Outside the castle, thunder and lightning roared, but inside, the lights were brilliantly lit.
The butler stood between the two rows of wax figures, nodding politely, "Honored guests, this is a gift from my master, prepared especially for you. I hope you like it."
It was hardly an honor to see lifelike wax figures of themselves in a creepy castle during a stormy night. Though the scene was bizarre, everyone was worldly enough not to feel overly uneasy. After a brief pause, they politely thanked the butler.
The actress was the first to walk over to her wax figure, circling it while mimicking its seductive pose. At first glance, the two looked so identical that it was hard to tell them apart.
The preschool teacher and others chuckled at the sight, and the atmosphere lightened up again. The model and the others also began carefully inspecting their own wax figures.
The actress's gaze shifted, and she walked toward Yan Su's wax figure.
The resemblance was uncanny, not only in appearance but also in posture. The figure stood tall, hands tucked into the pockets of a black trench coat, with an indifferent expression—eerily lifelike.
The actress glanced at the real Yan Su, then smiled at the wax figure. Her lips curled as she spoke in a sultry tone, "Hi, Mr. Logician, who are you thinking about?" As she spoke, her alabaster arm lifted, about to rest on the wax figure of "Yan Su."
Zhen Ai stepped forward, blocking the figure, and coolly said, "Don't touch him. He's mine."
The actress was about to mock her, but the sight of Zhen Ai's dark, serious eyes gave her an inexplicable chill. She suddenly couldn't say anything. The usual goofy and naive student now seemed different, more intimidating. After a few seconds, the actress, unable to resist her competitive nature, retorted, "He's the master's gift, not yours."
Zhen Ai quickly replied, her mind sharp, "The master gave him to him. What's his is mine!" There was no trace of her usual cluelessness that others often joked about.
Yan Su couldn't help but smile. He gently took her hand and pulled out a wooden chair next to the dining table for her, saying, "Why care about something fake?"
Zhen Ai sat down at his side.
The dinner was lavish, and the warmth inside the room gradually eased the guests' nerves, leading to more lively conversations.
The lawyer, full of enthusiasm, exclaimed, "Turning this place into a tourist spot is a brilliant idea. From the outside, the castle looks eerie, like something out of a horror story. The scarier it is, the more it'll attract people."
The writer, frowning slightly, spoke cautiously, "But I think I saw the castle walls were green, like a wolf's eyes. No, wait—they were red, like jam… or maybe blood."
The model scoffed, laughing at him, "You must need your eyes checked. The castle is clearly black."
The host also chuckled, "Maybe the writer's imagination is just too vivid."
Zhen Ai frowned slightly as she focused on the writer. Could he have seen it too?
Earlier that afternoon, as they passed the seaside, Zhen Ai had caught a fleeting glimpse of a castle floating on the blue sea—exactly like this black castle but colored instead. In a blink, it was gone, like a mirage, or perhaps… a candy house.
A shiver ran down Zhen Ai's spine. Slowly, she looked up.
At the long table, set for thirteen people, there were platters of milk, coffee, wine, buttered baguettes, croissants, roasted meats, cheeses, and fresh vegetables. Glancing around the room again, she noticed the golden crystal chandeliers, the warm orange wallpaper, the antique candle holders, the plush Persian carpets, and the faintly soothing incense.
It was like the candy house from Hansel and Gretel—luring people in with beautiful food before the witch fattens them up to eat them.
As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Yan Su placed a small plate of salad in front of her. Zhen Ai smiled unconsciously, blaming herself for overthinking. With Yan Su here, how could anything go wrong?
The writer, his face flushed with frustration, insisted, "I'm serious!"
The butler, seated at the far end of the table, spoke with an expressionless face, "What the writer saw is real. The castle has a magical property—when its surface is dry, it appears colorful, but when it gets wet from rain, it turns black. It's like a beautiful, vibrant candy house in the sunshine, but in the rainy mist, it becomes a dark, haunted mansion."
Instinctively, Yan Su glanced at Zhen Ai. She merely shivered uncomfortably, and seeing no further signs of distress, he felt at ease.
The others, unperturbed by fairy tales, listened with fascination, growing even more intrigued by the castle.
Even the usually reserved doctor asked, "Could you tell us more about the new owner of this castle?"
The rest of the guests eagerly expressed their interest.
The butler's face remained stern. "It's an evil story. I'd rather not speak of it."
This only piqued their curiosity, and they all pressed for more details. Even the shy maid chimed in to support the request.
The butler, unable to resist the pressure, cleared his throat and began in a formal tone, "I shouldn't speak of my master's affairs, but considering that the new owner is a carefree person who isn't particular about such things, I believe sharing his legendary tale won't cause any offense or be considered improper."
