The entire room fell dead silent.
Once the people present finally grasped what Mr. Liu had actually said, the ponytail-wearing boss—a man with a distinctly artistic flair—suddenly took two strides forward. He let out a scoff and said, “Hey, that’s enough. Even jokes have their limits. What do you mean, ‘should we just kill all six of them’? We’re all innocent! We are human beings, not cats you can just grab by the scruff of the neck and toss out the window because you don’t like the sight of them!”
Everyone remained silent.
Huo Ranyin was silent as well.
When human hearts give birth to cruelty, they always assume they will be the ones tossing the cat—until disaster strikes them, and they realize they too can become the cat being thrown out.
“Why isn’t anyone speaking? Why aren’t you saying anything?” the ponytail boss asked the surrounding people who were not under suspicion. He then turned to Mr. Liu and cursed, “And you, Mr. Liu! Being so arrogant and domineering—”
Mr. Liu raised his hand and fired a shot.
A loud BANG rang out, like an arrow zipping past their ears.
Huo Ranyin’s gaze tracked Mr. Liu’s raised hand, the gun in his hand, the flash at the muzzle, and the bullet bursting from that flash—
The bullet struck the tassel-adorned crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
CRASH—
The golden fairy-skirt silhouette of the crystal chandelier twirled open, scattering specks of gold and streaks of radiant light. After a fleeting moment of dazzling splendor, it violently smashed down, collapsing onto the floor.
The rest of the ponytail boss’s words froze in his throat.
Mr. Liu lowered the gun once more. The hand holding the weapon was still aged, and his demeanor wasn’t much different from before, yet no one present dared to ignore the old man any longer.
“Don’t get excited,” Mr. Liu said smoothly. “Short boss?”
He looked toward the short boss.
The short boss had originally been standing, but as Mr. Liu’s gaze shifted over, he stumbled back a step and collapsed heavily into a chair.
“Um… what?” he asked, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his forehead.
“A referendum,” Mr. Liu said amiably once more. “It’s not my idea, nor is it the idea of anyone present. It is the opinion of every single person here, and no one’s opinion will be ignored.”
He smiled. The statement did sound rather amusing.
“Considering the special circumstances this time, how about we hold an anonymous vote? No one needs to feel burdened. Just write down ‘Agree’ or ‘Disagree’.”
Silence fell over the room yet again.
If the previous silence was due to the suffocating feeling of having a cloth bag pulled over their heads, this silence was likely the sensation of catching a breath of fresh air from within that very same bag.
In a public, named vote, the vast majority of people present would likely find it impossible to say the word “Agree.” But in an anonymous vote, once stripped of their identities, making the decision to murder their own kind might not be so difficult after all—
“Of course,” Mr. Liu added suddenly, “if everyone still has misgivings about this proposal, why don’t we listen to my next idea: we go back to our rooms.”
“Rooms?” Boss Wu blurted out impatiently. Others at the scene might still be guessing that Mr. Liu wouldn’t actually shoot six people in the end, but he knew—he knew with absolute clarity that killing six more people was nothing to Mr. Liu. He—they had long since… He urgently wanted to escape from this threat to his life.
“Regardless of whether the murderer is a ghost or someone among us, as long as we all return to our rooms, stay alone, and lock the doors and windows, the danger will naturally be blocked outside,” Mr. Liu said.
“But a ghost could use the ventilation ducts…”
“The rooms only have air conditioning vents, and a person can’t fit through those,” Mr. Liu said simply, then continued, “Everyone will gather in the second-floor guest rooms. One room right next to the other, so if there’s any noise next door, you’ll hear it. I will also arrange for bodyguards to guard the front and rear staircases—three in a group, one group at the front and one at the back, patrolling back and forth in two alternating shifts, coordinating with each other.”
The crowd gradually began to be persuaded and started seriously considering Mr. Liu’s proposal.
