“What’s the situation now?”
It was a tiny space—measuring less than six square meters in total. A single bed pushed against the wall, a desk running parallel to the bed against the opposite wall, and a sink standing upright at the head of the bed filled the cramped room to capacity.
Naturally, the room had two doors: one led out to the corridor, while the other—sandwiched between the desk and the sink—led to the bathroom. The bathroom, however, was not private to this single room; it sat tucked between two rooms and was shared by both occupants.
“Don’t you already know?”
Meng Fushan replied. His gaze fell first on Ji Xun, who was sitting cross-legged on his single bed. For someone with a tall, slender build, the confined space felt overly restrictive.
Next, his eyes shifted to Ji Xun’s fingers.
Ji Xun had taken off his mask, but the gold jewelry on his body remained—the gold chain still hung around his neck, and the gold rings still adorned his fingers. The gun from Ah Tang they had just been discussing was spinning on his index finger, right over a gold ring.
A black gun.
A gold ring.
And a nonchalant man.
“I indeed figured out the two crime scenes from the folded page numbers in your book. But didn’t a third murder just happen on your end?” Ji Xun paused for a moment, his tone loaded with meaning. “The speed at which I analyze crime scenes can’t even keep up with the speed at which murders are happening among you guys.”
Les Fleurs du Mal, which had been fetched from the tearoom earlier, sat neatly on the desk. Beside it lay two blank notebooks. The notebooks had been in the room when Meng Fushan arrived—likely distributed along with the disposable toothbrushes and toothpaste as standard amenities.
“Boss Jiang was poisoned to death.”
Meng Fushan spoke, proceeding to briefly inform Ji Xun about the details at the scenes, including the chilling tale of Mazu that loomed over the murders like a shadow.
Ji Xun’s brow twitched slightly, and he sank into thought.
“However,” Meng Fushan added, “why are you still here?”
“?” Ji Xun looked up. “To contact you.”
“A few words would have sufficed.” Meng Fushan remained unmoved. “Your mission coming aboard this ship was not to investigate a case.”
Meng Fushan wasn’t wrong. Ji Xun’s purpose in boarding the vessel truly wasn’t to solve a crime.
He was here to capture photographic evidence of the criminal activity on this ship.
“But before coming aboard, I never expected such a string of consecutive murders to happen here,” Ji Xun said slowly. “And that it would tie back to a story from forty years ago. That story can only be learned from the few people who are still alive, and under normal circumstances, getting information about it would be as hard as scaling the heavens… Meng Fushan, aren’t you curious? This might be the root cause behind all these tragedies.”
“I am curious, which is why I am on this ship. Don’t forget who asked you to come aboard in the first place.” Meng Fushan grew somewhat impatient. “But things must be done step by step. The final outcome of this serial murder case in a storm is out of our control. We’d do better to control what we actually can—besides, everyone has been herded into their rooms by Mr. Liu like prisoners now. The killer has virtually no room to pull off another strike. Go down, take the photos, and then come back up. Neither task gets delayed.”
Ji Xun was silent for a moment before nodding: “You’re right.”
“Then get moving,” Meng Fushan said offhandedly. “You left a backdoor to get back, right?”
“Actually, no.”
“…”
“Don’t worry. I can handle a minor issue like this myself.”
Meng Fushan’s eyes remained fixed on the gun spinning around Ji Xun’s finger. He realized he had been staring too long, like a moth drawn to a flame.
“Leave the gun,” Meng Fushan said. “If I discover the killer, I’ll subdue him and wait for you to come up so we can get the full story of the past out of him.”
“Considering you’ve all been driven into your rooms to play prisoners, I seriously doubt you’ll get that chance.”
Ji Xun replied as his spinning finger finally came to a stop. The gun that had been dancing on his fingertip halted as well, dropping and clinking lightly against his Vajra Mantra ring.
“However…” Ji Xun pondered for a second. “It’s true that up here is more dangerous than down below. How about this: you hold onto the gun for now. Once I go down and finish taking the photos, I’ll come back up to meet you.”
With that, Ji Xun reversed the gun and offered the grip toward Meng Fushan.
