Chapter 183: Unveiling the Secrets of the Psychiatric Hospital

2022-05-20

The head nurse’s jowls wobbled with every word, making me wonder if grease would fly off if he shook any harder. His head bobbed like a rattle drum, and his hair was starting to come undone.

“That place isn’t somewhere just anyone can go. You know how terrifying it is in there—anyone with even slightly weak willpower might never make it out.” The head nurse eyed us warily. “Even we can’t stay in Area A for more than five minutes. What do you want to know? If you think a patient escaped, forget it. No way. Our security’s tight.”

I smiled. “That’s why I’m not here to beg you. Team Leader Shao brought the proper documents.”

The head nurse rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Then what are you hanging around for? Let’s go in.”

Even though I’ve lived at this psychiatric hospital for nearly a year, I’ve actually never set foot in Area A. This hospital is split into three zones: Area A, B, and C, with security levels dropping from A to C. People like me, who aren’t a risk to others or ourselves, are placed in Area C.

In Area B, the patients usually aren’t violent toward others but have strong tendencies to self-harm or attempt suicide. These patients obviously require special supervision. Handle that well and things generally stay calm—at least you don’t have to worry about them attacking others.

But the patients in Area A—well, they’re what you’d call demons trapped in human flesh. They see a world totally removed from ours. One claims to be Huang Chao, reborn to kill eight million people. Another has a twisted paranoid disorder and thinks everyone is out to kill him—so he tries to strike first. There are all kinds.

Dongxing City is a major metropolis with several psychiatric hospitals, but only this one contains the most dangerous patients. The people locked up here won’t hold back against outsiders. Most of the time, they’re kept alone in tiny rooms.

There’s not a scrap of metal in their rooms. Their food is bone-free, and the utensils are soft. After meals, everything is checked to ensure nothing’s missing or broken before the staff leaves. Otherwise, they’re strapped to their beds and can only stare blankly at the ceiling.

Right now, we are heading deeper—toward Area A.

Area A sits in the heart of the hospital, far from Areas B and C, with a massive iron gate separating them. Outsiders need paperwork from both the director and head nurse to get in. We had it all, and the head nurse personally escorted us.

The heavy iron gate slowly closed behind us. I glanced back to see security guards armed with stun batons and steel helmets—practically ready for battle.

Beyond the gate, we walked down a corridor until a three-story building came into view. This is where the most dangerous patients are kept. The building’s exterior was a battered gray—walls scarred with age. The red characters spelling out “Dongxing City Second Psychiatric Hospital” were peeling and faded.

The head nurse said, “This building’s seen a lot. Back in the day, this was the only psychiatric hospital in Dongxing City, just a single building.”

Watchtowers ringed the building, stationed just like at the main gate. Looking further, I noticed an electric fence girdling the perimeter. Security here was no joke. Stepping inside, we passed a small security booth where several guards nodded politely at the head nurse.

Beside the booth, a wall of surveillance monitors displayed scenes from every floor. Twenty screens in all, which meant twenty patients were locked up here. Some were strapped to beds, unable to budge, while others had just enough space to move around their rooms.

Gu Chen spoke up: “So there’s different treatment for everyone?”

The head nurse glanced at the monitors, saw nothing abnormal, then turned to us. “Of course. When it comes to criminal psychological evaluations, we’re true professionals.”

He pointed to the monitors. “Even though patients in Area A are all dangerously violent, there are distinctions. Over here, you see the first floor’s eight rooms.”

We followed his gesture. The people on this floor weren’t tied down. They could move freely within their ten-something-square-meter rooms, each with its own bathroom. I stared at the monitors, hoping to find a clue—a habit or quirk that might match the killer’s.

Peering from screen to screen, I saw some sitting silently on their beds, motionless as statues. Others faced the wall, suddenly laughing or crying for reasons only they knew. One stood by the toilet, not blinking at all.

Two of the patients were women. One rolled endlessly across the floor. The other simply slept, face hidden from view.

Their bizarre behavior was unsettling, but none seemed intent on hurting themselves.

The head nurse continued, “This next row is the second floor.”

We studied the monitors showing the second floor. Here, there were no bathrooms, and some patients were strapped to their beds. A few struggled against their restraints, faces red with strain, while others pounded their heads on padded bedposts, to no effect.

The ones who weren’t restrained just sat quietly, barely moving—almost admirable in their stillness.

Yet what drew my eye most in this place were the people who seemed the most normal.

Four of the monitors showed individual rooms—each focused on someone different.

Those four each behaved in their own way.

Two were strapped down so tightly they couldn’t even struggle. One of them, staring with wild eyes and shouting at nothing, had a mouthful of jet-black teeth, each one sharpened like a canine’s. I had no idea how that was possible.

The head nurse pointed at him. “That guy—when he was young, he killed eight people in one family. He said he was bitten by a vampire bat, started thinking he was a vampire, and believed he’d die if he didn’t drink blood.”

He gestured at the man’s mouth. “See those teeth? He filed them down himself.”

“What about this one?” I asked.

This time it was a woman. Her head had been shaved bald, but you could tell she was female. She, too, was strapped tightly to the bed, but she looked perfectly calm, her mouth closed.

The head nurse said, “Don’t be fooled by how peaceful she seems. She’s even scarier than the last one. When she first came, she didn’t seem aggressive at all—she’s good at hiding it. Last time, she nearly poisoned everyone’s food. If someone hadn’t been alert, you could have died too.”

I shook my head, then asked, “What about this child?”

The head nurse let out a weary sigh. “Honestly, this kid is the scariest I’ve ever seen. He’s a master at using pity to trick people. Don’t let his small size fool you—he kills with more cruelty than most adults. Once, he hid a jujube pit in his food, whittled it sharp, and used it to kill the next time someone fed him. Anything you give him, he can turn into a weapon.”

Team Leader Shao spoke up. “I’ve met a child like that before. But he’s gone now.”

I glanced over. Shao’s face was grave, his gaze locked on the child’s monitor, full of a quiet sorrow. I wondered if the sight brought back memories.

Yet, out of everyone, the single most attention-grabbing figure was an elderly man who looked the picture of refinement.

On the last monitor, an entirely different scene unfolded.

A man in his fifties sat behind a desk, reading from an English book—I couldn’t make out the title. Beside him, a massive bookshelf held countless volumes, mostly English works but also some Chinese, like “The Book of Changes,” “The Analects,” and “Psychological Motivation and Deconstruction.” The collection was a disorganized sprawl.

His room was noticeably larger than everyone else’s.

It was unbelievable—he looked less like a mental patient and more like a serious scholar.

I asked, “You even monitor the director?”

The head nurse snorted. “Monitor him? Not a chance. He’s the most terrifying person in this entire hospital. None of us dare go inside.”