My Healing Games

Chapter 617, Number Four

Having worked her way up in the entertainment industry, Li Huang has seen all sorts of people and disgusting things. She hides all her vulnerability deep inside and then armors herself with thick armor.

She thought she would become increasingly tough, but she never expected that in this dark, abandoned hospital, there was a lazy, sexy, and evil soul that could so easily shatter all her defenses.

Looking at Han Fei's profile, rumors about Han Fei surfaced in Li Huang's mind.

After meeting her in person, she discovered that the rumors were not exaggerated at all; in fact, they were quite euphemistic.

There were no cameras installed on the third and fourth basement levels; these were locations outside the script. The audience could only see what was happening through the miniature camera attached to Han Fei. But just as the painting malfunctioned, Han Fei reached out and removed the last camera.

How terrible an actor can become without the supervision of an audience is a question that only a very small number of "lucky ones" know the answer to.

Red paint slid down the ceiling, and the oil paintings came to life under the nourishment of blood. Some deformed children in the paintings poked their heads out and looked at the plastic surgery hospital shrouded in darkness.

The hellish scene made Li Huang scream; she was almost suffocating. In her opinion, no one could face such fear.

But whenever she was on the verge of collapse, her gaze would always shift to Han Fei, who remained standing in the darkness even under such circumstances.

"Didn't he feel afraid?"

Clutching the corpse prop in his hand, Han Fei stood in the middle of the corridor. Each shrine mission would tear his consciousness apart and then rebuild it, sharpening his will to the point of being as sharp as a blade.

In reality, hatred is greatly limited. Even a butterfly can only defeat and manipulate a person through psychological suggestion. A person with a strong will like Han Fei is the one that butterflies fear the most.

Because they never waver easily; their hearts are always loyal to themselves.

Although Han Fei was covered in blood-red paint and immersed in hallucinations, his consciousness remained perfectly clear.

The young man who was once hunted down by a perverted outsider can now use various forces to slay the deeply wounded hatred.

The slash that Kuangxiao unleashed not only extinguished the black flames on his ten fingers, but also shattered Han Fei's fear of hatred.

"Butterflies never kill with their own hands, so what about you?"

Han Fei stared intently at the other side of the corridor, where a tall, thin man emerged from the thick darkness.

He was taciturn, dressed in a painter's uniform, and carrying a small bucket filled with "red paint" in his right hand.

This wasn't the first time Han Fei and the painter had met. In fact, the plastic surgery hospital's hatred had been searching for someone connected to the butterfly, as they wanted to find out what had happened in the dead building.

As the most mysterious figure in the plastic surgery hospital, the painter knew a great deal, and he was also well aware of the special nature of the Dead Building, because that area was once where someone grew up.

"You've missed your only chance," Han Fei said bluntly. Before Xu Qin became a source of hatred, the three sources of hatred from the plastic surgery hospital could easily crush Death Building, but now the situation has been reversed.

The faceless woman is about to be annihilated, the kindness of the little white shoes has been controlled by Han Fei, and the Dead Building area, excluding the Mirror God, now has two people with hatred. The plastic surgery hospital no longer has the ability to destroy the Dead Building.

In the long corridor covered with oil paintings, Han Fei and the painters stood on either side of the corridor, neither of them in a hurry to start working.

Han Fei watched the painter's every move, while the painter silently observed Han Fei, seemingly trying to ascertain something.

After a long while, the painter raised his left hand and tore off the sleeve of his right arm.

There was a gouged-out wound on his pale arm, which looked like the number "4".

The wound never healed, and the black blood seeping from it would continuously drip into the small bucket he was carrying in his right hand.

"Was the red paint the painter used actually his own blood?"

Han Fei recalled the cursed text he had seen before. He stared at the number 4 wound on the painter's right arm: "What exactly is your relationship with Orphan Number Four? If you are friends, then perhaps we shouldn't fight each other, because the person he most admires and wants to become is me."

Han Fei had already made a plan before leaving the game. He planned to find an opportunity to negotiate with the plastic surgery hospital's hatred at the Neutral Place Department Store, so he tried his best to avoid any conflicts that could be avoided.

Hearing Han Fei's words, the painter's expression remained unchanged. He seemed to have long since abandoned all human emotions, immersing himself entirely in the painting.

The black blood flowing from the wound of number 4 dripped into the small bucket, and the viscous red "pigment" in the bucket emitted a peculiar putrid smell. If emotions could fester, that stench must be the smell of various emotions rotting after death.

The children in the oil painting are afraid to approach the painter, as if he were a kind and gentle father who suddenly went drunk and went mad, wildly waving a kitchen knife.

The faceless child hid in all directions. The painter put his left hand into the bucket, stirred it, and then used his left hand to draw a window on the ground.

Beyond the window lies a pitch-black city, filled with towering buildings, each concealing something utterly terrifying.

Han Fei saw this painting once when he rescued Chou Ba. The oil painting seemed to connect to another world, and once you fell into it, you could never come back.

The silent painter finished the painting, then pressed down on the window he had painted with one hand and pushed it inward with force.

Something unimaginable happened: the painted window was pushed open!
A chilling wind blew out of the painted window, causing the temperature to plummet. Screams and monster roars seemed to echo in the air, and a nightmare lurked behind that window.

After the painter finished, his eyes, which had become numb to everything, looked at Han Fei, and he raised his left hand, which was covered in "red paint".

On the fourth basement floor of the plastic surgery hospital, all the oil paintings on the walls and windows were opened, and the faceless children playing outside climbed over the windowsills and ran out.

