“Drip….” The yellow warning light on the scanner activated, projecting a red line of light onto Zhang Yuanqing’s forehead. The machine emitted an electronic voice: 【Drip, beginning diagnosis…condition is…】 Zhang Yuanqing held his breath, eagerly awaiting the all-seeing medical machine to deliver its verdict. But suddenly, the audio paused. After several seconds, it resumed: 【Drip, beginning diagnosis…condition is…】 【Drip, beginning diagnosis…condition is…】 【Drip, beginning diagnosis…condition is…】 The voice repeated endlessly, cycling back each time it attempted to name a condition. “Hmm?” The female doctor maintained her scanning gesture, glancing at the console and then at her T-shaped head device, her expression puzzled. Zhang Yuanqing felt equally bewildered, now growing increasingly disappointed and anxious—like he had arranged a romantic dinner with his girlfriend at a hotel, only for her to say, “I’ve just gotten my period.” Though he didn’t have a girlfriend himself, the emotion was unmistakable. “Is the machine broken?” Jiang Jingwei walked over to the cylindrical unit and immediately gave it two sharp kicks without hesitation. “Jingwei, don’t kick it!” Li Dongze gasped. This was no ordinary piece of equipment—it was a high-tier prop purchased by the Linghai Branch from a music specialist lineage at great expense. Auxiliary props weren’t as durable as combat-grade tools; damage occurred regularly. “My home appliances always respond to a few kicks,” Jiang Jingwei added, giving another pair of solid taps. The doctor finally snapped, “You!” 【Drip…system rebooting…】 The detector emitted an electronic tone. The screen darkened and then reactivated, initiating a restart. Jiang Jingwei smiled triumphantly: “See? A good kick fixes it.” Teng Yuan adjusted his glasses gently and said calmly: “No problem—since the item is damaged, the organization will cover the cost.” Li Dongze sighed with resignation. Guan Ya glanced at Yuan Shi Tian Zun and remarked: “I’m more curious about what’s wrong with your physical condition.” Zhang Yuanqing managed a forced smile and offered one sentence: “Perhaps it's the Scorpio syndrome—or a fascination with black nylon fabric shaping female limbs.” Was this just coincidence? Had the machine failed precisely when he needed its diagnosis? He glanced around at his teammates, who all appeared calm and unbothered—clearly treating it as merely an ordinary malfunction. Only Wang Tai’s brow was furrowed. “It feels off,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He approached the detector, tapping it, adjusting settings, then opening the screen interface to study it carefully. As a scholar destined to become a craftsman, Wang Tai had deep expertise in props. After thorough investigation, he declared: “The machine isn’t malfunctioning at all. In fact, given its level of sophistication, failure is impossible. You may not know that music-specialty props are among the most durable—and this particular one possesses self-repair capabilities.” Huh? Both Guan Ya and Li Dongze, as scouts, frowned simultaneously, turning to Yuan Shi Tian Zun, who also looked equally lost. Then, after the detector completed its reboot, the doctor said: “Though we don’t know why, it seems everything is functioning now.” She raised the scanner again, this time precisely targeting Zhang Yuanqing’s forehead. The group fell silent and watched patiently. The yellow light illuminated steadily. The electronic voice resumed: 【Drip, beginning diagnosis…condition is…Drip, please do not simultaneously…】 Then, the tone faltered abruptly. “It seems there’s still an issue,” she said, frowning slightly. “I’ll try again.” She lowered the scanner, waited a few seconds, then raised it once more and aligned it with Zhang Yuanqing’s forehead. The yellow light flared to life. The voice came through clearly: 【Drip, no condition detected—your body is well maintained. Please maintain your current habits…diagnosis complete!】 Exhaling deeply, the doctor smiled: “All good. You’re in excellent health. Just keep up your routine.” “Oh!” Zhang Yuanqing stood and surveyed his teammates with a smile. “So I’m actually quite healthy!” Guan Ya and Li Dongze exchanged a glance and nodded—sharing a quiet, understated smile. Wang Tai’s brows remained furrowed: “Something isn’t right. I keep sensing that this machine feels unusual today. Doctor, could I stay here to study it further?” The doctor shook her head firmly: “No—we can’t disassemble or examine it casually; it's a very valuable asset.” “Alright…” Wang Tai sighed and accepted the outcome. As they exited the examination room, Li Dongze led them toward the staircase, saying: “The officers are waiting for us on the second floor. Fu Bai Fu Chang is also there. The next phase involves assessing mental state—normally just one evaluation, but this year we’ve added a lie-detection test.” He said this to Yuan Shi Tian Zun, as he was the only newcomer in the group. But Zhang Yuanqing couldn’t focus—he kept mentally replaying the scanner’s voice: The first diagnosis clearly indicated that it had detected a condition—yet no specific illness was named. Since he genuinely did suffer from headaches, the machine wasn’t malfunctioning—it had simply failed to state what the issue was. Why hadn’t it mentioned the condition? Was it unable to produce one—or something else entirely? For the second attempt, the phrase “please do not simultaneously” stood out. This suggested that after restarting, the detector had indeed identified a problem and was preparing to provide a warning—but then suddenly