her voice lingered long after her body had nearly vanished. “Be careful of the mirror. What you see in it isn’t always your reflection.”

A brief pause.

“Sometimes… it’s the doorway to another world.”

Before the final words had fully faded, Su Wan disappeared completely, leaving only the diary resting silently on the operating table.

The brown diary rested atop the stone slab.

Lin Yan stood in silence for a moment before stepping forward and picking it up.

[Key Item Obtained: Su Wan’s Diary (Real)

Quality: Uncommon

Effect: Read to uncover the truth behind the abandoned hospital and deal additional damage to the director and his creations.

Description: The final records of a kindhearted nurse who sacrificed her life to uncover the truth. Every page is stained with her blood and tears.]

Lin Yan put the diary away before turning his attention to the object hidden beneath a white sheet in the corner.

Tightening his grip on the short staff, he crept toward it one cautious step at a time.

The closer he got, the stronger the cloying sweetness became until it was almost nauseating.

He reached out, grabbed the edge of the sheet, drew a deep breath, then yanked it away!

The fabric slipped to the floor, revealing what lay beneath.

It was an enormous cylindrical glass tank.

Like the specimen jars surrounding it, it was filled with murky preservation fluid.

But suspended inside wasn’t another grotesquely stitched monstrosity.

It was a man.

A young man.

His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, as if he were merely asleep. His body was perfectly intact, and his pale skin was tinged with an unnatural rosy hue that made him seem almost alive.

A thick tube was embedded deep in his chest, directly over his heart. The other end disappeared into a machine mounted atop the tank, where a tiny indicator light pulsed with a steady red glow.

Thump… thump…

A slow, powerful heartbeat reverberated from inside the tank, unnaturally loud in the deathly silence.

This is the director’s heart?

Lin Yan stared at the sleeping man, shock and confusion churning inside him.

Who is he? Why is his heart the core sustaining the director?

Just then, something reflected on the surface of the tank caught Lin Yan’s eye.

In the glass, the sleeping man’s eyes slowly opened.

They were empty, utterly devoid of life or emotion.

But only in the reflection did the corners of his lips slowly curl into the same twisted, manic grin the director always wore.

“Found… you…”

The hoarse whisper exploded directly inside Lin Yan’s mind.

It hadn’t come from the tank, but the mirror!

Lin Yan spun toward the massive specimen observation mirror mounted on the wall.

It reflected the specimen room, the glass tank, the man, and Lin Yan himself.

But behind his reflection stood a figure clad in a white lab coat, a surgical mask concealing its face and a red stethoscope hanging around its neck.

The director!

He was inside the mirror! No… he was standing on the other side of it!

The director slowly raised a blood-soaked scalpel, pointed it straight at Lin Yan, then took a step forward.

The mirror rippled like the surface of a pond, and a polished leather shoe emerged from within.