APR 37

Chen Huan leaned down, the circle of thorn tattoos on his neck tensing as if about to pierce Zhong Su’s pupils, and said, “This again. I’m genuinely starting to wonder just how much Su Er has indulged you, how many things he left you, that you dare to recklessly make demands of me time and again?”

Zhong Su’s back was already pressed tightly against the cold wall, with no room to retreat, his voice flat and rigid: “Don’t change the subject. Just say whether you’ll trade or not. If not, I’m leaving right now.”

He made as if to push Chen Huan away, but before his fingers could even touch the man, a sharp pain shot through his wrist—Chen Huan had twisted his hand to lock the joint, slamming him hard against the wall.

“You can’t produce them because those photos don’t exist,” Chen Huan pinned Zhong Su firmly against the wall, his shark-like teeth bared like steel nails, sharp and terrifying, “Su Er held onto every penny, never grew attached to even the cars he loved the most, he’d sell them off as soon as he got them. All he ever wanted was to save enough money and leave Yangang. Would someone like him buy a useless camera and fill an album with photos?”

“At least put some thought into your lies, you fool.”

The back of Zhong Su’s head, with its still-unhealed wound, struck the wall once more. He was certain Chen Huan had done it on purpose. A surge of inexplicable fury rose within him, and he sneered, “Since you’re so clever, so sure that not a word I say is true, and you have no intention of giving me the bracelet, then stay away from me!”

Before the words had fully left his mouth, he abruptly drove his knee toward Chen Huan’s abdomen, the force vicious and fierce, aimed at taking the other man down.

But Chen Huan’s reaction was astonishingly quick. The moment Zhong Su moved, he retreated half a step, evading the sharp attack.

Zhong Su broke free from the restraint and angrily lunged for the door handle: “If you distrust me so much, why agree to meet in the first place? Is it fun to mess with people?”

“Fine, I don’t care what you do with that worthless bracelet anymore! Even if you crush it and toss it in the trash, suit yourself!”

Zhong Su was truly enraged, cursing Chen Huan inwardly for his ruthlessness: always targeting his wounds. This was already the second time—would his head ever fully heal? Did Chen Huan have any idea how troublesome it was to pick out strands of hair matted with blood from a wound?

“I called you here because I needed to confirm one thing,” Chen Huan’s emotionless voice came from behind him, “whether I should believe that ‘ignoring you’ is a more cost-effective approach than ‘erasing you.'”

If Zhong Su had turned around at that moment, he would have realized that the way Chen Huan was looking at him wasn’t even the way one looks at a living person.

It was the pinnacle of indifference, not even tinged with malice.

Who would feel malice toward a fish on the chopping block? Who would harbor hatred for a sheep with its legs bound, bleeding out?

No, they wouldn’t. Plunging a knife into the belly of a lamb awaiting slaughter is simply a matter of necessity, to satisfy hunger, or even just the desire to inflict pain. It’s only natural.

Chen Huan was coldly assessing this very “need” of his—was it worth it to thoroughly dispose of this “Zhong Su” who was connected to Su Er? Would this person’s disappearance be enough to satisfy him?

If the answer was “worth it,” then he would not hesitate to act.

Zhong Su remained completely unaware of his current peril. Though he heard Chen Huan speaking, he didn’t bother to ponder the meaning behind the words, he had no intention of engaging with Chen Huan any further.

He attempted to open the door and leave.

But the electronic lock was disabled, rendering it impossible to open. Even entering the correct passcode yielded no response.

“What’s going on? Why won’t it open?”

“The door is temporarily locked. It won’t release for another three hours. Without my permission, you can’t leave.”

Chen Huan watched Zhong Su fumbling with the lock and remarked coolly, “Stay. Watch a movie with me. Once it’s over, I’ll let you go.”

“Get lost. Watch it yourself if you like it so much. Don’t drag me into it.” Zhong Su shot back without even turning his head. He refused to comply with Chen Huan’s wishes and continued wrestling with the door lock, his fingers straining so hard that his knuckles turned white.

The door was carved from a solid slab of walnut, a full ten centimeters thick, sturdy enough to be bulletproof. Because of this, Chen Huan had no concern that Zhong Su might simply tear the door down to escape.

He ignored Zhong Su’s pounding on the door and went straight to turn on the television. After browsing through the DVD rack for a moment, he pulled out a disc and inserted it into the player.

Meanwhile, Zhong Su twisted the doorknob with such force that it rattled noisily, the metal handle nearly on the verge of breaking, yet the door remained firmly shut.

Even if he shattered the handle, he wouldn’t be able to open the door.

Realizing this, Zhong Su finally released the knob decisively and turned to look for a window. It didn’t matter—if the door wasn’t an option, he could always climb out through a window. Either way, he could leave.

After searching around, Zhong Su spotted a heavy sliding window on one side of the dining room, beyond which lay the driveway.

He tried pulling the window open, but it was locked as well. However, a flimsy lock like this could easily be forced open with a bit of effort.

