633: Chapter 633 The Murderer and the Redeer 633: Chapter 633 The Murderer and the Redeer The middle-aged woman hung up the phone and walked toward the ground, as if there was so kind of ergency.
After the middle-aged woman left, Han Fei carried his bag and looked toward the depths of the basent level.
It seed that several rooms on this basent level had been purchased by soone, probably a madman, who had filled the walls with cryptic writing indecipherable to ordinary people, rife with thes of destruction and despair.
Han Fei read the words while feeling his way deeper in.
The scent of formalin in the air grew stronger, and the blood stains on the ground beca more plentiful, giving this basent that resembled a cri scene an indescribably familiar feeling to Han Fei.
“Why, as an actor or a screenwriter, do I know the sll of formalin?
Why am I so familiar with murder scenes?”
In light of the stories Han Fei had written in his plays, his mind grew even more confused: “What kind of person am I, really?”
He carefully avoided the bloodstains on the ground, which would undoubtedly evoke fear and panic in a normal person when faced with such a scene.
But Han Fei, as a paranoid schizophrenic, not only didn’t have an episode upon entering such a gory scene but actually found his breathing becoming smooth.
He felt like a twisted paradox, the more he investigated, the more bewildered he beca.
“My parents, of whom I have absolutely no mory, handling corpses underground and then transporting them out…
That Doctor Fu ntioned that the city has seen many John Does lately, and the man who claims to be my father happens to be an outstanding forensic doctor.”
“Could it be that my parents are twisted murderers?
Did I lose my mory because I witnessed them killing soone by accident?”
“Or maybe, they have been dicating all along, making forget the past?
Turning into a confused patient?”
No matter how you looked at it, this family was extrely terrifying.
“I can’t believe I’ve been living with a pair of murderous fiends, and they might not even be my real parents!”
Han Fei had no concept of parents in his heart; he couldn’t even find a starting point for a mory.
All sorts of thoughts floating through his mind, Han Fei walked past the bloodstains, arriving at the last room on the basent level.
The room’s door was locked, and on closer inspection, one could see blood seeping out from under the door.
“The blood has congealed, aning this blood water must be the remnants of the mother cleaning the bloodstains in the cracks.
It seems the first cri scene must have been in this room.” Staring at the blood on the ground, Han Fei muttered to himself, “The bloodstains in the cracks can’t be washed away with water, which would disperse the incriminating dirt containing the victim’s information.
They should be collected bit by bit, then treated with chemical agents…”
Han Fei was startled by the thoughts in his mind: “Why do I know how to handle a body?”
He had lost all his mories, but his instincts remained, though sotis those instincts were quite odd.
“Is it because I’m a screenwriter, so I would look up information like this?”
Cushioning his hand with his clothing, Han Fei gently pulled the iron door, which was locked and wouldn’t open.
“Once I leave this ti, I probably won’t return to this horrific ho.
I must figure these things out before leaving.”
Looking around, Han Fei found a thin piece of wire, and after bending it into the right shape, he inserted it into the keyhole.
Han Fei had only wanted to try, but as he listened closely to the sounds inside the lock, his hands and brain cooperated seamlessly, as if unlocking was a skill he had always had.
With the latch springing open, he managed to unlock the derelict iron door of the basent level.
Looking at the unlocked iron door, Han Fei himself couldn’t believe it; he had mastered an ability that most playwrights would not possess.
Looking inside the room, the scene before him was deeply shocking to Han Fei.
In the dark, oppressive room, there stood a wooden table scattered with nurous manuscripts and various pens, the floor beneath it soaked with blood.
Behind the table were three shelves: one was filled with books, another was stacked with all sorts of specin jars, and the last was lined with various murder tools, including hatchets, daggers, ropes, and assorted drugs.
The wall directly in front of the wooden table was not painted, but the plaster was splattered with huge blood spatters, as if soone had been killed right there.
“Is this the devil’s room?
The desk faces the wall with blood spatters; does the owner write while watching the victim’s corpse?”
The cri scene had been severely tampered with, and the air was filled with the pungent sll of formalin and an indescribably foul odor.
Han Fei moved forward slowly, realizing sothing terrifying: his body had already grown accustod to that pungent sll.
A normal person slling these substances for the first ti would instinctively feel uncomfortable, even nauseated, but he had rely furrowed his brow, indicating that before he lost his mory, he must have often encountered these scents!
“Why am I accustod to it?”
Approaching the table, Han Fei used his sleeve to pick up the incomplete script on the desk.
“The sixth story—The Tenant, the woman moved in during July, her belly growing day by day, her mood becoming increasingly unstable and irritable, arguing with soone every night.
Sotis, I would also grow curious—clearly living alone on the sixth floor, how could she always be arguing with soone at night?”
“I saw her a second ti a month later, and she was in poor ntal state, refusing to use the elevator, instead she climbed the stairs up and down every day with her big belly, constantly muttering curses.”
“She rejected any interaction with others, and the people in the community thought she was sick, gradually ignoring her.”
“The arguing noises from her apartnt at night grew louder, yet nobody knew whom she was arguing with.
Many speculated she was on the phone arguing with the man who had abandoned her, but I felt the situation wasn’t so simple.”
“The third ti I t her was the day before her death.”
“That night I wanted to go downstairs to buy cigarettes.
As I was passing the sixth floor, I heard noise from her apartnt.”
