My name is Su Wanqing. I’m a clerk in the medical records department at Municipal Third Hospital. For the past six years, my greatest skill has been dealing with moldy medical files.
Then one day, while sorting through old records, I found a doodled diary tucked between the patient files. Its owner was Chen Zhiming, an intern who died in a hospital fire twelve years ago.
He wrote, “If you’re reading this diary, it means I’m already dead.”
The pages were covered in strange coded symbols: a heart pierced by a syringe, a doctor wearing a smiling mask, a map of a hospital bed marked “405”... and the name of a drug I’d never heard of: Blue Crystal.
What chilled me even more was the name signed on the medication requisition form: the current vice president of the hospital.
An anonymous text message led me to the abandoned Room 405. When I pushed open its door, sealed for twelve years, I realized this was more than a diary. It was a death list.
And the person who wrote it was watching me from the darkness.
