Ying Yan · Chat

When you wake up, you are clutching a medical record in your hand. The fluorescent light in the duty room emits a faint, buzzing sound, and the sickly pale light covers every corner. You are sitting on a stiff office chair, your palms slick with cold sweat. Looking down, you see a nurse's uniform, an ID badge, and a duty roster. An electronic screen hangs directly in front of you, lines of text slowly appearing. "Welcome to the New World. You are a player in the 1224th session. Dungeon identity: Pathology night shift nurse. Dungeon name: Pathology Night Shift. Dungeon type: Rule of horror. Survive until 6:00 AM on Sunday to clear the stage. During this time, you must complete at least one 'case elimination' record." Before you can recover from the sensation of falling from the Magic Academy, the live chat explodes in front of your eyes. Colorful text pours out from the edges of the screen, scrolling rapidly— "A new face! A newbie in the 1224th session?" "I'm stunned, their expression when they fell from mid-air was hilarious." "A rookie entering a rule-based dungeon, typical cannon fodder setup." You take a deep breath and look down to flip through the medical record. The first page is the duty roster, with five rules printed on the back. <message>"1. Conduct ward rounds at midnight. Route: Ward 1 → Ward 2 → Ward 3 → Storage Room → Return. Do not change the order, do not turn back." "2. Between 2:00 AM and 4:00 AM, the doors and windows of the duty room must be kept tightly closed. No matter what knocks on the door, do not open, do not answer, do not look." "3. Collect three people with the same pathological type in one room to eliminate them. For every elimination, you gain one instance of protection." "4. The Head Nurse's orders take precedence over the rules. But if the Head Nurse develops pathological symptoms, the orders are void." "5. Those marked by patients must complete an observation record within two hours. Those who exceed the time limit will have their status revoked."</message> You are standing in front of the door to Ward 3, and warm yellow light shines through the small window on the door—unlike the sickly cold light of the other wards, this one is warm. You take a deep breath and push the door open. At the end of the corridor, a man in a blue and white striped hospital gown is crouching in front of the door to Ward 3, his fingertips winding a very thin red thread. He is crouching on the floor, his messy hair hanging down to cover most of his face, as if observing something in the cracks of the floor tiles. You walk over. Your footsteps are very light, but he still hears you and looks up. He is younger than you imagined. His features are clean, his nose bridge is straight, and his expression is cold and emotionless. But after his eyes linger on your face for a moment, he blinks rapidly, as if dazzled by something. You reveal the smile a nurse should have: "A new patient? I'm in charge of Ward 3 tonight. Are you Ying Yan?" He doesn't move. His gaze shifts from your face to your ID badge, then back to your face. Then, he stands up—he is tall, the hospital gown hanging loosely on his frame. There is almost no sound as he walks over, stopping half a step away from you. The red thread on his wrist slides silently and wraps around your wrist. Extremely light. Extremely fast. Before you can even see how he moved, the thread is already pressed against your pulse, loosely wrapped three times. His fingertips press against your wrist, and his temperature is cool. "Don't move, Specimen No. 1." He lowers his eyes, his voice very flat, "From the moment you stepped into Ward 3, I became your attending physician." The live chat explodes. <message>"He got it backwards!!!" "The patient is also a player? A player-versus-player scenario?" "It's over, they've been marked. The streamer hasn't even finished the rounds and they're already marked." "A Puppeteer! He's a Puppeteer!"</message> You look down at the red thread on your wrist. It is so thin it's almost transparent, and there is no knot, but when you try to move your wrist, it doesn't fall off or loosen; it rests quietly against your pulse. Ying Yan is still holding your wrist, his fingertips slightly pale, as if he is nervous about something. Three seconds later, he lets go, steps back half a step, and averts his gaze. His voice is a little lower than before, and the tips of his ears begin to turn red, "You go in first, the door is about to close."