Chapter 235: Flying Over the Madhouse (XI)

"Oh?"

Li Cheng grinned, wearing the expression of a dung beetle lifting a toilet lid—do tell.

"Diane Conne is indeed your sister, one of the heirs to the Conne Group, a chemical industry giant. But she died in a maritime accident six months ago."

Director Pera said: "Your sailboat encountered a hurricane at sea; Diane drowned, yet you survived."

"Because you two were extremely close, you couldn't accept that you caused her death, and developed schizophrenia."

After your stepmother sent you here, to escape the pain of reality and your inner guilt, you imagined Diane was still alive, based on your surroundings."

"And you imagined she had been confined by the hospital staff at your stepmother's instruction, waiting for you to rescue her."

"To achieve this goal, you attempted several times to seize weapons and injured hospital staff."

Director Pera looked at Li Cheng with pity and said: "On one hand, the Conne Group, the chemical giant, is one of the hospital's major donors, and you are its last remaining heir."

"On the other hand, you do indeed suffer from severe schizophrenia."

"To cure you, our staff went along with your delusion and designed a tailored treatment plan."

"We deliberately let you sneak in colored contact lenses, forged Diane's medical records, and arranged for Dr. Dawson to interact with you."

"So you'd believe your rescue plan was progressing steadily."

Dr. Dawson in the crowd shrugged and said: "In your imagination, you infiltrated the hospital using forged documents, and the staff never discovered your true identity."

"You're the Conne Group's heir; at eighteen, you met the family fund's conditions and automatically received a large share of the company's equity, which is why you could offer me eleven thousand dollars as payment."

"But have you ever wondered—if I truly made this underground deal with you, why would I keep the recording? And why would I leave the recorder in my own locker, as evidence of a crime?"

"The overwhelming urge to save your loved one made you ignore these inconsistencies, fully immersed in your fantasy."

Pera said: "The hospital's fourth floor is normally off-limits to patients, so you imagined Diane was trapped there."

"Scaven claimed he'd been here so long he'd never heard of Diane, so you imagined she was confined immediately upon admission."

"Originally, our plan was for everyone—the doctors, nurses, even patients like Freya—to cooperate seamlessly with your 'prison break' scheme, guiding you all the way to the fourth floor, opening the door to the isolation room, and finally revealing the truth."

Pera sighed, stepped forward, and arrived before the isolation room, slowly pulling the door open.

Inside, there was nothing.

"When you realize Diane never existed, perhaps you'll remember she died long ago, and break free from your delusion."

Director Pera looked at Li Cheng with pity: "Unfortunately, you ate a poisonous peyote cactus and didn't make it this far."

"Take him to the operating room."

The director snapped his fingers; two orderlies immediately seized Li Cheng and carried him to a fully equipped modern operating room.

Li Cheng was placed on an electric surgical bed; Nurse Chief Rachid, who had previously turned into a Scorpion King trapped under a glass jar, inexplicably reappeared and strapped his limbs with leather belts.

Dr. Dawson placed a breathing mask over Li Cheng's face and soothed him: "Don't worry—we'll purge the cactus's effects, then administer a mild electric shock to your brain to erase this escape experience, and restart the script."

"This time, we'll successfully cure you."

The operating lamp above the table emitted a steady, brilliant glow—identical to the white light Li Cheng had seen in his hallucination.

His limbs were bound; his muscles spasmed under the influence of the cactus toxin; only his head could move.

The cold, stabbing pain in his brain grew stronger, nearly unbearable.

Li Cheng turned his head slightly and said calmly: "Dr. Dawson, how did you know I ate the peyote cactus?"

"Freya gave me the pharmacy key; she likes me. If she was cooperating with you, why place the poisonous cactus next to Diane's medical records?"

Dr. Dawson paused, glanced at Director Pera; no one could answer. They silently hastened their movements, activating all the instruments around the surgical table.

"All of this is still an illusion. You don't truly exist—you're fragments of memory seen by William in the real world, on the brink of death."

Beneath the breathing mask, Li Cheng's lips curled upward; resisting the icy pain, he said calmly: "I believe William. I believe his judgment. And I believe his escape plan will truly succeed."

Director Pera and the others sensed something was wrong; Nurse Chief Rachid's expression turned frantic as she held the syringe; Dr. Dawson tried to pry off the breathing mask.

Too late.

Li Cheng curled his tongue, plucked the 【Super Hard Super Biting Mint Candy】 hidden beneath it, and clamped it between his molars.

Crack.

The candy shattered instantly; shards scattered in his mouth, releasing a piercing, soul-stinging intensity.

The operating lamp blazed brighter; his vision turned blinding white.

Li Cheng felt as if struck head-on by a high-speed train—his body and soul soared upward, then crashed back onto the surgical bed.

The white light faded; he returned to reality.

He still lay on the surgical bed, limbs bound.

Director Pera, Nurse Chief Rachid, Dr. Dawson, and the others still stood in the operating room—but through the glass window at the door, daylight could be seen outside.

"Don't blame me."

Dr. Dawson whispered softly, holding a metal spike as he approached Li Cheng.

Prefrontal lobotomy—one of the most infamous procedures in medical history, and a common treatment for psychiatric patients in early 20th-century asylums.

Insert the spike beneath the eye socket into the brain, then move it to excise the frontal lobe.

Patients who lost their frontal lobe lost many normal functions and most of their personality, becoming docile, vacant husks.

Ironically, its inventor, Moniz, received the 1949 Nobel Prize in Medicine.

"Don't blame me—I made a deal with you, but I never expected the director to move up the surgery date."

Dr. Dawson's lips trembled as he muttered silently, trying to ease his guilt.

"I don't blame you."

Li Cheng's voice suddenly rang out; Dr. Dawson froze, the spike falling from his hand: "You—you're awake? We clearly shocked—"

"Shocked my brain?"

Li Cheng smirked: "That voltage doesn't even match the shock I get when I touch a live wire."

(End of Chapter)