“I lingered at the entrance to the corridor for a while, and the woman who hadn’t left her room for a long ti slowly crawled out.
Her face was so emaciated it was all skin and bones, and she kept cursing sothing under her breath, her neck so shriveled it seed to consist of just two flaps of skin.”
“As she crawled out slowly, I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw her distended belly.”
“The woman was not pregnant; what she concealed in her belly was not human.”
The full script lay on the desk, but Han Fei felt there was more to it.
He glanced at the bloodstains on the floor, “How did he know what she hid in her belly wasn’t human?”
He set the script down gently, enveloped by a chill in his heart.
He had seen the first half of the script in his room, and now the latter half appeared on the desk—could it an the original owner of this room was him?
As he pondered deeply, Han Fei’s heart felt as if it were about to leap out of his chest, and the veins on his forehead bulged.
“Is there a possibility?”
Familiar with the sll of formalin and corpses, adept at unlocking and disposing of bodies, even feeling an urge to grab and swing the knives on the shelf—everything seed to point to one thing.
“Am I the murderer?
Were that couple helping dispose of the bodies?”
Han Fei had lost his forr mories; he could not recall his past identity, but his keen insight and astonishing physical instincts remained.
Destroying evidence is an extrely difficult task, one that would take an ordinary person quite so ti to contemplate and figure out the steps.
Yet, upon seeing the bloodstains, his mind automatically simulated various thods to wash away the evidence.
“Expertly done, as if it wasn’t the first ti.
Am I, the perpetrator of a series of death cases?”
Carrying a bag filled with scripts, Han Fei stood still as nothing could shock him more than this realization.
“But if I am a serial killer, why were the couple disposing of the bodies?”
“Did they discover what I was doing and drug step by step into amnesia, wanting to change ?”
“Parents helping dispose of bodies so the amnesiac could have a fresh start?
From that perspective, they truly are the best people in the world for , but…”
Han Fei clenched his fists.
“If I really did kill, if I really am guilty, I would rather take the punishnt myself than let them do such things.
That’s what I truly think at this mont.”
“How could I, capable of such thoughts, commit such acts?”
Conflicted, Han Fei was in the midst of imnse contradiction.
It was as if his mind, once filled with many souls, each wished to paint its own picture on a blank canvas.
Cushioning his sleeve, Han Fei pushed open the door to the inner room.
He was very professional, not leaving behind fingerprints or shoe prints, moving without making a sound.
A stronger stench ca wafting out from the inner room where so costus were laid out.
The first costu was a standard uniform from a welfare ho, quite worn, slashed with many cuts by a knife.
Digging deeper, a crumpled piece of paper fell out of a shallow pocket in the garnt.
It seed like the piece of paper was torn from a script, with writing that was twisted and blurred, completely different from the ordinary script text, as if penned by another person.
“At 00:01 on a Monday, a child who escaped from the orphanage died from suffocation.
I rember his face at the ti of death—black and purple.
Until the very end, he was struggling, like a bird caught by its wing.
I knew he would never fly away from this world again because soone had torn off his wings.”
The paper was also stained with blood as though written by the killer at the cri scene.
“To record after every murder?”
Han Fei looked towards the second garnt, a tattered puppet costu that was slightly different from what he wore before, slimr.
Inside this costu, too, there was a hidden note.
“On a Tuesday night, a young man finished his night shift, ending his frenzy of Ghost Hunting activities at Paradise.
He wanted to rest well from work, but he couldn’t peel off his exterior no matter what.
Cause of death, suffocation.
I suppose he was terrified when enveloped by darkness, but not I anymore.”
Pocketing the note, Han Fei turned his attention to a third garnt—a clown’s outfit, sared with various colors, complete with hat and mask.
The size of this suit matched Han Fei exactly, as if tailor-made for him.
Reaching for a note, Han Fei hadn’t gotten close when the clown mask suddenly fell to the floor.
It was a sowhat frightening smiling face mask; the clown’s smile was too joyful, almost hysterical.
Finding a note behind the mask, Han Fei read the blood-red writing on it.
“Sunday nights are lively.
I like walking the streets alone, letting everyone see my smile, and then I go collect theirs.
I’ve always wanted to be soone who can heal all pain and despair, but unfortunately, I couldn’t even cure my own.
Shh, don’t look back, guess whether, under my mask, I am crying or smiling now?”
The last costu seed to belong to Han Fei himself; he always felt as though he had worn it and done many things while dressed in it.
“The people claiming to be my parents, both their heights and builds are mismatched with this costu.
This makes it even less likely that they are the owners of this room.” Han Fei covered his forehead.
“Could I really be a twisted murderer?”
Confusion reigned supre in his mind, but Han Fei was suddenly struck by the words of Fu Tian’s mother.
He recalled the scene of that woman when she first saw him.
“No!”
Han Fei’s eyes took on a new expression.
“At least in that woman’s eyes, I am brave, kind, in pursuit of fairness and justice, not afraid of fate.
She thought I was the best husband and father in the world—this is the highest praise I can think of.”
Everything in the room and the words the woman said ford a stark contrast.
The amnesiac Han Fei felt torn apart—one half sunny and tender, the other half twisted and insane.
“Which one is the real ?”
Unable to rember the past, the amnesiac Han Fei needed to redefine himself: was he a deranged killer, the real perpetrator of ongoing murder cases, or an innocent person embroiled in this ss?
“As a living person, what should I be?”
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