No wonder, back then when Doctor Bai chose Patient 09 as the one needing treatment, everyone assumed she was as good as dead. Yet, she returned completely unharmed!
Patient 05 could never figure out why, nor could she understand how Patient 09 managed to move around at night without ever encountering danger. Now she knew—it was because Patient 09 had already latched onto a powerful ally!
Objectively speaking, Patient 09 did have a pretty face. Patient 05 had heard men mention more than once how beautiful she was.
Suddenly, Patient 05 found it laughable. Xia Miao had always put on such a sanctimonious act, pretending to be above it all, when in reality, she had long been trading her body for the protection of the supernatural.
Now, the situation was dire for her.
As the monster closed in, an idea flashed in Patient 05’s mind—if Xia Miao could do it, why couldn’t she?
"Please, don’t kill me!" Patient 05 sobbed, her voice trembling with pitiful desperation. "I don’t know what you mean by saying this thing is yours. I don’t know what your relationship with Patient 09 is either, I swear! I never meant to hurt anyone!"
Her deceased elder had told her that this object could be used to take a gamble—perhaps even summon a deity to fulfill her wishes.
Or, more accurately, it could be used as leverage to force an inhuman entity to help her achieve her goals.
Tears streamed down Patient 05’s face. "I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me."
Bai Chi paused in his approach.
Hope flared in Patient 05’s heart. She knew she had gambled right this time!
But in the next instant, something coiled around her neck, cutting into her skin until blood welled up.
"N-no… don’t kill me…"
Her eyes widened in terror as she clawed at the thing strangling her, but the moment her fingers touched it, they too were sliced open.
It was a thread-thin filament, clinging tightly to her flesh, sinking deeper with every second. She could almost feel her windpipe about to be severed.
Patient 05 clutched the jar in her hand. "You… can’t kill me… you need this… don’t you…?"
Bai Chi tilted his head.
He couldn’t remember how many years ago it was now. Back then, because of some rumor about a "divine child," he had been taken to the ancestral temple. There, his body was torn apart, each piece claimed by different people to be "enshrined."
Truthfully, he didn’t remember much of what happened that day—whether it had hurt or not, it was all a blur.
His consciousness had been hazy then, his body laid out on a cold stone altar. Even as sharp blades fell upon him, he couldn’t react.
The only thing he could do was stare blankly at the cobweb-covered ceiling.
A small insect had been trapped in the web, fluttering its wings desperately, trying to break free. But no matter how hard it struggled, it was futile. Eventually, exhausted, it could only watch as the lurking spider crept closer.
The spider wrapped its legs around the insect, sank its fangs in, dissolved its insides, and slowly devoured it.
At that moment, the boy thought: I don’t want to be the insect. I want to be the spider.
By the time he regained awareness, he didn’t know how many years had passed.
The ancestral temple was long gone, replaced by a mental hospital. That, too, had shut down not long after. As the place fell into ruin, he "took over" the building.
Perhaps because this was where he had died, he lingered here too long, imprinting his presence on the land. That was why some people occasionally caught glimpses of the past.
Patient 05 gasped out, "You… need these things… to leave this place… don’t you?"
Bai Chi blinked.
Seeing hope, she pressed on, "Spare me… and I’ll give it… to you…"
The corners of the boy’s lips curled up slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits like cracks in the abyss, flickering with dangerous light.
"I don’t leave because I don’t feel like it. Even if I stay, don’t you all still come looking for me?"
In that instant, Patient 05 realized she had made a terrible mistake.
No—not just her. Countless others had foolishly done the same.
They thought they could use these fragments as bargaining chips for their survival. But in truth, these things were nothing more than death warrants.
Only in their final moments would they realize their fatal error.
"No—!"
Her last word was cut short by the sound of flesh and bone being sliced apart. Her head hit the ground with a wet thud, blood spraying in an arc.
The black glass jar shattered as it fell, its dried-up contents spilling onto the floor, now unrecognizable.
A gust of wind scattered them like dust.
Bai Chi yawned behind his hand, suddenly feeling drowsy. He melted back into the shadows, retracing his steps silently until he slipped back into Xia Miao’s room.
Careful not to disturb her sleep, his heart swelled with warmth at the sight of her curled-up form under the blankets.
He quietly stripped off his clothes, climbed onto the bed, and lifted the covers—only to freeze when he met a pair of pitch-black eyes staring back at him.
The air hung heavy for a few seconds.
Beads of sweat formed on Bai Chi’s forehead. "M-Miao Miao…"
"Where did you go?"
Her tone was eerily reminiscent of a wife waiting on the couch for her husband to sneak home late at night, ready to demand answers. The sheer authority in her voice was terrifying.
Bai Chi’s eyes darted around. "I was… taking out the trash."
Xia Miao sat up, arms crossed, silent. Her gaze alone was crushing.
Bai Chi slowly sat up too, suddenly feeling exposed—he’d stripped too quickly, leaving himself bare and pitiful-looking.
He hung his head, stealing glances at her, his unease growing. "I’m sorry, Miao Miao, I—"
He was about to confess his lie.
But Xia Miao suddenly kicked him. "You went to deal with trash and didn’t even shower before crawling into my bed? Disgusting!"
Bai Chi stared at her, dumbfounded.
Xia Miao got out of bed, took a few steps, then glanced back. "You don’t want to shower with me?"
The boy snapped out of his daze, scrambling off the bed—his very naked, very noticeable self on full display.
He stumbled after her. "I do!"
Xia Miao grabbed his hand, dragged him into the bathroom, and shut the door.
Soon, the sound of running water filled the room.
The boy murmured softly, "Miao Miao… why didn’t you ask where I went?"
"Shut up. There are more important things to do right now."
"Like wha—"
His words were cut off, replaced by fragmented, breathless sounds.
The water drowned out the rest of the commotion in the bathroom.
They’d probably be sleeping in tomorrow.
