What oppressed him, besides that enormous five-story pill furnace, was also the figure standing in front of it.

From behind, he wore a blue-green Daoist robe, his hair pinned up with a crown, temples streaked with white, exuding an air of otherworldly immortality.

Seated cross-legged on the ground, he seemed to be doing the same thing as David Thompson had earlier—pounding with a pestle, only the pestle in his hand was much larger, looking more like a giant pillar.

With each rise and fall, the sound of metal and stone clashing echoed endlessly through the cave.

“Mas... Master!” The crooked-mouthed woman awkwardly pinched her left thumb with her right hand, placed the four fingers of her left hand atop the fingers of her right, and held her hands to her chest, bowing respectfully to the figure, her eyes full of reverence.

As soon as she spoke, the grating pounding sound ceased.

The figure turned around, and though David Thompson had mentally prepared himself, his pupils still shrank in shock.

The Daoist’s front was completely different from his back. From behind, he looked like an immortal sage, but from the front, he was a disgusting, scabby-headed old man, with a few yellow teeth jutting out from his underbite, exposed to the air.

“You’re here? Good disciple, you made me wait.”

With a filthy wave of his Daoist robe, the old Daoist floated into the air, grabbed the crooked-mouthed woman by the neck with one hand, and retreated.

Before the foolish woman could utter half a word, she was instantly thrown into a waist-high stone jar. The next moment, the master, his face twisted with ferocity, gripped the massive stone pestle with both hands and smashed it down hard.

As the screams were abruptly cut off, they echoed from within the stone jar.

Flesh and blood splattered onto the old Daoist’s face and body, but he remained unmoved, chanting something with manic excitement in a certain rhythm.

“Dingchou extends my life, Dinghai protects my soul, Jiazi shields my body, Jiaxu preserves my form, Jiashen fortifies my fate, Jiawu guards my soul, Jiachen perfects my spirit!”

Once everything was thoroughly mashed, he lifted the several-hundred-pound stone jar with one hand and poured it all into the pill furnace before him. Then, with extreme excitement, he raised both hands high into the air.

“Start the furnace, refine the pill!”

Two Daoist children with exaggerated rouge on their cheeks emerged from the shadows, fanning the flames and pouring various ingredients into the furnace—some were metallic powders, others were still-living, wriggling things.

Soon, a strange, rich fragrance filled the air.

At this moment, the scabby-headed master closed his eyes and took a deep breath, stroking the few hairs on his chin, a satisfied expression appearing on his filthy, ugly face.

When he slowly opened his eyes, he clasped his hands behind his back, turned his head to look at David Thompson. “I heard you called me a fart? Is that true?”

In an instant, the air around seemed to freeze.

Facing this so-called master who killed without batting an eye, David Thompson remained unmoved. He slowly closed his eyes, calming his slightly rapid breathing, silently repeating in his heart: “You can’t fool me, this is all fake, all fake.”

“Speak! Are you mute? Hm?!” As the master’s footsteps drew closer, the stench of blood and filth on him hit like a wall.

Trembling, David Thompson suddenly clenched his teeth, summoned all his strength, and snapped his eyes open.

The dim, oppressive cave temple vanished in an instant. In its place was a bright, clean hospital room with fresh air, and his lower body was tightly strapped to the bed.

Chapter 2 David Thompson

“Phew, finally back.” Relieved, David Thompson called out to the microphone at the head of the bed.

Soon, his attending physician entered the room with a white tablet in hand, accompanied by a nurse.

“Xiao Li, how are you feeling? Any new changes in this hallucination?” The doctor sat on a stool, asking kindly.

“It was the same environment, I was doing the same things. Only this time, the scabby-headed master killed someone right in front of me and refined her into a pill.” David Thompson recounted everything he had seen in his hallucination in detail.

“Mm-hmm.” The attending doctor nodded while quickly tapping notes on the tablet.

After thinking for a moment, David Thompson hesitantly asked, “Doctor, what do these different hallucinations mean? What significance do they have for my mind and psyche?”

“No, you shouldn’t worry about that. What you should focus on is the duration of each hallucination and your mental stability.” The doctor shook his head, dismissing David Thompson’s question.

“Since they’re hallucinations, you must remember—they’re all false. You’ve already overcome hallucinatory perception disorder, so don’t fall back into it.”

“Whenever you fall into a hallucination, just act according to the logic of that world, and with our hospital’s treatment, you’ll recover soon.”

Hearing this, David Thompson tensed up. This was directly related to how soon he could be discharged—he couldn’t afford to be careless.

The doctor then encouraged his patient.

“Actually, you’re already doing very well. When you first arrived, you couldn’t even tell reality from fantasy. You’ll get better and better—keep it up!”

As the two were talking, light footsteps sounded at the door of the ward.