They lost themselves, chasing after false pleasures, like a group of zombies trapped in a paradise.

There are so many oil paintings in the basement of the plastic surgery hospital that even the painters probably didn't count them all.

He was powerless to help those children in the past, and could only draw thirty-one windows for them. Now, he can't change anything either. After returning to this abandoned place, he can only repeatedly draw the scenery outside the windows. But no matter how beautiful the scenery outside the windows is, the children who saw that scenery will never come back.

"Han Fei!" Li Huang shouted from behind, her voice almost hoarse.

Countless faceless children came to Han Fei's side, tearing at his body and trying to drag him toward the window painted by the painter.

Looking at the children's faces, Han Fei felt a hysterical laugh rising from the depths of his mind as he interacted with them.

The laughter was morbid, containing madness, but if you listened carefully, you could also feel an indescribable sadness.

A child with a healing personality turned into a madman who could only laugh wildly, and grew up to become an adult who had lost even the ability to smile.

"Is this the most successful personality type? Or the most unsuccessful personality type?"

Amidst the laughter and the combined influence of the children, Han Fei approached the black window step by step.

The children, who had lost themselves, hoped that Han Fei would become like them. Their laughter grew louder and louder, and Han Fei got closer and closer to the window.

Three meters, two meters...

Han Fei's steps finally stopped just centimeters away from the window. He and the painter stood at opposite ends of the window, as if they were people from two different worlds.

"If you had met me a night earlier, my willpower probably wouldn't have been able to stop these things. They would have pushed me through the window and locked me in the dark."

The task of inheriting the shrine is the cruelest test and tempering of will. Han Fei's consciousness and body were torn apart in Fu Sheng's shrine. He successfully recovered his soul on the verge of being scattered and was eventually pieced back together by the hatred and love of ten people.

His willpower to rebuild from the ashes is so strong that it has exceeded the imagination of most people.

"No matter what I've been through in the past, at least I'm still alive. Since I'm alive, I will make changes. On the road to death, I will try to change fate. I will change everything that follows, just as I changed the future of others in the world of memories in the shrine."

With bloodshot eyes and prominent veins on his face, Han Fei was putting on a final stand against the painter.

The painter doesn't seem to be able to kill people directly in reality, but his strange abilities can directly affect those who can see him. At this moment, Han Fei is under tremendous pressure, but it's just pressure.

Having possessed the black box and experienced so much in the deep world, Han Fei can be said to be the person least likely to yield.

No one could drive him mad with just hallucinations; he had already experienced the most thorough and insane madness from the maniacal laughter.

The confrontation, separated by a window, lasted for a long time until the building began to shake and the alarms outside became increasingly clear.

The two sides were deadlocked, and slowly, a child's voice came from the open window on the ground.

Upon hearing that sound, the painter's numb gaze changed slightly, and he reached out to close the window on the ground.

The black oil painting slowly faded as the bloodstains dried.

The painter walked past the window, not stopping beside Han Fei, but heading straight into the depths of the corridor.

He seemed not to see Han Fei and Li Huang, and directly pushed open the door to the room at the far end of the corridor.

The scene before me was astonishing. The room was enormous, entirely dark red, and every brick was engraved with a child's smiling face.

Their innocent, childlike smiles contrasted sharply with the blood-red room; their once adorable faces now only evoked a chilling feeling.

"This is the real Red Room? Is this where the child Xia Yilan brought made his final deal?"

All the medical equipment in the house was removed, leaving only a red chair in the empty room.

The chair was placed in the center of the room, directly opposite a black oil painting on the wall.

The oil painting is like a window, giving the impression that someone once sat in a chair, staring intently at the oil painting window on the wall.

After Han Fei entered the house, the painter closed the door.

He carried the small bucket filled with his own blood to the edge of the wall and stared blankly at the window.

Unlike other oil paintings on windows, this one appears to have been completed many years ago, with slight cracks already visible on the surface.

After watching quietly for a while, the painter suddenly picked up the small bucket with both hands and splashed the whole bucket of "red paint" onto the black window!
The black windows were stained red, and drops of blood slid down them, as if it were raining inside, filling the room with a blood-red mist.

Just as Han Fei was wondering why the painter was doing this, he suddenly heard a knocking sound on the window.

Looking in surprise at the black window painting, Han Fei discovered that as blood dripped down, the figure of a child appeared in the painting, wearing a hospital gown with the number "4" on it.

"I didn't know how to meet him, so I could only draw myself in the window he painted..."

Han Fei suddenly remembered the curse left by the fourth orphan: "Is the child in the oil painting window the fourth child?"

The knocking on the window grew louder and louder. Han Fei strode forward and heard what Number Four was saying behind the window.

“They have been looking for children like this, born in tragedy, growing up in despair, and losing everything under the cruel tricks of fate. I am such a child, and so are they.”

"The doctors here never thought about curing us. The perfect personality is just a hoax. The hospital is not a place to save people, and the amusement park specially prepared for children is not a place to bring happiness."

"Actually, I really envy that person. It's strange, that someone with a self-destructive personality like me would envy someone with a healing personality like him?"

"But there's something even stranger: I, who wanted to destroy everything, ended up killing only myself; but he, who had a healing personality, killed all the other children in the same batch except for himself."

"I heard that after that bloody night, he was the only one left in the park, and from that time on, the park became a place specifically for disposing of failed hospital products."

There will be another chapter this afternoon.

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(End of this chapter)