Teng Jing Zhi stared at the three startled women, a knot of unease tightening in his gut. Something wasn’t right. There might be someone from his life in the real world stuck in this bizarre hospital, but three? And all at once? Impossible.


    Then they mentioned the farewell letter on his phone – a message only he could know about. A chill ran down his spine.


    He forced a chuckle. “Okay, what’s going on here?”


    Yu Xiao hesitated, her gaze flickering to her companions. Explaining everything would mean revealing the truth about the Sage Hospital, the inevitable fate that awaited him. How could they tell this man, still fighting for his life, that his end was already written?


    Their reluctance hung heavy in the air. Teng Jing Zhi, sensing their struggle, pulled a chair from beside the bed and placed it near the door, creating a space for dialogue. He leaned forward, his gaze steady. “Look, I don’t know how you all know me, but you clearly care. Let’s just say I consider you friends.”


    Yu Xiao nodded, accepting the olive branch.


    “So,” Teng Jing Zhi continued, “let’s start with the obvious. What is this place? What happened to you?”


    Taking a deep breath, Yu Xiao began. “We’ve been trapped in this…instance for a while now. The moment we entered this room, the world behind that door changed. It’s not the same corridor anymore. Every time we open it, we’re somewhere else – a bedroom, a living room, even a kitchen or bathroom. Each space is different, some new, some old.”


    She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “It’s not just the space that changes, but time too…”


    Yu Xiao carefully explained everything they had learned, painting a picture of a reality warped and fractured. As she spoke, Teng Jing Zhi’s expression grew grim, his mind racing to grasp the implications. The three women watched him, ready to answer any question.


    Finally, Teng Jing Zhi looked up, a dawning realisation in his eyes. “So because time is distorted here, people from different times can meet. You’re from the Sixth Hospital, a place I’ve never heard of. Which means…” he swallowed, the truth settling cold in his stomach, “I’m from your past, aren’t I?”


    “Yes,” Yu Xiao confirmed softly.


    Teng Jing Zhi nodded slowly, taking in the implications. “So you knew me before this place, and the future version of me…”


    Yu Xiao hesitated, about to speak, but he cut her off with a bitter smile. “I’m dead by then, aren’t I?”


    Zhou Xiao Zhen gasped, “How did you–”


    “You practically said it,” Teng Jing Zhi replied, his voice remarkably calm. “If you’re surprised to see me alive, it means you’ve met…the other version of me.”


    His mind was sharp, piecing together the truth from their hesitant words. Yu Xiao found herself speechless. What comfort could she offer in the face of such a harsh reality?


    But Teng Jing Zhi didn’t seem devastated. His expression was almost serene, as if he had already glimpsed this outcome.


    Yu Xiao offered, “I know in which instance you… I can tell you what happened. Maybe if you know, you won’t die.”


    He nodded, never taking his eyes off hers. “Sure, tell me.”


    She considered where to begin, but Teng Jing Zhi interrupted, speaking in a low, steady voice. “Tell me everything. How we met, what happened…everything.”


    And so, Yu Xiao started at the beginning, recounting their journey through the terrifying labyrinth of the Sage Hospital. She spoke of their first encounter, their struggles, their losses.


    Throughout her tale, Teng Jing Zhi remained composed, his face an emotionless mask. But when Yu Xiao described his fate – the insatiable hunger that consumed him after death – his lips tightened, a flicker of sorrow betraying his carefully constructed composure.


    When she finished, a heavy silence settled between them, the unspoken truth lingering in the air. Even if Yu Xiao had laid bare every detail of their journey, it likely wouldn’t change Teng Jing Zhi’s fate. Destiny, it seemed, had a way of catching up.


    After a long moment, Teng Jing Zhi looked at Yu Xiao, his gaze sincere. “Thank you for telling me all of this,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “And thank you for being brave enough to take my phone out.”


    He looked up at the ceiling, a deep sigh escaping his lips.


    Zhou Xiao Zhen, unable to bear the weight of his despair, offered a glimmer of hope. “Maybe knowing about the Sage Hospital changes things,” she said, her voice laced with uncertainty. “Maybe it won’t be the same.”


    Teng Jing Zhi didn’t respond, his thoughts swirling. “I never imagined there was even a Sixth Hospital,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “What year did you enter?”


