Artifact Report

Chapter 295 Fu Tai Lan · Lan Lan Lan
This might be a truism—nest hospitals are not a good place to recuperate.

In fact, apart from being an excellent place to experience all sorts of novel ways to die, the Nest Hospital is probably not a good place to do anything else.

Fu Tailan was lying in the hospital bed when she heard the door to the ward being slowly pushed open, and she immediately opened her eyes.

The bed curtains still tightly enclosed the hospital bed, forming a small, pale blue world where only he existed, with the white ceiling serving as the sky. He took his phone out from under his pillow and glanced at it.

2026年11月25日，0：00，无信号。来得真准时。

Even though he was seriously injured, delirious, and in terrible condition, he had already managed to get through the day.

One day left—just one day left.

If he were hospitalized in Blackmore City, he could naturally recover peacefully without having to be wary of dangers around him when he was drowsy and exhausted in the middle of the night; of course, that would also mean that he would be placed under 24-hour comprehensive surveillance and control.

However, this was not the reason why Fu Tailan decided to enter the Nest Hospital.

Fu Tailan didn't care much about surveillance and control—after all, as long as there was a door, as long as he could open the door, he could get rid of it at any time, and no one could control him.

One key reason he chose the Nest Hospital was that it was something he couldn't achieve in a human hospital.

"Bed number 2, it's time to take your medicine," a sweet female voice said from outside the bed curtains.

Fu Tailan sat up slowly from the bed without making a sound and leaned against the pillow.

Yesterday, even the simple act of "sitting up from the bed" caused him excruciating pain, making it hard to breathe. Any sudden movement would cause his vision to go black – Remy had told him that under normal circumstances, it was an injury that would take at least one or two months to heal.

Fu Tailan couldn't bear to waste a month or two like a cripple while others chased after illusions—he couldn't afford to waste that time.

Who knows if the "nest domination game" will be over in two months?

And now, just one day later, he can not only sit up smoothly, but he can even raise his arms above his head.

The jawline that was injured by resident Mai Minghe not long ago is now smooth and intact, and the skin is even more beautiful than before the injury.

"Oh, you're awake?" The woman's voice clicked her tongue in a hint of regret. "I really enjoy waking you up... It's such a shame. Maybe I should come a little later next time? When will I be able to catch you sleeping soundly without any guard up again?"

Being woken up by it once is bad enough.

That happened a few hours after he checked into the ward; Fu Tailan was in pain, tired and depressed. He lay there until morning and finally couldn't hold on any longer and fell into a deep sleep. It was as if the nurse had been waiting for him to fall asleep, because as soon as he fell asleep, she came to deliver the medicine.

Fu Tailan will probably never forget the fear he felt when he was put into the blender and about to be churned by the blades—that primal, raw, and insect-like fear—through the glass, he saw a resident pretending to be Fu Han reaching out a hand to press the start button.

"I don't like it, so you don't have a chance."

When Fu Tailan spoke, her voice was so tired it was almost soft and hoarse. "Where's the medicine?"

The nurse sighed. "Then please pull the curtain open a little."

Once the curtains are completely drawn, some of the attention from the outside world can be blocked—"from the outside world" of course refers to the residents.

It doesn't quite make sense, but it works nonetheless: as a "hospitalized patient," once the curtains are drawn, some residents wandering around the hospital will indeed ignore him and stop bothering him.

Fu Tailan only slightly opened a thin slit, no wider than a fingernail.

Two flat, flesh-colored shadows gradually emerged from the slit, reaching into this small, enclosed, pale blue world. They swelled up as if inflating, forming two fleshy arms.

Two fists stopped side by side in front of Fu Tailan.

"Blue pills will speed up your recovery, while red pills will make you think you've chosen blue pills and are recovering faster."

Fu Tailan has heard the same words twice since being admitted to the hospital.

According to the rules of the Nest Hospital, inpatients must take pills three times a day; they cannot refuse, but they can choose to.

To be honest, he still isn't entirely sure if he made the right choices the first two times. "If I took the blue pill, well, that goes without saying, I'd live a healthy life. As for the red pill... well, everyone dies eventually. Whether I live to be seventy or eighty and die peacefully, or I'm discharged from the hospital and my injuries gradually and insidiously worsen, rotting away as I live, and finally suddenly turn into a pool of trembling, eyeball-rolling flesh, it doesn't really matter."

The nurse shook her fist.

When you inhale, your fist looks as small as a peanut; when you exhale, your fist swells to the size of a soccer ball. They are sometimes big and sometimes small, shrinking and expanding, almost as if they are twisting and penetrating space. If you stare at them for a long time, you will not only feel dizzy, but you will feel like the world is spinning.

"One hand holds a blue pill, the other a red pill. To choose which one, grab the corresponding hand."

Fu Tailan didn't move. "Where's the hint?"

"Hey, just pick any one, what's the difference?"

“Give me this hint,” he asked again.

The nurse sighed, as if he were a troublesome patient who was causing a headache.

"The blue pill is in my left hand, and the red pill is in my right hand. But I don't distinguish between left and right hands."

Fu Tailan really wanted to grab something and smash it in its face.

What kind of prompt is this? If there are no left and right hands, why distinguish between left and right? Is it based on direction?

Enduring the dizziness caused by repeatedly expanding and contracting his fist, Fu Tailan could only manage a few seconds before he couldn't take it anymore—if he continued looking, he was afraid he would bend over and vomit everything in his stomach—he couldn't even see clearly, let alone distinguish left from right.

He closed his eyes, calmed himself down, and picked up his phone.

With a "click," the flash illuminated the area inside the bed curtains in pure white; a new photo appeared on the phone screen.

The circle of figures standing around him, pressed against the bed curtains, could be ignored for the time being; after all, it wasn't something he'd just noticed. He zoomed in on the photo, examining the fist frozen in time by the camera.

...There is no thumb.

Bones, skin, tendons, and flesh formed a fist-like structure, but where the thumb should be, there was only the bare edge of the palm. The other four fingers were exactly the same size in terms of knuckles and width, making it impossible to distinguish the index finger from the little finger.

"No thumb? Are you a dog?" Fu Tailan muttered under her breath. "That's all the hint? Anything else?"

"The hint is just one sentence. Don't worry, I won't secretly change the position of my fist. You can ask up to ten more questions based on the hint. Note that I can't tell you directly which hand holds which pill."

Ten... This time the limit is quite high.

The nest always inexplicably tries to maintain a kind of "fairness," allowing you to ask more questions if the prompts make it difficult to know where to start—as if this balances everything out.

"...Are 'left' and 'right' defined using a standard of orientation?"

Even though I knew it wouldn't be that simple, the nurse's answer still made me angry.

"No. Neither your position nor mine has anything to do with left or right. Because my arm temporarily grew out of a chaotic body, specifically to feed you medicine, for me, there is no such thing as an arm growing on the left or right side of the body. By definition... the one holding the blue pill is the left, and the one holding the red pill is the right."

Isn't this just a chicken-and-egg dilemma, going in circles?
Hospitalized patients are not allowed to look at the nurses who come to deliver medication; this is the first rule of hospitalization. Therefore, Fu Tailan still does not know what it looks like, or what the so-called "chaotic body" is.

"How do I determine left and right?" Fu Tailan decided to waste another question.

"Left is left, right is right. Didn't you learn that in kindergarten?"

...Now is not the time to be angry.

Receiving such an uninformative and roundabout answer can only mean one thing: he didn't ask the right question.

Since it claims to have no distinction between left and right, then getting entangled in left and right will naturally not yield any results.

So... what should we ask next?

(End of this chapter)