The sensation of being watched vanished the moment Mu Sichen left his room.

He wasn’t sure if it was because Big Eye had closed its lid, because he had stepped outside, or a combination of both. What he did know was that the absence of that constant, invasive pressure made him feel significantly lighter. Even walking through a luminous fog with near-zero visibility didn’t spark much fear in him.

Mu Sichen wasn’t certain if heading this way would allow him to catch up with +543. Logically, shadowing a high-level player was the best move. However, he couldn’t leave the other three players in despair, and more importantly, he had already piqued +543’s curiosity. He didn’t want to follow too closely and risk becoming a target of the man’s suspicion.

He didn’t know +543; he had only inferred the man wasn’t a Follower based on his high Sanity. That didn’t mean he trusted him. Mu Sichen’s plan was simple: follow the breadcrumbs left by +543 to find clues, but keep his own feet firmly on the ground. He was a “Degenerate” who lacked any sincere faith in Big Eye; danger was an absolute certainty.

He moved slowly and cautiously, his senses tuned to the shifting mists to guard against whatever horrors might be lurking within.

After about thirty minutes of trekking, a structure began to materialize in the fog. Mu Sichen reached into his backpack and manifested the flashlight. His pickaxe was too cumbersome for a sudden ambush; the flashlight was a far more practical defensive tool.

As he neared the building, he saw a gate. To the left hung a plaque: Bright-Eye Mental Sanitarium.

The gate stood open. Inside a small guard booth sat a Follower with a SAN value of -63. Physically, Followers looked perfectly human, except for their near-immortality, the eyeballs that sprouted from their wounds, and their terrifying regenerative abilities.

The Follower was dressed in a security uniform. He slid a ledger through the window. “Volunteer registration for first-timers.”

Mu Sichen took the book. He skimmed the previous entries and was struck by how incredibly normal they looked. Names, contact info, timestamps, and visit counts—it all looked exactly like a logbook from the real world. If it weren’t for the neon SAN values hovering over the guard’s head, Mu Sichen might have believed he had been transported back home.

He scribbled down the name “Sha Dayan” (a homophone for Big-Eyed Idiot) and faked a phone number based on the previous entries. He handed the book back, appearing calm while his heart hammered against his ribs.

He paid extra attention to the names listed above his. He noted one in particular: Yao Wangping, a first-time visitor. Based on the profile, this was likely the real name of +543.

“Sha Dayan… what a lovely name,” the Follower said, tracing the characters with an envious finger. “Did you change it after finding your faith in the Great Existence?”

Mu Sichen nodded solemnly.

“Here is your badge,” the guard said, handing him a plastic tag. “Wear it. As long as you stay under His protection and follow the rules, you will be safe.”

Mu Sichen looked at the badge. It bore the name Sha Dayan, surrounded by a pattern that mimicked an eye. The name was positioned exactly where the pupil should be, making it look as though the words were trapped inside someone’s gaze.

He had a gut feeling that wearing this badge would lead to trouble, but refusal meant being barred from the asylum. Even if he turned back, the fog offered no safety. He could only be thankful he hadn’t used his real name. He had come up with the alias while thinking about how stupid Big Eye looked; he certainly didn’t lack for “disrespect.”

Taking a deep breath, he pinned the badge to his left chest and entered the facility.

The main building was illuminated, but the pervasive fog made the interior feel dim and oppressive. People passed through the lobby occasionally, but Mu Sichen noticed a disturbing change: he could no longer see their SAN values.

In fact, his own attribute bar had vanished from his field of vision. To see his stats, he had to manually open the system panel. He was now forced to identify people the old-fashioned way: by their faces and their badges.

It felt as though he had entered a sub-domain with rules even stricter than the town’s.

Mu Sichen tried to turn back, only to find the entrance had vanished. Behind him lay only an endless stretch of corridors and stairwells.

Pinned to the wall was a sheet of paper: Bright-Eye Mental Sanitarium: General Regulations.

He read the rules carefully:

1. All personnel must wear badges to distinguish between Patients, Families, Volunteers, and Medical Staff. Loss of badge is at your own risk.

2. Every person must fulfill their duty. Staff treat patients, Volunteers assist staff, Families comfort patients, and Patients accept treatment. Professional ethics must be upheld.

3. Hospital broadcast orders are absolute and must be executed immediately.

4. Staff and Volunteers must earn sufficient Contribution Points to leave. Families must find a replacement to leave. Patients may not leave until cured.

5. These are General Rules; supplemental terms may be added.

Next to the printout was a hand-written note: Supplement 1: Medical Staff may enter any room in the sanitarium. The handwriting was neat and clear, looking almost like a digital font despite being written by hand.

Mu Sichen analyzed the fine print. The place was a minefield. Clearly, the Medical Staff held the most power—they decided the “treatment,” which everyone else was forced to facilitate or endure.

He looked down at his badge. When he first received it, it read Volunteer: Sha Dayan. Now, it had changed to Family: Sha Dayan.

His brow furrowed. The roles switch? Do they rotate, or are there hidden triggers? And why did this place feel so… different from Pupil Town?

In the town, the hierarchy was absolute. Big Eye was the sun, and everyone else was a shadow. But Big Eye’s behavior was contradictory. It consumed the souls of “Degenerates” to grow stronger, yet it kept thousands of numb residents alive instead of harvesting them. It was as if it needed both the submissive and the defiant.

The sanitarium’s existence within this absolute dictatorship was an anomaly. Why would devout residents come here to “volunteer”? This discrepancy gave Mu Sichen hope; he felt he was on the right track. This place was likely connected to the Pillar.

But he had a more pressing problem: time.

Apostle Feather-Eye had warned them to return by 7:55 PM. If he missed that window, he would be locked out of his room and exposed to the “Day” without protection. That was a guaranteed death sentence.

An hour and a half had already passed. He had exactly 10 hours and 25 minutes left.

He had to find the Pillar, earn his contribution points, and get out before the clock ran out.

According to the rules, a “Family Member” had to comfort a patient or find a replacement. Step one: find his assigned patient. He looked at the bottom of his badge and found a room number in tiny print: Room 704.

Mu Sichen avoided the elevators—too claustrophobic—and sprinted up the stairs to the seventh floor. He paused outside the door to catch his breath before pushing it open.

The stench of rotting fish hit him instantly.

Sitting on the bed was a figure whose eyes bulged like a dead trout’s. His skin—face, neck, hands—was covered in translucent, pulsating blisters that looked like clusters of fish eyes. He was currently hunched over, eating something bloody and unrecognizable.

Mu Sichen’s face remained a mask of stone. “Apologies. Wrong room.”

He closed the door firmly and walked away, determined not to let his SAN drop any further in that room.

Author’s Note:

Qin Zhou: If you just call my name and love me sincerely, I can protect you. My tentacles are very long, you know.

Mu Sichen: Qin Zhou, Qin Zhou, Qin Zhou, Qin Zhou.

Qin Zhou (biting a tentacle sulkily): …There’s no love in that!