    When Yu Xiao told him, his eyes widened. “Over twenty years…” he breathed, astounded by the passage of time.


    Hesitantly, he asked, “Did you try contacting anyone from my phone? Are any of them…still alive?”


    “We only contacted one person,” Yu Xiao admitted. “We heard his nickname on the morning news so often, we didn’t dare contact anyone else randomly.”


    “Who?”


    Yu Xiao blushed. “Wide Sea and Sky,” she confessed. “We have contacted him many times, but we never got a chance to ask his real name. He…has a bit of a temper.”


    Teng Jing Zhi’s lips twitched. “How bad?” he asked, a flicker of amusement momentarily dispelling the gloom.


    Yu Xiao hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Zhou Xiao Zhen jumped in. “He’s moody,” she explained. “Hangs up the phone for no reason, throws tantrums. But he’s generous.”


    Teng Jing Zhi’s eyebrows shot up. “Little Star (星星) is that bad-tempered now?”


    Yu Xiao stared at him, bewildered. “What?”


    “Little Star, Wide Sea and Sky,” Teng Jing Zhi clarified. “His name is Tang Xing Yin (唐星吟: “the poetic chant of a star from the Tang heritage” or “a star’s melody in the Tang tradition”). I met him in the third instance. He was so young and timid back then, we all called him Little Star. We exchanged numbers, and whenever someone got a team card, they’d bring him along.”


    唐 (Táng): This surname refers to the Tang Dynasty, one of China’s most prosperous and culturally rich periods. The character 唐 also means “Chinese” or “tang” in some contexts, symbolising heritage and culture.星 (Xīng): This character means “star”. It often symbolises brightness, hope, and celestial bodies.吟 (Yín): This character means “to chant” or “to recite poetically”. It conveys a sense of musicality and artistry.Therefore, the name 唐星吟 (Táng Xīngyín) could be interpreted as “the poetic chant of a star from the Tang heritage” or “a star’s melody in the Tang tradition”, reflecting a person who is bright, hopeful, and artistically expressive, with a strong connection to cultural roots.


    Yu Xiao was floored. Wide Sea and Sky, the tyrant of the airwaves, was a shy little star? The world was a strange place indeed.


    “So, how is he?” Teng Jing Zhi asked, his voice tinged with concern.


    “Um… not too good, Yu Xiao admitted. “He’s been alone in his hospital room for a long time.”


    Teng Jing Zhi’s face fell.


    “And there’s something else,” Yu Xiao continued, her voice hushed. “He’s in trouble. He says the more times you enter an instance, the more yin energy erodes your soul. He wouldn’t say what happens when the erosion is complete, but…I have a friend from the Fourth Hospital. He’s started eating people in his dreams.”


    While Teng Jing Zhi had taken his own death with surprising calm, the news about Tang Xing Yin hit him hard. The worry in his eyes was impossible to miss.


    “I’ve been having similar dreams,” he confessed, his voice strained. “I thought it was just the stress…” He looked at Yu Xiao, desperation in his eyes. “Is there any way to stop it?”


    Yu Xiao shook her head, her heart heavy.


    He sighed, a long, weary exhale. The sigh was for himself, for Tang Xing Yin, and for all the friends they had lost along the way.


    “You…” Teng Jing Zhi licked his lips, his voice a dry rasp. “Could you do me a favour?”


    Yu Xiao met his gaze, her expression open and reassuring. “Of course. What is it?”


    A shadow of pain flickered across Teng Jing Zhi’s face. He tried to smile, but the effort crumbled into a grimace. “When you leave… could you contact my old friends? I… well, I won’t be around to know, but I’d be grateful if you could check if they are still alive.”


    Yu Xiao nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. “I will.”


    “Thank you.” Tears welled up in Teng Jing Zhi’s eyes. He paused, then added, “I’d like to write a letter to Star. Could you pass it on to him?”


    “Of course.” Yu Xiao glanced around the room. “There doesn’t seem to be any paper or pen here.” She thought for a moment, then pulled out her phone. “How about we record a video message instead?”


    “Video?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “You mean like recording? But… do you have a camera?”


    Yu Xiao chuckled softly and shook her phone. “We have this.”


    “What is that?” Teng Jing Zhi peered at the device with curiosity.


