This is the proper way for a newcomer to make an entrance.

This was the most mysterious place in the realm of the Departed.

For it held only a single, humble wooden cabin.

The cabin appeared exceedingly crude, as if thrown together without care. The wind howled ceaselessly around it, carrying with it faint, mournful wails, never quite fading away.

These were not illusions.

There were, indeed, people screaming in agony.

For whenever someone stepped inside that cabin and reemerged, it was as though time and space had shifted; before them appeared rows upon rows of square mansions, all perfectly aligned, each a black-and-white edifice stretching out like a grid of toy blocks arranged in a cross.

The screams emanated from within these boxlike mansions.

The cries never lasted long—often vanishing in a heartbeat—but with so many houses, the wails overlapped endlessly, carried on the wind by the lingering resentment of those who died within.

Clang!

A sharp noise rang out as the door of one manor suddenly burst open and a man, pale as death and drenched half in blood, staggered out in desperate flight.

Behind him trailed a woman. She bore no wounds, but her legs trembled so violently that she could scarcely walk.

Fortunately, the vengeful spirit of that house kept its word, allowing the pair to escape unmolested.

Not so for the two who emerged from the neighboring house. When their door opened, they clung to each other, sobbing with relief—they had survived!

But just then, the door slammed shut with a forceful bang.

They tried to flee, but the moment their feet crossed the threshold, an invisible force yanked them back inside.

Bang!

The door slammed closed, and two screams rang out almost simultaneously.

Scenes like this were common here.

For in nearly every square house, a malevolent spirit lurked—each home a coffin in disguise.

Those who failed to survive became just another scream to mingle with the wind. Those who lived, eventually returned to the small wooden cabin.

The cabin seemed small, but within, its space was limitless.

No matter how many entered, it could contain them all.

---

The muscular woman, her physique chiseled and imposing, regarded the latest survivors with a nod of approval. These were as they should be: battered, on the verge of death, some cursed beyond hope—true newcomers at last.

Not like that last one, who had somehow become immune to all curses, stolen a torture device from a spirit, redefined its very nature, and claimed it for his own. What was that if not an aberration?

“Congratulations on surviving. That means you have all passed.” The burly woman grinned, repeating a speech she had delivered countless times: “Your wounds will soon heal. The curses that haunt you will be suppressed. Curses cast upon you cannot leave this place, so you need not fear them any longer.”

At her words, the newcomers’ faces lit with excitement.

They had felt the terror of those haunted houses, experienced firsthand how curses could kill unseen.

It left one unable to live, and yet unable to die.

...

The little ghost girl was solemnly fabricating the rules of the Departed, while Chen Sheng listened intently.

To him, this was merely an “NPC” in a healing game, explaining the rules—something players usually skipped. But given the detail poured into this game, Chen Sheng was convinced the information must hold some hidden value.

“Master, I understand. Don’t worry, when the time comes, I’ll be sure to distance myself from you before I fight for territory,” he said after her explanation, ready to betray her when convenient. But words are an art, and he made his impending desertion sound deeply moving.

At least, the little ghost was touched. She wanted to speak the truth, but in the end, she meekly agreed.

After all, before her stood a true, unrestrained madman.

Chen Sheng promptly chose to exit the game.

He had played long enough for one day. It was time to rest, especially since he had to work at the hospital in the morning.

True to his word, he left immediately; the moment the mysterious symbol appeared, he vanished.

He gave it little thought, but the ghost girl was startled out of her wits. Her big, round eyes widened, her pale little face frozen in shock, mouth agape for a long moment before she could close it.

...

Removing his glasses, Chen Sheng stretched lazily. He meant to crawl into bed, but was surprised to find he wasn’t the least bit tired.

“Did I play too long?” he muttered, pulling out his phone to check the time.

And then he froze.

It was already midday on the following day.

---

“Damn it!”

After expressing his feelings in the most elegant language he could muster, Chen Sheng hurried to the hospital. To his surprise, Cao Dahuo said nothing, only instructing him to process the discharge paperwork for Ward 12.

“Today’s the day Yu Youxin is being discharged…”

Only then did Chen Sheng remember. He set off at once, but halfway there he stopped, sending a message to a colleague to bring a fruit basket before continuing with the discharge.

When at last the final signature was penned, Chen Sheng felt a wave of emotion.

Three years—it had been three years, and at last the little girl was going home.

There was both sorrow and joy in his heart.

Part of the sorrow was parting; after all, three years had made them not only doctor and patient, but friends. The other part stemmed from the fact that, in all that time, Chen Sheng had never once met the girl’s family. It was as though she were an orphan.

Yet what orphan could afford a private room in Ward 12 of this hospital?

Society might not speak openly of class distinctions, but they were so strict and chilling, they could be felt in every aspect of life.

Thus, Chen Sheng had long since imagined a story of feuding noble houses, casting Yu Youxin as a casualty of their strife. For with her condition, she shouldn’t have been in a psychiatric hospital, much less for so long.

This place only housed mild cases.

The more serious ones were sent to another facility, locked away.

As for the joy, that went without saying.

In the end, Chen Sheng carried the fruit basket and escorted the little girl out, all the way to the hospital’s main entrance. There, he saw a top-of-the-line black luxury car waiting at the gate—a sight that confirmed all his suspicions.

“Old Chen, I’ll come back to see you often,” she said, waving her delicate hand, her words tinged with a hint of self-mockery, before slipping into the car.

Chen Sheng shook his head, amused, and turned back inside.

He took it as a polite farewell.

For even if she meant it, the chances of her returning were slim. That was just reality.

Yet, not long after, Chen Sheng began to feel as though reality itself was conspiring against him.