I Forged the Myth of the Ancient Overlords
Chapter 365 - 365 364. Mental Hospital Storyteller_1

Chapter 365: 364. Mental Hospital Storyteller_1 Chapter 365: 364. Mental Hospital Storyteller_1 Jiangcheng City Mental Hospital.

Its official name is Jiangcheng Mental Health Center, and it was established in the 1930s, boasting a ninety-year history. The last renovation of the hospital had been twenty years ago, and since then, only equipment had been updated without any construction on the building itself.

In the minds of many children born in Jiangcheng, this hospital symbolized horror and thriller. It was the ultimate threat to coax a child to sleep, as saying “If you don’t go to sleep, I’ll send you to North Road No. 900” would scare many kids so much they’d lie awake even longer.

Of course, with the recent construction propaganda and the popularity of the internet, mental hospitals have become less terrifying.

Modern internet users, who doesn’t have a touch of depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder, or paranoia?

Nowadays, North Road No. 900 is more commonly used as an insult.

Phrases like “You better hurry back to North Road No. 900” or “Do you live at North Road No. 900, huh?” are in-jokes that only locals would understand. Outsiders, even if they hear them, would be confused and clueless.

The intensive care unit of the hospital.

In recent times, an increasing number of people had been coming to the intensive care unit.

Even Dr. Hao felt somewhat at a loss.

Some of these patients believed they had seen colorful pork flying in the sky, some were inexplicably wearing VR headsets and exposing themselves in bathrooms, and others claimed to have seen toy bears walking down the street. The variety was endless and bewildering.

The arrival of Lu Ban had added fuel to the fire in the already lively intensive care unit.

Fortunately, these were all patients with severe conditions, the majority of whom couldn’t go without their medication and needed pharmacological methods to suppress their mental disorders. Therefore, even if Lu Ban spouted nonsense, it wouldn’t greatly affect these people.

In the early morning, sunlight shone on the bed, and Lu Ban woke up to the sound of the broadcast.

The intensive care unit consisted of private wards. Lu Ban washed up, changed into his outpatient uniform, and joined the other patients in the cafeteria.

The cafeteria served traditional breakfast foods like steamed buns, deep-fried dough sticks, and soy milk, which tasted rather bland for the average person. In fact, it was a precaution against stimulating foods that might trigger the patients.

For those with severe mental disorders, physical discomfort could easily cause mental fluctuations and exacerbate symptoms.

Lu Ban picked up a bowl of soy milk, a dough stick, and two buns, and sat down in the cafeteria.

At the adjacent table, a few patients sat together, eating silently.

From what Lu Ban had observed over the past couple of days, these patients were not inherently withdrawn, their silence was merely superficial.

Many were silent because they had been laughed at for being different whenever they spoke, or even scorned by their own families, which led them to gradually develop the habit of silence, further aggravating their conditions.

For a long time, people with mental illnesses had been viewed with an alienating gaze; they were feared, shunned, and kept at arm’s length.

But sitting here, Lu Ban felt a sense of warmth, as if he had come home.

After breakfast and morning exercise came free time.

The majority of the patients with severe conditions were confined to their rooms, only allowed to move around the recreation room for two hours in the morning, two in the afternoon, and two at night—six hours in total.

At this moment, the recreation room was empty of its usual activities—no one was playing table tennis, watching television, or reading alone.

All the patients were gathered around one person, listening intently to his stories.

“…That year, before Nanhua Private Renji Hospital was built, the dean was studying abroad in the West…”

Lu Ban held a plastic bottle as if it were a Shocking Hall Wood, sitting on a chair and vividly sharing his experiences.

Sometimes he would tell stories about people riding in a car through the wilderness at night, encountering rats and flying fish.

Sometimes about spirits playing the piano with mannequins in a dilapidated theater.

And other times, about a wanderer and a girl going to the center of the world, looking across time from opposite ends.

For some reason, these patients with severe mental illnesses became calm upon hearing Lu Ban’s stories, their eyes wide with curiosity as they gazed at him as if they were children in a kindergarten.

As the rest period came to an end, Lu Ban clapped the “Shocking Hall Wood” with a snap, concluding his story, and the patients returned from their starry-eyed state to their silent and wooden demeanors.

Seeing this, the young nurse outside the recreation room expressed some concern to Dr. Hao.

“Dr. Hao, isn’t this a bit off? Can he really influence and control these patients?”

“Don’t talk nonsense; these people just think it’s novel. You go back to work and stop loitering around here.”

Dr. Hao asked the nurse not to overthink and shooed her away, then turned to watch Lu Ban as he left the recreation room and approached him.

“Director Lu, how do you feel?”

It had to be said that when Lu Ban was around, the patients became much more obedient. They took their shots and medications without resistance, much like elementary students who would do anything for a school trip.

Dr. Hao suddenly had the idea of having Lu Ban stay in the hospital forever.

“Not bad, they’re all very well-behaved. I chat with them often and understand their thoughts; I find many of their points quite sensible.”

Lu Ban casually pointed at a balding twenty-five-year-old patient who had been a programmer.

“Like him, for instance. He was sent here because he planned in his computer to hang his boss from a streetlamp. After hearing what he said, I think his boss is truly despicable. People like that deserve to be hung from streetlamps!”

He then pointed at another elderly man with only two or three hairs on his head, wearing flip-flops and a vest in the dead of winter.

“Like him—he used to be a teacher, worked hard to raise three kids, but those three brothers turned out to be worse than beasts. They had him committed here by claiming he was mentally ill. It’s too wicked!”

He then looked toward a woman who was lifting her arm as if cradling a child.

“Like her, she was just taking her child home from kindergarten when they encountered a psychopathic killer. Both she and her child were stabbed over eighty times. She crawled out of the memorial hall on her last breath only to be sent here. It’s truly tragic!”

Dr. Hao looked at the three people.

The woman was completely unharmed; she had suffered a mental breakdown after failing at matchmaking fifty times in a row and even got verbally blasted by a prospective match due to her high standards, which had led her to believe she had lost a child.

The elderly man didn’t have any children. He had once failed to follow safety protocols while working in the factory and got electrocuted, which affected his mental state.

As for the programmer.

“Oh, the programmer’s story is real. It’s just too sad.”

Dr. Hao nodded in agreement.

“So, I think their opinions are very valuable, and I plan to include them in my textbook,”

Lu Ban said earnestly.

“When the time comes, I’ll mention your name, Dr. Hao, in the acknowledgments of the textbook.”

“Please spare me.”

Dr. Hao shook his head upon hearing this.

If his name was included, the actors who studied mental illness from the textbook might come to break his legs.

“It’s about time; I’m heading back for my afternoon rest,”

Lu Ban checked the clock.

“Alright, take it easy,”

Dr. Hao waved his hand.

“Let’s go,”

Lu Ban said to someone next to him.

Immediately after, Dr. Hao saw Lu Ban seemingly leading someone by the hand, half-lifting his own hand in the air as he walked toward the ward.

But there was no one there.

“…Could it be that the people in the film industry will blame me for driving him mad?”

Dr. Hao shivered.