The Empress and Lily Carter, hmm, and also Emily Carter might be sad for a while because of his disappearance, but at least they can live safely and no longer have to worry about the disasters and troubles caused by those Westerners and the people from the Evil Heaven Sect.

However, the other little demon girl who disappeared into the Heavenly Gate with him made Abraham Lincoln feel a bit more worried.

As a psychology master's degree holder, Abraham Lincoln quickly adjusted his mindset—since he had returned, he might as well accept it; overthinking was pointless.

Although Grace Carter was not by his side, fortunately, the few threads projected into the endless void from the innate treasure, the Chaotic Green Lotus in his mind, still existed. This meant that the few demon clans he had enlightened with his blood were still alive, and the little red carp Grace Carter was no exception.

It was completely understandable that the green flood dragon demon girl was still angry. Anyone would find it hard to accept that after so much hardship to cultivate a dragon body, it was lost in an instant, reverting back to a flood dragon form. Before she could even enjoy the feeling of being heaven’s favorite, she was cast from heaven to hell. The demon girl cried and demanded compensation from Abraham Lincoln, but how could he possibly compensate her? It was already lucky she didn’t eat him alive.

You reap what you sow; no one else can be blamed. Getting bitten every morning had become routine.

Standing by the roadside hailing a cab, Abraham Lincoln rubbed his still aching neck. That demon girl had at least a bit of conscience, licking away the two sesame-sized blood holes. Otherwise, if they accumulated day after day, people might mistake him for a drug addict with “ant trails.”

Upon returning to his original world, a barrage of phone calls left him no room for slacking off.

The orders from Dean Carter concerned his livelihood. After paying monthly rent and utilities, the little salary left was barely enough for food.

If he got fired, he’d probably have to send out résumés everywhere like those miserable fresh graduates who are unemployed right after graduation.

“To the Seventh People’s Hospital!”

After flagging down a taxi, Abraham Lincoln got in.

“Yo, doing cosplay?”

The young taxi driver looked Abraham Lincoln up and down in surprise.

But wearing ancient clothes and heading to the Seventh People’s Hospital—it was easy to get the wrong idea.

Cosplay? Abraham Lincoln looked down at himself, the corner of his mouth twitching. He’d been so busy dealing with that unreasonable green flood dragon demon girl that he’d forgotten he was still wearing a scholar’s robe.

“I had an emergency and forgot to change.”

Abraham Lincoln gave a wry smile.

Obviously, what he brought back wasn’t just the green flood dragon demon girl and other exotic items from another world, but also these clothes—the very outfit he wore when he and the two demon girls rammed the evil god from beyond the heavens back into the Heavenly Gate.

“No wonder.”

The taxi driver gave a knowing look, stepped on the gas, and the cab quickly merged into the busy traffic.

Abraham Lincoln could still hear a hint of disbelief in the driver’s tone.

Wearing ancient clothes to a psychiatric hospital—must be crazy, right?

Fine! He had to admit, he was indeed going to see a doctor. There was no way to explain it; the more he said, the worse it sounded.

Ignoring the driver’s strange glances, Abraham Lincoln soon arrived at his destination: the Seventh People’s Hospital.

He glanced at the time. Luckily, he wasn’t too late. If he said a few nice words, Dean Carter probably wouldn’t fire him.

Hurrying toward the changing room, the nurses and patients who saw Abraham Lincoln all looked as if they’d seen a ghost—after staring in shock, they quickly dodged to the side, afraid of getting hit.

These little nurses, always flirting on normal days, but when it really matters, they’re nowhere to be found.

As soon as he reached the fourth floor, someone came charging out, shouting and knocking over several people in one go, like a mad bull rampaging through a crowd.

“Damn bird thief, Zheng the Butcher of Zhen Guanxi is here! Who dares fight me? George Clark, come out!”

He heard someone behind shout, “Stop him! Prepare 5ml chlorpromazine injection!”

The Seventh People’s Hospital always had a strong security team, all former special forces soldiers. When Abraham Lincoln saw them, he couldn’t help but smile.

The one running ahead, baring his teeth and looking for a fight with George Clark, was a regular. He always imagined himself as the butcher from Water Margin, George Clark punching Zheng the Butcher. Coincidentally, both of them were named Henry Bennett. He must have read Water Margin to the point of obsession, triggering delusional schizophrenia.

Normally, you couldn’t tell at all—he spoke logically. But once he had an episode, he’d instantly turn into Mr. Bennett, shouting for revenge. In ancient times, this would be called being possessed by evil spirits, requiring exorcism and torture. Now, he was just a psychiatric patient—an acute one at that, and a tranquilizer shot would settle it.

Logically, a patient as unstable as Henry Bennett should have been sent to the “harem” (inpatient ward) for long-term treatment, where the head matron, the rehired Mrs. Walker, presided. With a tranquilizer gun in hand, she could take down even the wildest patient with one shot. Making it to the elevator was already impressive.

If one shot didn’t work, then two would. Mrs. Walker had kept the “harem” in order for twenty years without a single incident.

Looking behind, the security guards and two or three nurses were surrounding an exasperated doctor in a white coat—Henry Bennett’s attending physician, Ethan Brooks. Sensing someone watching him, he met Abraham Lincoln’s gaze, first stunned, then his expression turned gloomy.