Chapter Four: Mai Minghe · Seizing a Second Life

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Normally, one would think that the real threat to be wary of would be the three or five burly, hostile strangers who barged in through the door, right? After all, they should be more dangerous than a patient lying in a hospital bed. Yet, somehow, Minghe Mai found herself unable to look away from the pair of pale feet peeking out from behind the curtain. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears like a storm, and her palms were cold and clammy, but she couldn’t spare a glance for those unfamiliar men.

At that moment, she was wedged between the patient in bed 03 and the patient in bed 02, with the bedside cabinet and wall behind her. The path ahead was blocked by those men—she couldn’t get out.

She stole another look at the patient in the neighboring bed. Compared to the first time she saw them, those feet seemed somehow different—she couldn’t say exactly how—but seeing them now evoked an instinctual, visceral repulsion, as if she wanted to open her mouth wide and spit out not only the sight before her eyes but also the air she’d breathed that had brushed past those feet, along with all her insides.

When she looked up again, the strangers seemed to share the same feeling: though they had charged in with fierce momentum, their eyes now floated silently in midair, unwilling to look down at the feet on the bed. At first glance, they looked like a group of blind men who had just removed their sunglasses.

Minghe Mai wiped her nose. Perhaps the fear and tension were too overwhelming, and her nervous system needed to release the pressure; or perhaps the restoration of youth carried a heady, intoxicating power that even fear could not dispel; or maybe it was simply because the expressions on those men’s faces were so absurdly comical—she suddenly couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“How did you do it?” she asked.

She stopped laughing quickly, not wanting those men to think she belonged in a mental institution. She turned to the patient in the neighboring bed: “I don’t know how, but just looking at you makes my insides churn. You should have a job in the hospital—like washing stomachs.”

The red-haired man who seemed to lead them said nothing, but the expression on his face spoke volumes—he thought Minghe Mai was definitely not normal.

“Miss,” a male voice from behind the curtain rasped like a sack of stones stuck with thick phlegm, painfully unpleasant to hear, “this is your first time entering the nest, isn’t it?”

Since earlier, Minghe Mai had been hearing a string of confusing words: people disguised as nurses, hunters, illusions… and now, “nest.”

“Isn’t this a hospital?” she asked.

Though she asked, she already knew the answer clearly in her heart: this was definitely not a hospital. Somehow, she had arrived at this place called the “nest,” and that “somehow” seemed closely tied to the incident where she fell onto the television.

“It’s a hospital, isn’t it?” the patient behind the curtain responded almost kindly. “A hospital inside the nest is still a hospital.”

Minghe Mai stalled for time, pondering as she spoke: “You say this is a nest, but you don’t look like a chicken.”

The red-haired man let out a barely suppressed snort through his nose, then coughed to cover it up.

“Doesn’t even know what a nest is,” one of the men at the door muttered quietly to a companion. “She really is a first-timer. No wonder she’s still in pajamas.”

“But how could she catch the illusion on her first visit?” another whispered.

“Let’s wait and see,” the red-haired man cautioned. “Be ready. If she can’t hold out, we’ll have to snatch it from the residents.”

As they spoke, they almost acted as if Minghe Mai didn’t exist—or rather, as if she were about to cease existing.

In just a minute or two, too many baffling changes had occurred. Now, Minghe Mai could only grasp two things tightly:

First, after entering the nest, she had regained her youth; second, whatever caused her youth to return seemed to be something both sides desired.

Even knowing nothing else, she understood she was now a child carrying a treasure into a chaotic market—more like a ghost market—and that was hardly a good place to be.

Silence reigned behind the curtain, with two pale, bluish bare feet resting on the footboard rails.

“What do you want?” Minghe Mai stared at the feet behind the curtain, asking a question she already knew was rhetorical. “How about this: you tell me what’s going on, and whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Everyone gets along nicely—that would be so much better.”

The patient behind the curtain considered for two seconds.

“Feel yourself,” his voice calmed somewhat, less unpleasant than before, yet still unwilling to explain further. “You should be able to feel something, right? Take it off and give it to me.”

Minghe Mai reached inside her pajamas, touching her back and lower abdomen; the moment her fingers met it, she startled.

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There was a slightly raised, cold, strap-like object wrapped around her torso in coils, like a large snake coiled around her body.

Right—just now, that shadowy arm seemed to be wrapped around itself in the same way.

“Found it, huh,” the neighboring patient suddenly hissed, his throat stirring with phlegm. “Give it to me.”

Minghe Mai traced the edge of the “snake strap,” feeling it reluctant to detach from her skin. She had to exert some effort to slip her fingers between the strap and her flesh.

“All right, all right, I got it, I’ll give it to you.” It really could be removed; she lifted it slightly with her hand.

She remembered another question.

“I just had a heart attack, and it only stopped because of this. If I take it off, will it happen again?”

“Don’t let your age fool you—your mind is quick. I don’t think so. It reverses aging, not disease. Diseases disappear as a side effect, not necessarily returning with aging.”

The neighboring patient’s voice was thick and viscous. “Of course, I could be wrong, but besides optimism, you have no other choice. Now, take it off.”

As he said, she had no other choice.

“Well, I’ve always been optimistic,” Minghe Mai exhaled, pulling the “snake strap” from her lower abdomen, following it around to her back, coaxing it off bit by bit.