    “It’s a mobile phone,” She explained as she opened the camera app. “A lot has changed over the years, not just hospitals. Phones can record videos now.”


    “So small… incredible,” He murmured, his eyes filled with a wistful wonder.


    “Ready to record?” S~ea??h the N??eFire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Teng Jing Zhi hesitated. “Could I… have a moment alone first?”


    “Absolutely.” Yu Xiao showed him how to operate the camera, then handed him the phone. He retreated to a corner of the room, seeking a moment of privacy to gather his thoughts and emotions before speaking to his old friend across the gulf of time.


    After a while, he returned and handed the phone back to Yu Xiao.


    “Anything you want me to pass on to your friends or Wide Sea and Sky?” she asked, taking it.


    “Just… say hello.” Teng Jing Zhi smiled faintly. “Anything I needed to say to Little Star, I said in the video.”


    Silence descended again, heavy and bittersweet. “Please,” Teng Jing Zhi finally said, his voice low, “close the door.”


    “Shouldn’t we wait a little longer?” Yu Xiao suggested, her brow furrowing. “According to our estimation, the correct way out will only be accessible tomorrow.”


    “Close the door,” Teng Jing Zhi repeated, his gaze gentle yet unwavering. “Sooner or later, it has to be closed.”


    Yu Xiao exchanged a worried look with the others. Zhao Lan stepped forward, her hand pulling the door. Just as it began to close, Yu Xiao saw Teng Jing Zhi’s lips move, forming the words,


    — See you.


    Yes, they would see each other again.


    The door clicked shut.


    Zhou Xiao Zhen sniffled, tears welling in her eyes. “I feel like crying,” she whispered.


    “Let it out,” Zhao Lan sighed, her voice thick with emotion. “That’s why Teng Jing Zhi recognized us at the Sage Hospital.”


    Memories of their encounter at the hospital flooded Yu Xiao’s mind, a sense of destiny washing over her. No, she wouldn’t succumb to fate.


    Clenching her fists, she vowed that the three of them would leave the hospital, together and alive. Their story wasn’t over yet.


    “What now?” Zhou Xiao Zhen sniffled, her eyes still red-rimmed. “More doors?”


    “Might as well,” Zhao Lan said with a weary sigh. “We still haven’t figured out dinner.”


    Yu Xiao crouched beside the ghost felled by lightning, her gaze drawn to a glimmer on the floor. It was a smartphone, its screen spiderwebbed with cracks. She picked it up, unsure if it still functioned.


    “Another patient?” Zhao Lan knelt beside her, a mix of sadness and curiosity in her voice. “Everyone here is a patient, just at different stages – alive, dead, or transformed into yin-fueled monsters…”


    “Then who made that amazing tomato beef?” Zhou Xiao Zhen piped up. “Did a patient cook it and then just… leave?”


    Yu Xiao tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it?”


    “Totally,” Zhou Xiao Zhen agreed, licking her lips. “That beef was seriously good.”


    “They made it, so they must have been hungry,” Zhao Lan mused. “But if they were hungry, why not eat before leaving?”


    “Maybe something happened,” Yu Xiao suggested. “Something unexpected that forced them to abandon their almost-finished meal.”


    “What could happen in a kitchen?” Zhou Xiao Zhen wondered aloud, pulling open the door to reveal a scene of utter chaos. The floor was even torn up.


    “No one here,” Zhao Lan reported after a quick scan of the room.


    Zhou Xiao Zhen continued opening doors, but several in a row revealed nothing of interest.


    “I think our hunch about the doors is right,” Yu Xiao said thoughtfully. “Especially since Teng Jing Zhi left.”


    Zhao Lan nodded in agreement. “After hearing our theory, he shouldn’t leave the bedroom without reason. And he managed to get out, which means we should be able to as well. He’ll be at the Sage Hospital, remember?”


    As they whispered, Zhou Xiao Zhen suddenly gasped. “!”


    They both turned, their eyes widening in unison. “!”


    Beyond the door lay another kitchen, completely different from the one where they’d found the beef. This one had a more old-fashioned feel, but pots bubbled invitingly on the stove.


    Zhao Lan lifted a lid, inhaling deeply. “Sour cabbage stew with pork, and vermicelli noodles!” she exclaimed. “Dinner is served!”


