Though the Morning Joy Circus was bold and trendy in style, the clown's tent was surprisingly understated.
Masford's quarters were sowhat similar to Lake's—tucked away in a corner far from the rest area. When the group arrived, the tent was empty.
The Grand Marshal, unable to stand the pace of a slow investigation, saw no one around and imdiately set off to find soone. Before he left, Cheng Shi asked how he'd learned about Mada Freud's detailed history. Hu Wei tossed over two diaries with a grin:
"It's all in here—written in Mada Freud's own hand.
Co to think of it, I haven't seen the ringmaster at all today. Let
take another lap outside and see if I can drag both of them back."
The Grand Marshal strode off. Cheng Shi opened the diaries and studied them carefully—everything Zhang Jizu had recounted was indeed recorded within these pages.
There didn't appear to be anything else of value in the diaries.
But sotis the written word was magical that way. The very sa story, told in soone's own hand versus relayed through another person's words, could convey profoundly different things.
For instance, when Mada Freud described the first ti she recognized Masford's talent as a clown, her penmanship beca forceful and exuberant. Even just looking at the words on the page, you could feel her excitent and joy.
But gradually, the entries about Masford grew more hasty, broken, and at tis the sa stroke was traced over and over again.
It wasn't hard to imagine that Mada Freud had gone through a period of inner conflict and struggle. Once that period passed, however, the handwriting in subsequent Masford-related entries beca neat, careful, and gentle.
Those brush strokes alone told a story. But what truly convinced Cheng Shi this story had occurred wasn't just the penmanship—it was the content distribution.
Entries about the circus grew shorter and shorter. Entries about Masford grew longer and longer.
It was obvious who weighed more heavily in Mada Freud's heart. No words were needed.
These small details might be useless for the current trial, but they vividly showed him how a ntor had endured inner turmoil while nurturing a successor—and ultimately reached a compromise with herself.
Yet the story had no ending. Everything had co to an abrupt halt two days ago.
Mada Freud's final diary entry was dated two days prior. She wasn't a daily writer, but the ending of that last entry was visibly more hurried than usual.
She had recorded a conversation with Masford from that day, promising to give him an answer after the final showdown. But before she could write what the answer would be, a long, violent stroke slashed across half the page—even tearing through several pages beneath it, leaving a savage punctuation mark at the story's end.
Sothing had happened!
Anyone could see that Mada Freud, while writing her diary, must have received shocking news—so urgent that she hastily ended her entry, threw down the diary, and rushed from the room.
Cheng Shi was dying of curiosity. He handed the diary to Zhen Xin, hoping the resourceful magician could sohow reconstruct the scene from that mont.
Zhen Xin was equally curious, but she wasn't running a prop shop—her arsenal had its limits.
She shook her head. No luck.
Cheng Shi then turned to Zhang Jizu. Old Zhang simply closed his eyes, pretending he hadn't seen.
Not that anyone could tell whether his eyes were open or closed.
"Tsk, Old Zhang—you really have changed."
With the diary trail gone cold, Cheng Shi exchanged a helpless glance with Zhen Xin. In that single look, the sa thought struck both deceivers:
'Why did it have to be Long Jing instead of the Dragon King?'
'Both have "Long" in their nas, but the gap between them is astounding.'
'What good is Long Jing besides being a clown?'
"Achoo!"
Long Jing, who had split from the main team to search for clues on his own, suddenly sneezed. He had no idea anyone was badmouthing him—he just assud the tingle ant he was about to find sothing.
And then he ran straight into Poison, who was also lurking in the shadows!
When Poison—an assassin by class—sensed soone tailing Cheng Shi with "ill intent," she had chosen a quiet spot to intercept the stalker.
Looking at the unfamiliar face before her, Poison frowned, then gave a light laugh:
"Whatever. I don't care who you are. If you're making a move on the little priest, that's reason enough to die.
This should... count as my desire, right?"
No sooner had she spoken than Dance With Desire shattered the silence, slicing through the air and stopping right before "Su Yida's" face.
"!!??"
Long Jing was dumbfounded.
When Cheng Shi had told him to keep playing "Su Yida" and stay hidden outside, he most certainly hadn't ntioned anything about fighting a villainess!
'Why is Poison in this trial too!?'
...
The Grand Marshal's efficiency was extraordinary. While Cheng Shi's trio was still ribbing each other about not having a single mory artifact between them, Hu Wei had already returned to the tent with Masford in tow.
He dropped the fully made-up clown on the ground and shook his head:
"Unfortunately, I was a step too late.
Mada Freud has gone to the palace. Apparently there's a royal-exclusive performance today, and she went to coordinate relations.
Couldn't find her—only the clown.
Don't worry, no collateral damage. The clown was just rehearsing backstage, and he doesn't have any upcoming performances anyway.
Strange thing is, I checked the venue's performance schedule, and all of the clown's acts have been removed recently. It's even drawn complaints from audience mbers.
When coincidences pile up enough, they stop being coincidences and start being red flags. If anyone thinks the clown doesn't know sothing, well—I doubt anyone would buy that."
Hu Wei tossed the clown aside and sat down to wait for results.
He knew that with these three around, there was no way the clown could hide anything.
Bursting with curiosity, all three converged on Masford at once, backing him into a corner.
Fortunately, being an "NPC," Masford had no concept of what the three deceivers before him truly represented. So aside from so alarm, he wasn't particularly frightened.
After all, he couldn't imagine who would dare lay hands on him in Morning Joy's territory—especially on a day when a royal performance was taking place.
Was there anyone in this land who could withstand the wrath of the royal court?
No.
So he believed himself perfectly safe.
Cornered against the wall, Masford asked with mild unease: "Who are you?"
Cheng Shi answered casually: "Golden House. Mr. Masford should have heard of us."
Masford froze, incredulous:
"You're Blacks's people?
But isn't he a fan of the Sun—the circus? Why would he send you here to cause
trouble?"
Cheng Shi smiled warmly, crouching down to et the clown's eyes:
"Don't be nervous, Mr. Clown. We're not here to cause trouble—we're here to investigate sothing.
Soone hired us to find a person. We're clueless, so we thought we'd ask if you have any leads."
Masford's expression shifted visibly. He was trying his hardest to stay composed, but the four pairs of eyes watching him were—each and every one—sharper than an eagle's.
They instantly noticed that the clown's facial muscles had stiffened. Clearly, he'd already guessed who they were looking for.
Cheng Shi smiled and pressed on:
"It seems Mr. Masford does know sothing. Then let's talk—about what you know."
The clown shrank further into his corner, pitiful and helpless. He shook his head, holding firm:
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Cheng Shi was amused.
"Perhaps you've misunderstood sothing. We had more convenient thods at our disposal to verify everything. The reason we didn't use them is because—out of respect for a fellow clown—we're giving you so courtesy.
But if Mr. Masford insists on being difficult, then don't bla us for getting rough."
With that, Cheng Shi rose to his feet, beckoned with a wave, and called out:
"Bring him in—unleash Old Zhang."
"?"
...
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