All eyes were on the butler, nodding in anticipation.
Maintaining his stoic expression, the butler began, "The new master is a young and handsome chemist. Five years ago, after acquiring a sudden windfall, he bought this island and its castle. The day he arrived, he came alone by boat, not from Whaling Island but from the Arctic Ocean, like a true adventurer. His boat was loaded with many large leather trunks, but he forbade anyone from touching or looking at them. He stayed in the castle for a month without allowing any disturbances. After that month, he left by boat again, but this time, the boat was empty."
Yan Su and Zhen Ai seemed indifferent to the story.
But the others' eyes gleamed with a wolfish hunger. It confirmed the rumors—there were billions hidden on the island!
No one dared ask directly, not wanting to expose their true intentions, but the preschool teacher, mesmerized, raised her hand. "Um, were the trunks filled with treasure?"
The butler adjusted his glasses, "I don't know, but during that time, there were rumors that both the central bank's electronic accounts and vaults were robbed simultaneously, with 10 billion going missing. However, he didn't appear until a month after the robbery."
The guests' hearts leapt with excitement—this coincided perfectly with the time when he disappeared after using them to steal the money.
Zhen Ai tilted her head, thinking, Is this the story of Alex, Yan Su's friend, and my brother's associate? But wasn't he dead? She asked, "Did you ever see him again after that?"
The butler shook his head, "The master only communicates with me via telegram from the tower, occasionally asking about the castle's condition."
The guests exchanged suspicious glances. Some wondered, Was his death faked? Others thought, If he's dead, who's impersonating him now?
Yan Su leisurely continued eating, completely unaffected by the conversation.
He had more or less figured out how this group had been gathered. It wasn't, as L.J. had thought, that they had come to discuss the missing treasure. They had been lured here by someone else.
Most likely, this was what had happened:
Years ago, Alex stole 10 billion, using the people here to weather the storm. (As a member of the organization, he had probably bribed or turned some low-ranking thugs within it.) A month after the robbery, he disappeared with the money. These people never got their share, and since then, they had been searching for the stolen fortune.
The organization had been looking for clues as well. Along the way, the core members of the organization discovered that Alex had been aided by a traitor when he made his escape. The organization tolerated no traitors, so they spread rumors about the treasure to draw them out.
If that's the case, this really is an evil candy house. In fairy tales, witches lure children with illusions of delicious food to eat them. In reality, the organization uses rumors of treasure to lure out traitors and kill them.
Besides the low-ranking societal members present, there was likely at least one high-ranking important member among them.
He could almost vividly anticipate the impending murder spree.
How would it be executed?
Based on his knowledge, that Mr. Arthur enjoyed games, so he likely wouldn't opt for something as crude as shooting. Besides, the butcher sent to clear the scene would probably receive instructions from Arthur not to harm Zhen Ai.
At least, he didn't need to worry about her safety for now.
Looking at the people before him, still chatting and smiling, and listening to the howling wind and rain outside the thick walls, he felt a deep sense of pity and unease.
Though he didn't know any of them, he couldn't bear to see them die in front of him.
The writer asked, "In these five years, you've only met the castle owner once?"
The butler nodded, "People say the castle is cursed. After hearing the rumors, perhaps the master regretted buying the place, so he never returned."
The actor frowned, "It's modern times now. Who still believes in curses?"
The model thought the butler was exaggerating, figuring he was trying to hype up the place for tourism. She arrogantly and coldly asked, "Then tell us, what's this curse all about?"
The butler didn't answer directly but instead asked, "You've all heard of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table from Celtic mythology, but perhaps you haven't heard the legend of Silverland. It's said that after Sir Lancelot, who betrayed King Arthur, his silver sword fell into these seas and turned into steep reefs. Arthur's sorcerer Merlin placed a black curse on that sword—to slay all traitors. So, anyone who reaches this castle must undergo a test…"
Zhen Ai instinctively gripped her knife and fork tightly. Hearing the name "Arthur" again—despite knowing it wasn't the Arthur she knew—still made her heart skip a beat.
She remembered the last time she saw him, in the underground hallway of the Maple Street Bank. His face had been pale yet strikingly handsome, lying unconscious amidst the rubble. She had called the police quickly, but somehow, he had still managed to escape. She should have known, no one could ever catch him.
Zhen Ai forced herself to stay calm, thinking it was just a well-known Western myth. But the butler's next words made her blood run cold.
Sitting straight and stiff, the butler said, "All those like Sir Lancelot, who betray, must be eliminated."
Everyone's faces paled subtly, except Yan Su's.
He glanced at Zhen Ai, noticing her staring absentmindedly at her plate, seemingly uneasy. Only then did he realize that the butler's words might hold a meaning unknown to him—something likely related to their organization.