stalled. What did “do not simultaneously” mean? What did it want to say? Zhang Yuanqing grew heavier in thought, more unsettled with every passing moment. A cascade of questions surged through his mind—ultimately tracing back to the origin of his headache. The pain had first flared up one evening during high school—a sudden, intense bout that lasted for hours. Nasal bleeding was common. His aunt and uncle rushed him to the hospital immediately. Tests ran from morning until nightfall. Doctors declared he was fully healthy—nothing wrong. At the time, family members dismissed it as temporary, advising him only to rest. When the symptoms returned, worsening significantly, Zhang Yuanqing ended up hospitalized. Only then did his mother finally take time off work to devote attention to him and guide him through multiple hospitals—all without a clear diagnosis. Eventually, while on an overseas trip, her mother brought back a special medication. How strange was that? She hadn’t taken him along for the check-ups—yet now she could prescribe a treatment so specific. That seemed even more perplexing. And how more surprising was it—that the very spirit realm prop couldn't detect this illness? Could this be an ordinary ailment? While pondering, the group arrived on the second floor. Compared to the spacious lobby on the first floor, this area was significantly smaller—crowded with over twenty patients and a similar number of guards—creating a bustling, packed atmosphere. Wang Tai’s expression quickly dimmed—he looked visibly uncomfortable and somewhat resistant. Zhang Yuanqing noticed this and smiled thoughtfully: “Wang Tai, I remember there’s a restroom on the first floor. Shall we take a break together?” Wang Tai nodded enthusiastically: “Great idea!” They descended the stairs to reach the first floor and entered the restroom. Zhang Yuanqing opened each stall one by one to ensure no one was inside before approaching the toilet. As he reached for his "Sea of Calm" prop, he casually remarked: “That scanner is quite remarkable—does it belong to a Sage-level?” “Yes!” Wang Tai responded while adjusting the water flow. Zhang Yuanqing asked: “Do props at this level typically possess self-awareness? My rule-based prop has its own ideas.” “Ah yes,” said Wang Tai. “It does have self-consciousness—it operates in an artificial intelligence form.” Oh—so it had self-awareness! Then, the machine must have changed its mind and decided not to reveal his condition during the first diagnosis. Zhang Yuanqing felt a complex mix of emotions. After finishing their water routines, they returned to the second floor. During the long wait, one by one, official pilgrims completed mental evaluations—most passed with ease; a smaller number required additional psychological support. For instance, several Fire Masters exhibited extreme irritability and were diagnosed with severe manic episodes. Some Wood Demons displayed excessive habits requiring behavioral counseling and medication to regulate hormone levels. Several scouts developed voyeurism tendencies. Eventually, it was the turn of Team Two—their mental health conditions were deeply concerning. Li Dongze suffered from a serious case of obsessive-compulsive disorder; Guan Ya had a strong sense of cleanliness and was generally inactive; Jiang Jingwei was manic and easily angered. Teng Yuan was pessimistic and exhibited moderate depression. Finally, Wang Tai emerged from the examination room, stepping toward Zhang Yuanqing sitting on a chair and said: “It’s your turn.” Zhang Yuanqing entered the consultation room to find an older male doctor in a white coat seated behind a desk. “Please sit,” he invited, smiling warmly. “You’re Yuan Shi Tian Zun, aren’t you? Indeed, a distinguished young man—talented from the start. I’m Sun, a steward from the Chao Men district. A 5-level Sage in the scout profession and also hold a doctorate in psychology.” “I’ll now conduct a simple mental assessment by asking you a few questions,” he said. His smile was gentle, his gaze deep—seeming able to penetrate into the very core of one’s being. A steward-level psychologist—that’s far more perceptive than Guan Ya’s Chief position… Zhang Yuanqing sat down and said: “Understood.” Sun smiled reassuringly: “Don’t be nervous. I’ll ask a few personal questions, but here there’s no monitoring or recording. Only I will know—and I have professional integrity to protect your privacy.” “Yuan Shi Tian Zun, 21 years old, from Linghai—wealthy family with a car, lost his father, never had a date, specialized in being 20 centimeters tall,” Zhang Yuanqing said sincerely. “Please share this widely.” Sun paused, looking at him intently: “You’re slightly tense—subconsciously making some unusual statements to ease the atmosphere. I’ve explained—I don’t expect you to be formal. We’re just friends.” …Zhang Yuanqing took a deep breath, realizing that for a Sage-level scout like Sun, lighthearted banter would feel hollow and irrelevant. He then said with seriousness: “I was joking earlier—let’s begin now.” Sun nodded and asked: “Do you usually enjoy watching action films? I mean romance-themed ones. If so, which genre do you prefer—domestic or foreign? Do you favor actors from a certain age group? When watching, do you often fast-forward? After viewing, do you typically find yourself meeting someone new—or reaching for a tissue instead?” Zhang Yuanqing was taken aback by the series of questions—seeming as if they had installed surveillance in his very home. So precise? So targeted at the heart? Each question cut straight to the core.