Chapter 4 — The Secret Pages of Room Seven

The special isolation area is located at the end of the eastern block, completely separated from the general treatment area by a corridor with magnetic doors and surveillance cameras at both ends. Ward B patients like Nhã Vân are not allowed to come close, but after many days of observation, she realized a loophole: every afternoon, when the nurses change shifts, there are about fifteen minutes in the corridor connecting the two wards that is almost empty, because that passage is also a shortcut for logistics staff to push laundry carts from the isolation ward to the warehouse.

She spent three days mastering that rule, memorizing the shift change time frame down to the minute, learning to walk slowly, bow her head, and look like a patient wandering the hallways according to the allowed free movement hours.

On the fourth day, she decided to try.

She wore the same light blue hospital uniform as usual, holding a small notebook in her hand and pretending to write in a therapy diary — an activity encouraged in ward B, so no one would notice if they saw her wandering around with a notebook in hand. Right on time for the shift change, she slipped through the side hallway door, walking lightly, her heart pounding in her chest even though she tried to maintain absolute calm on the outside.

The quarantine area hallway was much darker, the pale yellow light reflected on the metal doors with a small glass pane in the middle, each door had a sign with the room number and patient code instead of the name. She walked slowly, eyes scanning each window, her heart tightening every time she saw a figure lying motionless on a hospital bed behind frosted glass.

When she reached the fifth room, she stopped.

Through the small glass window, she saw Diệu Kỳ.

Her sister was lying sideways on the bed, her hair disheveled, her face so pale and haggard that Nhã Vân almost didn't recognize her at first sight. An infusion line was inserted into Diệu Kỳ's arm, connected to a medicine bag hanging on an iron stand next to the bed. Diệu Kỳ's eyes were half open, staring blankly at the ceiling, not reacting at all even though there was a small noise coming from the door.

Nhã Vân pressed her hand against the cold glass pane, her throat choked, she had to bite her lip to keep from calling out for her sister. She stood there, looking at Diệu Kỳ lying motionless like a lifeless corpse, and the question appeared in her mind: did a person who was just in a state of psychological trauma after an event, no matter how serious, need to be continuously given intravenous fluids and kept in a state of drowsiness and unconsciousness like this?

She doesn't have much time. Footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway, signaling that the new shift was about to hand over. Nhã Vân left the doorway and crept her way out, but before leaving, she glanced at the electronic board attached to the door - where the day's medication schedule was recorded.

She was not a doctor, but thanks to many years of sitting in board meetings of the medical corporation, thanks to the pharmaceutical reports she had read to master the company's business operations, she recognized a few familiar drug names on the board - all strong sedatives, the dosage clearly stated three times a day, the dosage level was much higher than the standard regimen for an acute psychological trauma that she had read in the corporation's popular medical documents.

She left the hallway just in time to hear the nurse's footsteps coming closer. She was able to slip through the side door and return to area B, her heart still beating rapidly. Standing in the corner of her area's hallway, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her surging emotions.

That evening, she tried to meet privately with an elderly patient who was a retired nurse, whom she had known for a few days through meals together. Her name is Tu, she has an open personality, likes to tell stories, and is not reserved like most other patients in the ward.

"Mrs. Tu." Nhã Vân sat down next to her during break time, pretending to be asking small talk. "I heard that in the quarantine area, they often give patients very high doses of medicine, right?"

Mrs. Tu glanced around and lowered her voice. "That ward is very different, dear. When I was a nurse at the provincial hospital, I saw people only give such high doses to cases of acute psychosis, severe agitation, and a risk of self-harm or harming others. Otherwise, good doctors rarely leave patients submerged in drugs for so long, because the longer they remain unconscious, the more difficult it is to monitor the true progress of the disease."

"So what if a person is just panicking due to psychological shock, has no signs of agitation, but is still given such a high dose?"

Mrs. Tu looked at her for a moment, her eyes searching. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious." Nhã Vân smiled lightly, trying to appear harmless. "I heard there are some strange cases in that area." Mrs. Tu was silent for a moment, then sighed, her voice low. "I've heard a few stories, but I don't dare say them out loud. Some people say that the ward doesn't always use medicine for illness, but sometimes to... keep people quiet and not talk nonsense. But that's just a rumor in the hospital, don't take it to heart."

Mrs. Tu's words were like a needle pricking straight into the growing doubt in Nhã Vân's heart. She thanked her, then quietly returned to her room, her mind reeling with a series of new questions. If rumors were true, Diệu Kỳ was not the only case of being kept in a state of unnecessary coma. And if so, what was the real purpose of keeping that high dose, if not to prevent her sister from telling the truth about the night of the incident?

She took out a small notebook and, under the dim light of the desk lamp, wrote down every detail observed during the day in her own notation that only she understood - Diệu Kỳ's room number, the names of the medicines read on the board, the nurse's shift change times, Mrs. Tu's words. She knew she needed more evidence, needed a real professional look to confirm her suspicions, not just the inference of an older sister who was too worried about her younger sister.

And in her mind, the image of Kỳ Bách Nguyên appeared again - the only person in this building who had enough expertise, seemed to have enough dedication, and most importantly, seemed to have the same doubts as her. If she wanted to go further, perhaps it was time for her to get an ally, although trusting anyone in this building, even the most sincere of eyes, was still a risky gamble.

That night, she lay awake for a long time, her ears still echoing Mrs. Tu's words, her eyes still imprinted with the image of Diệu Kỳ lying motionless behind the frosted glass. She told herself, no matter what the cost, she had to find a way to get her sister out of that situation, and uncover the truth that was buried behind the locked doors of this special quarantine area.

The next morning, during a routine examination with Bách Nguyên, she deliberately turned the conversation to a professional direction, testing to see if his reaction matched what Mrs. Tu had said.

"This doctor." She opened her mouth, her voice still holding its familiar timidity. "I heard from some people in Ward B that in the special isolation ward, they often give patients very high doses of medicine. Is that true?"

Bách Nguyên was taking notes, his hand paused for half a beat, then continued writing as if nothing happened. "That area is not under my direct responsibility, so I don't know the specific regimen of each case."

"But if you're a doctor, you probably know in general, right? I mean, in principle, if a case is just in psychological shock, there are no signs of agitation, is it necessary to continuously maintain a coma with such a high dose of sedatives?"

This time, Bách Nguyên looked up and looked straight at her, his eyes much sharper than the moment before. "In principle, not. The standard regimen always prioritizes the lowest possible dose to both stabilize the patient and retain the ability to assess psychological developments in real time. Keeping the patient unconscious for an unnecessarily long time not only violates treatment principles, but can also be considered a serious violation of medical ethics." He paused for a moment, as if considering something before continuing. "Why do you care about that, Miss Lam?"

"Just curious." Nhã Vân quickly lowered her eyes, pretending to be confused. "Lying here for a long time, listening to all kinds of stories, I start to think a lot."

Bách Nguyên didn't say anything more, but Nhã Vân noticed that he wrote something in his leather-bound notebook, not in the official medical record placed on the table. She couldn't read the content, but that action alone was enough to show her that her question just now did not fall into meaningless space. It touched on something that he was also secretly paying attention to.

Leaving the clinic, Nhã Vân walked slowly through the hallway, with a heavy heart but also a glimmer of new hope. If Bách Nguyên really reacts like a person hiding something that he hasn't dared to say, then it's very likely that he is not on the same side as those who are deliberately keeping Diệu Kỳ in a coma. But she still reminded herself to be cautious, because a proper professional response could be simply a proper professional reaction, not necessarily a sign of a potential ally. She needed more time and more evidence before she dared to bet on anyone in this building full of secrets.