Chapter 1 : Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Reset to Zero

Luocheng, autumn.

In the hollow office, under the stark white incandescent light, the middle-aged doctor pushed up the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Hello, Chen Ji. I need to ask you some questions now. After you answer, I will make a judgment based on my assessment, scoring on a scale of 'none,' 'mild,' 'moderate,' 'severe,' or 'very severe.' Is that okay?"

"Okay."

"Do you want to end your life?"

"…End whose life?"

"Your own."

"No, not at all."

The middle-aged doctor hesitated for a moment: "Do you hold grudges? Is it hard for you to forgive those who have hurt you?"

"I don’t hold grudges."

"Do you often forget things? What memories do you have of being twelve years old?"

Across from the doctor, eighteen-year-old Chen Ji’s gaze drifted to the dark night outside the window: "Twelve years old? That summer, my deskmate Ma Kai secretly took my eraser. I really liked that eraser because it had an Uchiha Itachi pattern on it."

The doctor’s gaze returned to the previous question about grudges, crossed out "1 point, none," and wrote down "5 points, very severe."

He carefully observed the teenager across from him. Eighteen-year-old Chen Ji had a fairly handsome appearance, his skin clean, likely due to rarely going out, and his eyes clear and sincere.

"Next question: Can you tolerate loneliness?"

This time, Chen Ji finally paused to seriously consider the question. After a long while, he answered, "Yes, I can."

…

…

The questioning lasted half an hour. When the quartz clock on the wall ticked to ten o’clock at night, the doctor said, "One last question: Do you feel like someone is trying to harm you?"

Chen Ji: "No, my family has been pretty good to me."

The doctor’s eyelids twitched slightly. He quickly jotted down on his notepad: 168 points for positive symptoms, 67 positive items, factor score of 3.8. The patient, after the death of his parents in a car accident, developed severe 'post-traumatic stress disorder' with violent tendencies.

"Chen Ji, the diagnosis shows you have severe post-traumatic stress disorder and need to stay in the hospital for observation. A nurse will take you to the sixth-floor ward soon. You’ll need to hand over your phone, as external information could interfere with your treatment."

"Oh," Chen Ji didn’t seem surprised.

"Please wait here for a bit. I need to inform your family of the results," the doctor said, standing up with the diagnosis report.

"Wait!" Chen Ji called out to him.

"What’s wrong?" the doctor asked, turning back.

"I haven’t given you my phone yet," Chen Ji said, pulling a phone from his pocket and handing it to the doctor.

"I’m just holding onto your phone temporarily," the doctor said, slipping it into his own pocket before leaving, closing the door tightly behind him.

In the empty, dimly lit corridor outside, only a middle-aged couple stood, their expressions uneasy.

The man stepped forward: "Old Liu, everything go smoothly? Did he… notice anything?"

"No, he still thinks you’re good to him," Doctor Old Liu nodded. "Here’s the diagnosis report. You can go to the court to apply for him to be declared a 'person without civil capacity.'"

The middle-aged woman gave an awkward smile: "Thanks, Old Liu. We’ll treat you to dinner sometime."

Doctor Old Liu gave a forced smile: "No need for dinner. I don’t know why you want to label him as mentally ill, and I don’t want to ask. But if the court comes to review, I can also retract my diagnosis."

Chen Ji’s second uncle, Chen Shuo, hurriedly pulled a bulging file folder from his black leather bag: "Count it."

Doctor Old Liu glanced inside the folder: "Alright, you can go now. I’ll arrange for his hospitalization. He doesn’t seem resistant, but just to be safe, I’ll call two male nurses over."

"Alright, I’m leaving then," Chen Shuo said, walking toward the elevator with his wife, Wang Huiling.

In the dim corridor, Wang Huiling whispered to her husband, "How much did you give him?"

"Fifty thousand."

"That much? He just sat there asking a few questions—why should he get that much?" chubby Wang Huiling glared with her wide eyes.

Chen Shuo snapped impatiently: "You really think a dinner would settle it? Fifty thousand is nothing compared to Chen Ji’s house! Tomorrow, hurry to the court and submit the application. Once he’s declared a person without civil capacity, we’ll transfer the house to our names first, so there’s no trouble later."

Wang Huiling whispered, "Is Old Liu reliable? What if Chen Ji escapes from the hospital?"

"Don’t worry. I heard the sixth floor of Qingshan Hospital is like a prison—no one escapes. Let’s not talk about this in this creepy place; it gives me the chills."

As Chen Shuo stepped out of Qingshan Mental Hospital, he instinctively glanced back.

In the darkness, the twisted, dense ivy climbed across the building, nearly covering the windows. As his gaze swept over, shadowy figures seemed to flicker through the gaps in the ivy, as if many 'people' were watching him.

…

…

Chen Ji was escorted by two male nurses, one on each side, walking down the dim sixth-floor corridor, where only the faint glow of the emergency exit sign provided some light.

There was no nurse’s station on this floor. At the end of the corridor was an iron door that required a password to open. One nurse covered Chen Ji’s eyes while the other entered the code.

With a click, the door opened.

Inside was a vast hall, with single beds placed every one and a half meters. In the dim light, the beds looked like coffins, numbering at least a hundred.

The next moment, dark silhouettes sat up on those beds, turning their heads to silently stare in Chen Ji’s direction.

One nurse whispered, "Ignore them. Let’s get this done and get out."