Just as Zhong Su bent down, preparing to break the window lock, a shrill, distorted woman’s scream pierced the air, stabbing straight into his eardrums: “HELP!”

Zhong Su jolted in surprise. “Chen Huan, what the hell are you watching?”

He turned to see the television screen in the living room displaying a masked killer wielding a roaring chainsaw, steadily pursuing a panicked blonde woman through a field of golden wheat.

Dark crimson blood dripped continuously from the killer’s mask, and the woman’s beautiful face was contorted with terror. Trembling, she clasped her hands together and pleaded incoherently, “Please, please… Oh God, save your lamb.”

In the next instant, the ground beneath her gave way—

Snap!

A rusted bear trap hidden beneath the straw sprang upward, and with a sickening crunch of breaking bone, it severed her gracefully shaped calf.

The camera unflinchingly zoomed in for a close-up: jagged, pinkish-white bone fragments protruded through torn flesh, mingled with splatters of blood and tissue, presented with a brutal rawness that assaulted the senses of every viewer.

The DVD’s picture quality was far clearer than the grainy videotapes of the past, sharper by more than just a small margin.

Even Zhong Su, who had witnessed his share of bloodshed, was momentarily rendered speechless by the stark, vividly explicit gore.

And there sat Chen Huan in front of the television, not even raising an eyebrow. He calmly held a can of ice-cold beer he’d just taken from the refrigerator, drinking as he watched the cruel scene unfold on screen.

He turned his head and looked at Zhong Su, whose expression had clearly become unnatural, saying, “Found a way out yet? By the way, there’s no one else living around here, and no shuttle buses either. Even if you manage to climb out the window, it’ll take you two hours to walk down the mountain.”

“…Locking someone in a room late at night to watch a horror movie? You really went and did it.” Zhong Su gritted his teeth, grinding them audibly, barely swallowing the curses in his throat. If it weren’t illegal, he’d really like to crack open Chen Huan’s skull and see what kind of brain structure made his behavior so abnormally illogical.

The continuous screams and chainsaw roars from the film unsettled Zhong Su’s mind.

Staring at the impenetrably thick darkness outside the window, he fiddled with the window latch, unconsciously biting the soft flesh inside his cheek. The pent-up frustration in his heart lingered, refusing to dissipate.

So annoying—whether it was the so-called “watch the movie to be released” rule or the increasingly unreasonable Chen Huan, everything felt baffling and infuriating.

Finally, Zhong Su let out a heavy sigh, pressing hard on his throbbing temples.

Fine, let’s just treat it as Chen Huan being heavily drunk and acting crazy tonight. Expecting to reason with Chen Huan? If he could actually listen to reason, he wouldn’t be Chen Huan.

Zhong Su walked over to the coffee table and, without even glancing at Chen Huan, picked up one of the beer cans on the table, pulled the tab, and drank half the can in one go.

The cool, slightly bitter liquid slid down his throat, dousing some of his anger. Zhong Su calmed down again.

He sat down silently at the other end of the sofa, lips pressed tightly together, brows deeply furrowed as he stared at the gory scenes on the screen.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The living room was filled only with the sound of flesh tearing from the film, the rhythmic pumping of the aquarium filter, and the occasional sound of Chen Huan opening a new beer can.

As if to suppress some dangerously swelling impulse within, Chen Huan expressionlessly downed one beer after another, his gaze fixed on the dismembered torsos and pale yellow human fat on the screen.

The movie lasted over two hours. Finally, when it reached the end and the credits began scrolling, Zhong Su couldn’t wait to leave. He stood up, his voice strained and dry: “Alright, I’ve finished the movie. Now it’s your turn to keep your promise, open the door and let me go home.”

But the only response was silence. Chen Huan leaned back against the sofa with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling steadily, his breathing deep and even, clearly fast asleep. A pile of empty beer cans lay stacked on the coffee table in front of him.

Zhong Su’s heart skipped a beat. Disbelieving, he waved a hand in front of Chen Huan’s face: “Chen Huan, are you really drunk? Stop pretending, it’s not funny.”

Chen Huan remained asleep. His breathing was light, carrying the heat of alcohol and the bitterness of tobacco, brushing against Zhong Su’s fingertips.

The warm, damp breath inexplicably reminded Zhong Su of the past—of the rough, persistent texture of Chen Huan’s tongue licking his fingers, then biting down on his knuckles, grinding lightly with his teeth, bringing a subtle yet lasting sting.

Whenever Zhong Su couldn’t take it and tried to pull his hand back, Chen Huan would squint and smirk wickedly, his voice hoarse like a blunt knife coated in honey, grinding each word into his heart: “What are you hiding from? I won’t eat you.”

For a moment, Zhong Su felt the urge to kill Chen Huan: “You’re sleeping soundly while making it impossible for others to go home and rest? How shameless can you be?”

But no matter how furious he was, he couldn’t truly abandon Chen Huan, who was dead drunk and completely out of it.