He reached out to grasp her clenched fist. Just then, the maid, who had been sitting quietly, exclaimed, "Oh! I almost forgot. The master instructed that all guests must appreciate the pattern on their saucers."
Everyone complied, but it wasn't a pattern—it was a string of letters.
NQQDNZHWWTDWLTQWC
Yan Su squinted slightly. It was clearly a cipher.
He figured members of the organization likely had a key for communication, allowing them to quickly decipher the message.
Though Yan Su didn't have the key, his brain swiftly analyzed the pattern, identifying that it was based on a Caesar cipher but with the original cipher table inverted. The translated message read:
KILL ONE OR BE KILLED.
His pupils narrowed, and silently, he grew furious.
Was this how the organization cleared the field? By issuing orders and sowing terror, driving people to turn on each other?
If that were true, then Zhen Ai wasn't safe either!
Everyone was pretending to admire the saucers while carefully analyzing the cipher, all maintaining practiced but tense smiles.
With a sharp clang, the actress's cup dropped into its saucer. She froze for a moment but quickly masked her panic with a graceful smile. Standing up, she said, "I'm not feeling well. May I know where my room is? I'd like to rest…"
Before she could finish her sentence, a sudden flash of lightning lit up the sky outside, followed by a thunderous clap that seemed to shake the entire building. Everyone flinched as the room was abruptly plunged into darkness from an electrical short circuit.
For a fleeting moment, the stark white lightning pierced through the pitch-black dining hall, creating a stark contrast between brightness and darkness.
Screams erupted.
In that instant, Zhen Ai saw every person and every wax figure in the room—each one had the same expression under the ghostly white light, as though they had all turned into the same face: a horrifying and twisted face.
She, too, understood the cipher now, feeling a chill throughout her body. Before she could react, someone suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, causing her to crash into a warm, familiar embrace.
Instantly, she felt safe.
In the surrounding darkness, where others were screaming and cursing, only he held her quietly, wrapping her in his arms, pressing a kiss against her temple.
His embrace was firm, and that kiss conveyed his worry for her safety and fear of losing her. From this moment onward, he wouldn't let her out of his sight for a second—not anymore.
She clung tightly to his waist, burying her face in his neck, closing her eyes with a soft sense of surrender. His steady and powerful heartbeat pounded in her ears, and suddenly, she felt a pang of heartache that made her want to cry. Her brother's code had mentioned the summer solstice, which was why she had arrived at this time. But she shouldn't have come, and she shouldn't have dragged Yan Su into this crisis.
The story the butler told about King Arthur, as well as the Caesar cipher key…
Some of the people here might be treasure hunters, but she was almost certain that at least one person knew her true identity.
Yan Su would undoubtedly be in danger. What should she do?
After the chaos of the lightning and thunder, the butler swiftly lit a lighter, the flame casting eerie shadows across his face, making him look like a snarling demon.
Silence fell.
The maid, her voice trembling, said, "Mr. Butler, you look terrifying like that."
"Oh, sorry." The butler awkwardly moved the lighter away from his face. The twisted, menacing look quickly faded, replaced by his usual rigid, formal expression. He ordered the maid to bring candles, and she lit them one by one.
"I apologize," the butler said. "Our castle rarely has all the lights on. We turned them all on today to welcome our guests, but it seems the wiring is too old. I'll go turn off a few sections, and it should be fine."
Everyone was still shaken, feeling that the sudden power outage was far too eerie.
Just as the butler was about to leave, he glanced at the model. The usually cold and distant woman was pale as a ghost, trying to keep herself calm but nervously clutching her coat tighter.
The actress, noticing the butler's gaze, sneered, "A power outage scared you that much?"
"The wax figures!" The model forced a smile, but it was more grim than comforting. "The wax figures aren't right."
The flickering candlelight cast ghostly shadows across the walls, revealing the silhouettes of over twenty figures on the red walls. Everyone turned to look at the wax figures, feeling a cold wind pass by...
The empty, expressionless wax figures remained motionless, but the light and shadows made their already lifelike faces appear even more grotesque.
Everyone instinctively moved closer to the table's edges, drawn toward the safety of the candlelight. The light created large, looming shadows on the walls and ceiling, making the darkness beyond seem like a bottomless abyss.
The teacher hugged herself, her voice quivering on the verge of tears, "The racer—his wax figure is gone."
Everyone's eyes swept across the room. Where there had once been eleven wax figures, now there were only ten. They stared at the remaining figures, feeling as though they were facing off against something far more terrifying than art. Their bodies grew colder with each passing moment, as if they were standing among eerie, lifeless corpses.
"No," the writer trembled, "not just the wax figure—someone else is missing too."