The two nurses pressed Chen Ji onto a bed to lie flat, securing his hands and feet with restraints.

"Wait!" Chen Ji said.

"What now?" the nurse asked irritably.

Chen Ji: "Don’t I need to change into a hospital gown?"

"…You’re really sick," one nurse muttered under his breath, then turned to his colleague: "Let’s go."

With a clang, the iron door shut, and the room fell silent again.

Chen Ji turned his head to look around. The windows in the ward were all welded shut with stainless steel security bars.

Rustle, rustle.

The sound of clothing rubbing against bedding filled the ward, followed by faint footsteps.

Chen Ji heard the sounds approaching, growing louder and closer.

"Come on…" Chen Ji sighed, staring helplessly at the ceiling. "Just tying me up? How awkward."

By the faint moonlight filtering through the window, he saw five or six heads poking out like turtles, crowding his view of the ceiling. Their dark faces bore eerie smiles.

Chen Ji: "This is freaking terrifying. It’s practically curing my mental illness…"

Someone whispered, "What do you think—does he take a dump before or after meals?"

"Let me call the United Nations and ask," a middle-aged man said, pulling out a calculator and rapidly pressing buttons. A crisp female voice reporting numbers echoed sharply in the ward.

Before he could finish, an old man pressed down on the calculator.

"Reset to zero."

All sounds vanished, and the patients parted to make way for the old man.

The old man approached the bed, bending down to look at Chen Ji: "You really came."

Chen Ji: "What do you mean?"

The old man pulled out a piece of paper: "Someone once said you’d come here today."

On the paper was a pencil sketch of Chen Ji’s likeness, strikingly lifelike.

Chen Ji was filled with awe: "Completely reasonable."

…

…

Those who end up in a mental hospital are either too foolish or too clever.

They’re just trapped in their obsessive worlds, endlessly wrestling with themselves, unable to break free.

Chen Ji held some respect for mental hospitals.

So when he saw that sketch, he immediately felt the world becoming mysterious: "My head’s itching—like I’m about to grow a brain! Old man, did you draw this?"

"It wasn’t me, but I can take you to meet the person who did," the old man said, undoing Chen Ji’s restraints. All the patients parted to form a path for them.

At the end of the path, a young man sat dazedly by a bed, staring blankly out the window.

"What’s his condition?" Chen Ji asked.

"Severe delusional disorder. He always said he lived in another world and that this world was his dream. Later, he developed dissociative symptoms and became completely catatonic," the old man replied.

"When did he come here?"

"He came a year ago. He said you’d show up today, which proves he wasn’t lying."

Chen Ji looked at the old man in surprise: "What’s your condition? Your thinking is remarkably clear."

"I’m not sick," the old man said.

"That’s a very mental patient thing to say…"

The old man huffed: "I’m really not sick. I got into some trouble before and hid out here. If you don’t believe me, test me with a paranoia scale."

Chen Ji: "Do you like your dad or your mom?"

The old man: "Mom."

Chen Ji: "…"

He approached the delusional young man: "Hello?"

But the young man just stared into the darkness outside the window, silent.

The old man: "He hasn’t spoken in six months."

"What’s his name?"

"Li Qingniao."

Chen Ji felt a pang of regret. He carefully studied the dazed Li Qingniao and whispered, "Old man, did he ever mention what that other world he lived in was like?"

"No," the old man shook his head.

Chen Ji asked again, "Old man, has he received any treatment since coming here? Is there any way to help him regain consciousness?"

"Treatment? What’s the point? Everyone on the sixth floor is beyond treatment—just keep them alive."

"Huh? No last-ditch effort? What if he could be cured?"

"There was one who got cured," the old man said, stroking his chin.

"How was she cured?"

"There was a girl with severe depression. She lost over thirty pounds in a month here. Then her dad won over twenty million in the lottery and took her out. Her illness was cured."

Huh?

Chen Ji slowly turned to Li Qingniao: "I’ll give you twenty million too."

Li Qingniao, silent for six months, suddenly spoke: "You’re going to that world too."

Huh?

The old man’s eyes widened.

Chen Ji hurriedly asked, "How do I get to that world?"

Li Qingniao fell silent again.

Chen Ji: "I’ll give you another twenty million!"

Li Qingniao: "The people of Beijuluzhou will handle the smuggling."

Chen Ji: "Another twenty million… What’s that world like?"

Li Qingniao paused for two seconds: "You only have a little over forty million in your account."

Chen Ji: "???"

Big brother, are you faking your illness?

He reached out to pinch Li Qingniao’s cheek, but no matter what he did, Li Qingniao wouldn’t speak again.

The old man, hunched over with his hands behind his back, asked, "Young man, why are you here?"

Chen Ji replied, "My parents passed away, and I’ve been a bit reclusive this past six months, so my second uncle and aunt sent me here."

The old man narrowed his eyes slightly: "Young man, how much inheritance did your parents leave you?"

Chen Ji: "A villa worth over twenty million and a few tens of millions in savings."

The old man mused, "You’d better watch out for your second uncle and aunt. If they apply to the court to have you declared 'without civil capacity,' you won’t be able to hold onto that inheritance."

Chen Ji’s expression melted into the dimness of the ward: "No way. They’re my family, after all."

Outside, the wind picked up, rustling the ivy. The moonlight filtering through cast leaf shadows that flickered and danced on the floor like black flames.