Zhou Ping’s eyelids twitched, and he slowly opened them.
The ceiling was white, soft with a hint of a warm tone.
The fluorescent lights weren't on, but the morning light filtering through the window was bright enough, casting an even halo of light across the walls.
He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, his mind a complete blank.
After a long moment, memories came rushing back, flooding into his consciousness.
The Section Chief’s face, the sedative, the door at the end of the corridor closing tighter and tighter, and the Moon!
He sat up and realized he was wearing a light blue hospital gown. On the bedside table sat a glass of water and an unopened pack of biscuits—the most common kind found in supermarkets, in transparent packaging, the biscuits pressed into rounded squares with a light dusting of white sugar on top.
Zhou Ping was thirsty and hungry, yet he didn't touch the water or the biscuits. He sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet on the floor, his expression calm while his mind raced at high speed.
Just then, footsteps came from outside the door. The sound of soles hitting the floor was light, step by step, measured and unhurried.
Zhou Ping looked up toward the door.
When Li Ming, the psychiatrist, pushed the door open and entered, he was holding a deep blue folder and a voice recorder.
He wore a white lab coat and silver-framed glasses, his gaze gentle.
He pulled over a chair, sat down by the bed, placed the folder on his knees, and pressed the record button on the voice recorder.
“Mr. Zhou Ping, hello. I am Li Ming, a psychiatrist. How are you feeling right now?”
Zhou Ping forced a normal smile. “I’m okay, just a bit dizzy. Did I... cause a lot of trouble for you all yesterday?”
Li Ming didn't answer the question, instead asking, “You don't remember what happened yesterday?”
Zhou Ping shook his head, his movements natural. “I blacked out. I only remember being at work, and then everything is a blur.”
Li Ming chewed over those words in his mind several times and immediately judged that Zhou Ping was lying. His expression was too stable. Someone who had just experienced a mental breakdown and woke up to find themselves locked in an unfamiliar ward shouldn't react this way.
A normal person would be fearful or confused, or at the very least ask, “Why am I here?”
Zhou Ping asked nothing. He was unnaturally calm.
Li Ming didn't call him out. He opened the folder and pulled out a psychological evaluation questionnaire.
The questionnaire was several pages long, densely packed with multiple-choice and short-answer questions.
Li Ming began the questioning according to standard procedure.
Zhou Ping cooperated well, giving conventional, textbook answers.
However, Li Ming noticed a few details. When answering the question “Do you believe in the existence of supernatural powers?” Zhou Ping paused for a split second.
The pause was very brief, but Li Ming caught it.
And when Li Ming mentioned the word “Moon,” Zhou Ping’s pupils dilated slightly for a fleeting moment.
‘Conventional questioning won't yield the truth,’ Li Ming concluded internally.
Zhou Ping was too lucid—so lucid that he knew exactly what he should and shouldn't say. He was in a defensive state of camouflage, pretending to be normal in a way that was far more sophisticated than an ordinary person.
Li Ming decided to employ a different method.
He stood up, walked to the window, and drew the curtains, plunging the room into darkness.
Then, he took an old-fashioned pocket watch from his briefcase. The case was silver with fine scratches on the surface, and the chain dangled, swaying slightly in the dim light.
Li Ming held the pocket watch before Zhou Ping’s eyes, ensuring he could clearly see the slender second hand ticking around the dial. Then, slowing his tone, he said:
“Zhou Ping, I’d like to try hypnosis. Are you willing to cooperate?”
Zhou Ping hesitated. He knew what hypnosis meant—he might lose control over his consciousness, and certain thoughts he was desperately trying to suppress might surface from the depths of his subconscious.
But he couldn't refuse. Refusing would arouse suspicion and make them think he was still hiding something, making them even more wary of him.
“Okay.”
Hypnosis it was. Zhou Ping gave himself a mental shot of adrenaline, telling himself it was no big deal. His willpower was strong enough; he could surely hold the line!
The pocket watch swung before his eyes, the silver case tracing arcs. There was no gap between the arcs; before the trail of one could vanish, the next had already caught up, weaving into a silver-white net.
Li Ming’s voice sounded in his ears, slow and monotonous.
Zhou Ping resisted at first, focusing his attention on his breathing, trying to keep his consciousness clear.
Unfortunately, his body was more honest than his mind. His breathing gradually slowed, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and they closed irresistibly.
Li Ming began to ask questions.
He asked what Zhou Ping had done in the game, where he had gone, and who he had met.
Zhou Ping’s answers were relatively clear at first. He could describe entering the 《Deep Red Continent》, creating a character, and going to Liming City.
But as the questions delved deeper, Li Ming began to touch upon the parts Zhou Ping had deliberately hidden.
Zhou Ping’s responses became increasingly chaotic. He could no longer form complete sentences, and his mouth only uttered fragmented, illogical shards of words.
“The Moon... is watching us.”
“He will descend.”
The more Li Ming questioned, the more he could sense a sinister aura within Zhou Ping’s subconscious.
The hypnosis could no longer continue because Zhou Ping would only repeat, “Praise the Moon.”
The hypnosis ended, and Zhou Ping was awakened, seemingly having no memory of the conversation just now.
He blinked and looked at Li Ming. “Is it over?”
“It’s over. Get some rest.” Li Ming stood up, put the pocket watch back into his briefcase, picked up the folder and voice recorder, and walked out of the ward.
Li Ming returned to his office. Several sheets of white paper were spread out before him, and he held a pencil in his hand.
He attempted to perform a psychological profiling of Zhou Ping. However, after drawing seven or eight versions, not one could accurately express Zhou Ping’s inner world.
The lines were completely erratic, even carrying an indescribable sense of horror.
“What exactly is this?” he murmured to himself, staring at the lines on the paper.
He reached out to touch the surface of the paper. The lines were drawn lightly, barely leaving an indentation, yet as his fingertips brushed across the page, he suddenly broke out in goosebumps. Images flashed before his eyes—a blurred, fleeting vision of a massive, bright celestial body hanging in a starless night sky, resembling a rotting, turbid eyeball.
Li Ming’s chest suddenly felt tight, his stomach churned, and a powerful wave of nausea surged from deep in his throat, which he forced himself to swallow back down.
He tried to concentrate, to see more details, but the images instantly tore apart and dissipated.
The air conditioner vent blew cold air onto the back of his neck, making him feel chilled.
“Hallucinations.”
“It must be hallucinations!”
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