It was at that exact moment that both men heard a sound outside—
No, it wasn’t a sudden voice, footsteps, or any obvious noise.
It was the sound of someone’s breathing suddenly missing a beat—a noise so faint it felt like an illusion born from their heightened state of nervous tension.
But it couldn’t be an illusion.
An illusion wouldn’t occur in two people at the exact same time.
Ji Xun put his mask back on and leaped off the bed, light on his feet like an awakened lynx, making no sound whatsoever.
Once steady, he froze in place and gave Meng Fushan a look.
Meng Fushan caught his drift instantly and turned toward the door.
The room was far too narrow—ill-suited for combat, and even worse for using a firearm. In this cramped space, the corridor was as wide as the door itself; there wasn’t even a way to hide behind the door to pull off a surprise attack.
It was best to go out and handle it outside…
Meng Fushan’s hand gripped the doorknob, then slammed it downward, flinging the door open!
In almost that exact split second, a shadow charged in from the outside, crashing right into Meng Fushan!
Forget Meng Fushan—even Ji Xun, standing behind him, was stunned for a moment by this sudden turn of events. The person eavesdropping on their conversation knew they had a gun, yet they still dared to charge right in!
Did the intruder have a gun as well?
No, the intruder didn’t have a gun, which was precisely why charging straight in was his only chance!
In the blink of an eye, the intruder and Meng Fushan were locked in a dazzling, fast-paced brawl of fists and kicks. They fought with restraint yet brutal fierce efficiency; though they didn’t make enough noise to attract outside attention, every move was aimed at lethal points. Ji Xun raised the muzzle of his gun, finding it nearly impossible to pinpoint a precise shot at the two constantly overlapping, shifting figures.
“Stop!” he barked without a second thought. “Or I’ll shoot!”
Neither stopped.
Neither Meng Fushan nor the intruder who had rushed in halted for even a fraction of a second.
The gun, at this moment, lacked sufficient deterrent power!
Meng Fushan locked his arm around the intruder’s neck, but it seemed more like the intruder had deliberately maneuvered into that position—he flipped his body and slammed Meng Fushan onto the floor.
In that split second, Meng Fushan shouted: “Ji Xun!”
Without needing Meng Fushan to say a word, Ji Xun had already seized the opening. His finger squeezed toward the trigger—just at that moment, the intruder tilted his head up, revealing a silver mask covering half his face, identical to the mask on Ji Xun’s own face.
At the exact instant he pulled the trigger.
Ji Xun recognized the person.
“Huo—”
He slammed his other hand violently against his own gun-toting wrist. The trajectory jolted, missing the silver-masked face by a fraction of an inch, striking the wall and penetrating right through it.
The inertia of that self-inflicted strike made Ji Xun stagger back two steps. His heart contracted violently, as if snatched hard inside a tight palm to be crushed flat, before suddenly letting go. All the squeezed-out blood rushed back in at the same instant—expanding and contracting so violently it felt as though his chest would shatter and burst open.
Gathering his wits, he steadied himself and called out under his breath: “Stop! He’s Huo Ranyin!”
Still, no one stopped.
Meng Fushan gave him the benefit of the doubt, saying sternly while launching a counterattack: “He’s not! Mr. Liu personally inspected everyone’s face. If he were Huo Ranyin, how could he have faked his identity? Huo Ranyin couldn’t have gotten onto this ship!”
With that, he swung a fist straight at the silver mask.
The silver mask didn’t dodge—at least, not completely.
He allowed the mask on his face to be struck off by Meng Fushan’s fist. Amidst the clattering sound of the mask hitting the floor, Huo Ranyin’s face was exposed to both pairs of eyes.
Meng Fushan’s movements slowed.
Huo Ranyin’s did not. Cleanly and decisively, he pinned Meng Fushan back onto the ground once more. Finally, the corners of his mouth curled up into a mocking smile. His gaze shifted slowly between the two of them, enunciating word by word:
“What a pity. It’s me. So sorry to disappoint you… Ji Xun, and your good partner, Meng Fushan.”
