Chapter 13: The Illusory Realm of September!

A group of little medical ghosts flocked around Chen Meng, pushing her onto the hospital bed with excitement. Then, jubilantly, they wheeled both Chen Meng and Chu Tian into a bright, tidy room on the second floor.

The ward was exceptionally clean and orderly. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a warm glow upon the solitary bed. On the bedside table lay fruit and fresh flowers, filling the air with a faint, lingering fragrance.

After ushering Chu Tian and Chen Meng inside, the little medical ghosts busied themselves with what appeared to be the duties of doctors and nurses. Yet, it was all merely for show—like children playing house, mimicking actions without truly doing anything.

Once their pretend tasks were complete, the little ghosts swarmed out of the room, leaving Chu Tian and Chen Meng alone inside.

“What did you discover?” Chu Tian approached the door after the ghosts had left, locking it behind him. Climbing onto a stool, he peered through the window on the door. Chen Meng got down from the bed and asked, “Those little ghosts were hinting for me not to act rashly. They said we’re here to catch ghosts. So why are you playing house with them?”

“Look outside,” Chu Tian said, stepping down from the stool. Chen Meng followed suit, stepping onto the stool to peer out the window. Her expression shifted abruptly.

Outside, the scene had reverted to the dark, dilapidated hospital.

“So their illusion is confined to this room?” Chen Meng asked.

“Exactly,” Chu Tian nodded, sitting down on the bed. “These little ones are playing a very novel game.”

“What do you mean?” Chen Meng looked at him curiously.

“If I’m right, when we refused the abortion earlier, we could have used the excuse of going home to rest and escape this illusionary hospital,” Chu Tian explained.

“Then why did you deliberately stay behind?” Chen Meng questioned.

“Because I have a theory I want to test,” he replied.

“What kind of theory?” Chen Meng pressed.

“I actually have two. The first is that if we had escaped the illusion just now, we would never see these little ghosts in the hospital again—they’d all hide away,” Chu Tian said. “The second theory still needs verification.”

“How do you plan to verify it?” Chen Meng asked.

“That might require you to play along with me in a little act—to bear me a child,” Chu Tian said, locking eyes with her.

Chen Meng’s face flushed. “What are you talking about? I’ve told you before, we can’t have little foxes. Besides, even if you want to, this place isn’t right for that.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Chu Tian smirked slightly, then pressed Chen Meng gently back onto the bed. “Just lie still and be honest with me.”

“You’re so domineering,” Chen Meng teased.

Chu Tian rolled his eyes, then picked up the medical record notebook left on the bedside table. He took the pen clipped inside and, frowning, jotted something down before opening the door.

The instant Chu Tian opened the door, the hospital outside transformed once again into a clean, bright environment.

“Doctor, doctor, it’s time for the examination and recording today,” Chu Tian called out.

Immediately, the little medical ghosts rushed over, jostling one another.

“What are we examining? I’ll do the examination!” they clamored, clearly unaware of what to check.

Holding up the notebook, Chu Tian addressed them, “We’ve been staying here for a month. Look, it’s all recorded here. Today, you’re supposed to examine my wife and check on the child’s development.”

The notebook detailed the past month’s records. Chen Meng lay on the bed, watching as Chu Tian charmed the little ghosts, who surprisingly nodded seriously. They took the book, glanced at Chu Tian’s scribbles, then scurried over to Chen Meng. Some touched her forehead, others her wrist, and a few tucked the blanket over her.

After their self-important examination, the little ghosts gave Chu Tian a few solemn reminders before rushing out again—just as before.

It was as if all the hospital’s little ghosts were playing a game of make-believe, acting out their roles without true understanding. Their work was all form with no substance.

What was most strange was that, after Chu Tian deliberately extended the recorded time in the notebook by another month, Chen Meng’s belly actually grew slightly larger.

“What… what is this?” Chen Meng stared at her subtly rounded abdomen, her expression troubled.

As a fox spirit, she would know immediately if she was pregnant. It was precisely this knowledge that made the changes in her body terrifying.

“The illusion is becoming more complete,” Chu Tian observed, placing his hand gently on her abdomen. Though the swelling felt real to the touch, Chu Tian could also reach her true physical form underneath, if he wished.

“What exactly is happening?” Chen Meng asked.

“There’s going to be a new ghost king born among these little ghosts in the hospital,” Chu Tian sighed.

“What?” Chen Meng’s face darkened. A ghost king was no ordinary spirit—usually a level six ghost at least. Neither she nor Chu Tian was remotely a match for such a being.

“But don’t be afraid of this ghost king!” Chu Tian closed the notebook and stood by the window, looking out. The sunlight was bright, but the garden that should have been lush and green was only an eerie shade of green, like an unfinished painting.

“Are you joking? A ghost king? Which ghost king is easy to deal with? And you say we shouldn’t fear him?” Chen Meng stood from the bed, agitated.

“But this ghost king hasn’t killed a single person yet,” Chu Tian’s eyes shimmered with a blue light as he gazed out, as if he could see through everything.

“If we stay trapped in this illusion, even if he doesn’t attack us, we’ll starve to death sooner or later!” Chen Meng warned.

“Actually, leaving is easy,” Chu Tian turned to her. “But I want to stay.”

“What nonsense are you spouting? You know how to leave?” Chen Meng frowned deeply.

“If we want to leave, just tell those little medical ghosts we want to be discharged, and it should work,” Chu Tian explained. “But once we leave, it’ll be very hard to come back.”