“Then what about food and drink…”
“Instant food. If the instant food runs out, have the chef cook. Once the meals are prepared, the chef eats first. If there are no issues after half an hour, the rest of you can eat.”
Mr. Liu’s sharp gaze pierced toward Ben, the head chef.
He said coldly, “If the food is poisoned, the chef dies first.”
Everyone fell dead silent, not daring to make a sound.
“Then those six suspects…” someone else chimed in.
“Those six will likewise be locked in rooms,” Mr. Liu stated succinctly. “A room is a sanctuary, but it is also a cell.”
“Then…”
“Then, then, then!” Mr. Liu suddenly erupted in rage. “That damn ghost! I said I would protect everyone’s safety! Now! Immediately! Go to your rooms on the second floor and stay there! If anyone dares to step forward and pick faults or stir up trouble, this gun will end up in the hands of those six suspects, and they will be the ones to pull the trigger and blow that guy away!”
The roaring shout rumbled through the restaurant like thunder.
The refined shipowner had torn off his mask. He was no one’s friend; he was simply the tyrant of this vessel.
Afterward, amidst the dead silence, Mr. Liu dusted off non-existent ash from his sleeve.
“Now, does anyone still object?”
The moment Mr. Liu’s words landed, the previous quiet vanished, replaced by a chorus of agreement breaking out one after another. This drama that opened under the guise of democracy was enthusiastically marching toward its climax.
And so, after the bodyguards carried Boss Jiang’s corpse down to the morgue below, led by Mr. Liu, everyone left the restaurant under the protection of the bodyguards and arrived at the second-floor guest room area.
Aside from the few bosses who originally stayed there, the remaining rooms were chosen first by Huo Ranyin and a few other bosses, followed by the crew, then the bodyguards, and finally the six suspects.
When it came time for the six suspects, the short boss couldn’t help but say, “We’re just letting them go in like that? Aren’t we going to find some chains or something to lock them up?”
His voice grew lower and lower under Mr. Liu’s terrifying expression. Mr. Liu enunciated every single word:
“Everyone, stop talking rubbish and get the hell inside.”
He berated them as if scolding his own swine, once again confirming Huo Ranyin’s prior thought.
Mr. Liu didn’t care at all who the killer was.
He only cared about maintaining his status on this ship.
The six suspects, along with everyone else, were all identical swine in his eyes, and he herded them all into the designated cages without distinction.
But had he suddenly dropped all pretenses because he was fed up with the farce before him?
Perhaps.
Or perhaps… Mr. Liu had found his most critical inspiration… an idea on how to restore contact with the outside world.
Huo Ranyin pondered silently. As he entered his room along with the others, he stole a glance at Meng Fushan’s room not far away.
When the door closed and he was left completely alone in the space, he drew open the curtains and the balcony door. He then raised a hand to take off the mask covering his face, tossed it onto the sofa, sat down himself, and closed his eyes to rest.
He remained quiet and still.
Outside, the fierce wind raged, rain poured down, and the waves roared skyward.
Time ticked away, second by second… until a thud sounded—something pierced through the violent storm and landed heavily on the deck.
Huo Ranyin opened his eyes and put his mask back on.
He stood up.
He had very good hearing.
He walked toward the deck outside his room, cast a look down past the railing, and then flipped over, dropping down to follow the sound of Meng Fushan’s landing.
He was very agile, too.
Everyone else was upstairs.
The space on the first floor was quiet and still. Only the lights—still brightly lit—illuminated the bleakness and desolation beneath the torn veil of luxury.
Huo Ranyin crossed the gambling area and reached the staff rest area. He peeked inside first—no one was there.
Did Meng Fushan not head this way?
He continued forward, walking silently down a short hallway, his ears catching a faint sound.
Following the sound, he pressed onward.
Soon, he stopped in front of a door.
The sound was coming from inside this very room. A stray word or two playfully escaped through the crack of the door, reaching his ears:
“You… gun…”
