Zhang Jizu, whose eyes had narrowed to nothing, wore a dark expression as he channeled all his displeasure onto Masford. With a casual flick, his scalpel embedded itself in the wall three inches above the clown's head.
The clown flinched and ducked, his face draining of three shades of color.
He shrank his neck down further, his voice trembling: "I'll talk, I'll talk—whatever you want to know, I'll tell you."
Cheng Shi shot Zhang Jizu a peculiar glance, thinking that Old Zhang was being surprisingly cooperative today. Then he turned back with a grin:
"I ask, you answer. Get it wrong, and next ti this gentleman's scalpel won't miss by so much.
Lake's disappearance—you're involved?"
Masford's entire body went rigid. After a mont of visible hesitation, he gave a heavy nod: "Yes."
"Good. Second question—he's dead, isn't that right?"
"...Yes."
The instant those words left his mouth, two scalpels simultaneously embedded themselves in the wall two inches above the clown's head. The trembling blades humd, resonating at the exact sa frequency as Masford's fraying nerves.
Both Cheng Shi and Zhang Jizu had struck. Old Zhang was playing his part in the interrogation, while Cheng Shi's was pure reflex—his hand was itching.
An interrogation just didn't feel right without a certain edge of nace.
Of course, the reason both of them reacted so swiftly was that the clown before them had just told a lie!
Lake wasn't dead?
Cheng Shi blinked, closed the distance by two steps, and pressed with a frown:
"Then what was the cenotaph about? Why were you 'mourning' soone who's still alive? Where did Lake go?"
"He..."
For so reason, the mont he heard this question, the fear in Masford's eyes vanished for an instant. A strange look crossed his face as he stared blankly at the ground, and after a mont of silence, he murmured:
"He left. He left the Sunset—left the place that had broken his heart and crushed his hopes."
"?"
Judging by his reaction, could these two clowns from rival camps actually be on good terms?
'But buddy, do you even rember where you are right now?'
'This is an interrogation, not a trip down mory lane!'
Cheng Shi let out a cold laugh and moved the scalpel's target point another inch lower—embedding it right against Masford's scalp, pinning itself to the wall.
"Like a tube of toothpaste—nothing cos out unless we squeeze.
Does Mr. Clown think we're being too friendly?"
Masford shrank his neck down again, trembling from head to toe: "It's... it's you who said 'I ask, you answer'... I didn't dare say more than you asked..."
"???"
'Alright then!'
Cheng Shi was genuinely laughing with anger now. He whipped out three scalpels in one motion, leveled them at the clown's nose, and said icily:
"Then tell us everything you know about Lake.
Rember—no lies. Otherwise...
Nobody knows whether the Sunset's clown is dead or alive, but Morning Joy's clown will definitely die first."
Whether it was Cheng Shi's threat or so specific word that struck a nerve, Masford fought down his terror, stared at the blade tips re inches from his face, and shakily told them everything he knew.
His very first sentence left all four players thunderstruck.
"I am Lake."
"!!??"
Before the players could even process that revelation, the clown's second sentence brought an eternal silence to the room.
"The one who died isn't —it's Masford.
Morning Joy's clown is indeed dead... and I cannot escape bla for it."
"!!!???"
Cheng Shi's brain went blank.
The clown before him was actually Lake!?
Only now did he realize that every player had overlooked a critically important detail: none of them had ever actually seen Masford. Simply because they'd found a clown inside the Morning Joy Circus, they'd assud he must be Morning Joy's clown—Masford.
But beneath the full stage makeup, what kind of person the clown truly was—that, they had never seen.
Cheng Shi blinked rapidly. With the tip of his blade, he flicked off the clown nose, removed the wig, and wiped away the makeup to reveal the unfamiliar face beneath.
He confird this wasn't Lake's face—he'd seen Lake's true appearance in his tent.
But Cheng Shi's blade didn't stop. He keenly noticed faint shadows along the jawline of this unfamiliar face—precisely the spots most convenient for concealing flaws. He'd been playing with these techniques since childhood, and at this close range with a clear purpose, nothing could escape his eyes.
He peeled back the outer layer of fake skin, finally revealing a face identical to Lake's.
He really was Lake!!
In that instant, a torrent of thoughts cascaded through Cheng Shi's mind, his imagination erupting like a volcano to match the most plausible scenario to the clown's two sentences.
'Why "cannot escape bla"?'
'Could it be that Lake had killed Masford, only to be caught by Morning Joy's people? Had Mada Freud then threatened Lake into impersonating Masford in order to win against the Sunset?'
This seed like the most logical theory—it aligned with every clue they'd found. The four of them exchanged glances, their expressions vivid. They'd clearly arrived at the sa conclusion. But once again, events defied their expectations.
"You killed him?" asked Zhen Xin, who looked as though she were watching a circus act. The smile on her face hadn't faded since the beginning.
Masford—no, Lake—shook his head, denying Zhen Xin's "accusation."
"It wasn't . I didn't kill anyone...
I just had the wrong drink, with the wrong person, at the wrong ti."
He "regretfully" clutched his own hair and sank into his mories.
Even though it had only happened a few days ago, those days had felt like half a lifeti to Lake.
In preparation for the showdown with Morning Joy, Lake had been racking his brains for new tricks and fresh ideas. But audiences—whose expectations and humor thresholds had already been raised sky-high by every novelty under the sun—wouldn't reward effort alone. They only cared about who was funnier and who was more entertaining.
Lake had no confidence he could win the final showdown. In his frustration, he snuck out of the circus and made his way to a small bar on the outskirts of the city to drink his worries away.
As it happened, Masford had co to the very sa bar that day, carrying the sa burden, drinking alone and miserable.
Two half-drunk clowns t by chance.
They recognized each other imdiately. At first, both were wary. But as the drinks kept flowing and their vision blurred, the two gradually drifted to the sa table like old friends from the sa troupe, pouring out the pressures weighing on each of their hearts.
When each learned the other also lacked confidence in winning the final act, two unconfident clowns sohow found confidence in each other again.
And because they were both the nation's premier clowns—suprely skilled perforrs—the conversation naturally turned to their craft. You talk, I listen. I perform, you watch. That night, they felt as though they'd found kindred spirits, engaging in an exchange that resonated with the very soul of what it ant to be a clown.
They regretted having t so late. They drank until not a drop remained.
Late at night, the two parted reluctantly, each carrying in their hearts a renewed resolve to defeat their rival fair and square on the final stage.
But what Lake never expected was that the very next morning, a mysterious figure infiltrated the Sunset, found him, and told him that last night's drinking session had handed him the victory outright.
The mysterious figure spoke thus:
"Is this the victory you wanted, Lake?
Your fear, your insecurity, your twisted desire to win—it all buried a clown who could have gone much higher and much further.
Everything you've done is contemptible. Through your actions, you've shown the world:
You, Lake, truly are a clown—and you only deserve to be a clown!"
"..."
In that instant, Lake's world collapsed.
...
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