The black strap’s tail slipped softly from her pajamas, dangling in the air, swaying as if alive.

“Wait, don’t give it to him,” the red-haired man suddenly shouted, stepping forward with outstretched hands. “Give it to me! If it comes at me, it’ll leave you alone!”

Did he say “it”?

That thought flashed briefly through Minghe Mai’s mind, but she had no time to ponder. Realizing this was her lifeline—a brief chance to escape the ward—she seized the moment and shouted at the red-haired man, “Catch it!”

Then she raised her hand, drawing out a shadow from behind, and threw it into his outstretched hands.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but Minghe Mai felt that for a split second, the patient behind the curtain seemed momentarily distracted.

With a sharp slap, the shadow landed in the red-haired man’s hands. At the same time, Minghe Mai seized her chance, flipped over bed 02, and landed on the other side—youthful bodies were indeed powerful, agile, and balanced; her movements were smooth and light, almost joyous, making her momentarily forget she was fleeing for her life.

The shadow was soft and fluffy, clutched between two hands, surrounded by a circle of faces staring fixedly.

“A pillow?”

The red-haired man was taken aback when he recognized it, then swung the pillow Minghe Mai had taken from bed 02 onto the floor, shouting, “Do you want to die at the hands of the residents?”

Minghe Mai had no time to respond; just as she steadied herself and looked back, she saw the patient was following—bed 02’s curtain had already been drawn.

But not tightly.

The curtain seemed slightly pulled aside, and at some point, a pair of small legs appeared, knees tightly together, dangling bent over the bed edge.

The patient lay flat but had only lowered their legs. What was strange was that those pale, bloodless bare feet on the floor turned at the ankles to face Minghe Mai.

It was like a ridiculous dream; if she opened her eyes next moment and woke from the bed, she wouldn’t even be surprised.

“Step back,” the red-haired man’s face tightened, and he, along with the others, retreated from the foot of bed 02.

It felt as if even the air thickened and thinned; as if these wild animals, long habituated to this place, sensed danger earlier than Minghe Mai, the naive outsider.

She thought for a moment and asked the neighboring patient, “Did you come to the hospital because of a broken ankle?”

As she spoke, she vaguely felt a pulling sensation around her waist.

“Or… you really aren’t human?” She called out to the red-haired man, “Hey, young man, if she’s not human, then what is she? A chicken?”

Everything was too incredible; she wasn’t even surprised anymore. She just wanted to figure out what was going on—after all, no one could be startled again and again without end.

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The red-haired man didn’t answer her.

He and the others stared at the small legs hanging beside bed 02 and the ground, as if Minghe Mai had been erased from the situation without her realizing it.

The curtain rustled softly; someone was slowly drawing it aside.

Minghe Mai didn’t want to see who was behind the curtain—it would be nothing pleasant anyway.

She immediately lowered her head again. When her gaze fell on the feet before her, she noticed the patient’s left foot had unknowingly stepped forward.

Though it had not moved before, her own left foot also stepped forward.

It was like two old acquaintances reuniting, walking toward each other.

No wonder her waist felt stretched…

Strange—why did merely seeing the other’s feet cause her own to move involuntarily in sync? No, now was not the time to ponder.

Though her head stayed lowered, she could sense from her peripheral vision that the curtain had been pulled open.

On bed 02 lay a long, shadowy humanoid figure, blurry in the dim light.

Minghe Mai took a deep breath.

If it were the old Minghe Mai, she might have tried to keep the peace and protect herself by giving “the snake strap” to it; for a first time alive, one feared that a careless mistake might bring irreversible, unbearable consequences and make life miserable.

But growing older, she realized that decades of life were filled with loneliness, regrets, and expired wishes, with little comfort. Opportunities no longer came, and she had no strength left.

This “snake strap” could be the last adventure in her eighty-six years of life—or it could be the first choice in her new life.

She was going to try.

Minghe Mai knew that pressing the call bell would not break the silence in the room.

“Nurse call from Room 3, Bed 01!” A bright, almost piercing female voice shattered the stillness unexpectedly over the broadcast.

Before anyone could react, Minghe Mai pressed the call bell repeatedly.

The broadcast seemed provoked, each announcement more urgent along the corridor: “Person disguised as nurse approaching the ward in five seconds—second person disguised as nurse approaching—the third—fourth person disguised as nurse approaching in five seconds!”

Amid the increasingly urgent announcements, Minghe Mai faintly heard the red-haired man curse, “You’re crazy!” Then footsteps hurriedly retreated, as if the men, sensing danger, fled the ward.

She did not lift her head.

Minghe Mai felt the shadow beside her slowly rising: thighs leaving the bed, hips half suspended in the air, upper body still lying down.

In the dim light, the head turned toward Minghe Mai and spoke in a completely inhuman voice, “For an old lady, you have quite a lot of guts.”

At that moment, a heavy object was suddenly thrown across the room, smashing heavily between Minghe Mai and the neighboring patient, making a muffled roar as the bedside cabinet shattered into pieces.

The shadow rolled and scrambled up against the wall—it was the red-haired man, who found himself trapped between the patient and Minghe Mai, muttering a curse under his breath.

Minghe Mai didn’t look at him.

She only stared at the ward entrance and whispered, “Look again carefully—I’m no longer an old lady.”

Not now, and not tomorrow.

She was determined to seize this second life for real.