    The aroma hit Zhou Xiao Zhen like a wave. “…” she breathed, mouth watering. “It’s been ages since I last had this. Ever since Grandma…” The sentence trailed off, a pang of longing in her voice.


    Yu Xiao, rummaging through the fridge, stopped short, a surprised smile breaking out on her face. “Hey, there are still vegetables left! And plenty of eggs too.”


    Zhao Lan, peering into a cabinet under the stove, chimed in, “Look, there’s even rice!”


    “Rice it is, then,” Yu Xiao declared. “Just veggies won’t do.”


    Without missing a beat, Zhao Lan rolled up her sleeves and got the rice cooker going. Zhou Xiao Zhen, practically glued to the doorway, couldn’t help but let out a whine. “Maybe cook a little extra? We could make some egg fried rice with this, and have leftovers for tomorrow!”


    And so, a pot of rice bubbled away on the stove as Yu Xiao prepped the eggs and vegetables. Neither of them were exactly culinary masters, so they mostly watched Zhao Lan work her magic.


    “Misty,” Zhou Xiao Zhen called out, a hint of envy in her voice, “you’re amazing in the kitchen! How’d you get so good at cooking?”


    Zhao Lan’s movements never faltered. “Well,” she began, “when I was younger, things were a bit tight at home. My parents worked long hours and couldn’t always cook dinner. So, I learned to fend for myself.”


    Yu Xiao let out a small sigh. “Same here. My parents were busy too.”


    “But then why didn’t you learn to cook?” Zhou Xiao Zhen couldn’t help but ask.


    Yu Xiao shrugged. “We had a nanny.”


    “…”


    The air hung heavy for a moment. Zhou Xiao Zhen wisely steered the conversation back to food. “Will the fried rice be enough for tomorrow? I saw there were noodles in the cupboard too.”


    “Noodles get mushy if you reheat them,” Yu Xiao pointed out.


    “We could stir-fry them!” Zhou Xiao Zhen exclaimed. “Stir-fried noodles are way better than plain boiled ones, right?”


    With a resigned smile, Zhao Lan reached for another pot and set it to boil.


    A symphony of delicious smells swirled around Zhou Xiao Zhen and Yu Xiao. They practically glued themselves to the floor, eyes wide with anticipation as Zhao Lan orchestrated a culinary performance with pots and pans. Every so often, they’d erupted in a chorus of enthusiastic praise – some might even call it “rainbow flattery” – for her skills.


    (彩虹屁 (cǎihóng pì) – Rainbow fart: Flattering or overly sweet words used to compliment someone in a joking or exaggerated manner. This term is often used humorously on the internet to describe exaggerated flattery.)


    Finally, with a resounding “Dong!”, a steaming bowl of stir-fried noodles landed on the table.


    “Save these for a later snack,” Zhao Lan instructed, pointing at the noodles. “We’ll be famished by dinnertime.”


    Next came a massive bowl of golden egg fried rice, “This beauty is for tomorrow.”


    The real star of the show, however, was the large pot emanating a heavenly aroma of sour cabbage and pork.


    “Alright, alright, settle down, chef,” Yu Xiao teased, nodding rapidly.


    “Someone get these out of here!” Zhao Lan gestured towards the bowls of noodles and fried rice, ushering them out of the kitchen. “Who says we eat in the warzone?”


    With the dishes safely tucked away in the bedroom, the three friends gathered around the table. Zhou Xiao Zhen, chopsticks in hand, couldn’t help but remark, “Wow, this is a feast! So many fresh dishes.”


    “Maybe it was beginner’s luck with the door,” Yu Xiao mused, digging into the tangy vermicelli. Hunger pangs forgotten, she savoured each bite. “The food hasn’t had time to spoil yet.”


    Chewing thoughtfully, Zhao Lan threw out a question, “Something’s been puzzling me…”


    Both Yu Xiao and Zhou Xiao Zhen turned to her expectantly.


    “Once we left the first space after entering the door,” Zhao Lan continued, “can we ever come back to that exact moment?”


    “Tough call,” Yu Xiao pondered. “Even if we found the same space again, who knows if it’d be the same second?”


    Suddenly, Zhou Xiao Zhen raised her hand, eyes sparkling. “Ooh, I have a question too! Can we run into… ourselves?”