Of the eleven wax figures, only ten remained, each posed in the same lifeless positions as before.
The race car driver hadn't come, but the castle's host had prepared a wax figure for him. After the power outage, the wax figure originally placed between the actor and the writer had disappeared.
The model, seated opposite the actor, immediately noticed the empty chair and the corresponding vacant spot for the wax figure. The flickering candlelight cast huge shadows on the walls, and the gaping hole where the figure had once been was glaringly obvious.
The boxer, seated across from where the race car driver had been, also noticed something amiss right away. Scratching his head, he asked, "Who took the race car driver's wax figure?"
No one answered.
Under the swaying candlelight, the food on the dining table, without the glow of electric lights, looked ugly and grotesque, like the decaying corpses of plants and animals.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the writer's face, making it look horribly twisted. He stared across the table, his notebook rustling as he shook, "It's not just the wax figure that's missing, someone else is gone too."
Everyone froze upon hearing this and hurriedly glanced around to count heads. But with so many people, it was hard to tell right away.
The writer, stiff as a board and nearly in tears, stammered, "The doctor... the doctor is missing!"
Zhen Ai, who had been in Yan Su's arms, looked up. The doctor had been standing right next to the kindergarten teacher.
The lawyer beside the writer chimed in, "Are you crazy? The doctor's right there!"
The writer clutched his hair, then quickly changed his tone, pointing at the shadowy figure opposite him and shouting, "No, the doctor is dead!"
In the dim lighting, Zhen Ai and the others turned to stare at the doctor, slowly realizing something was wrong.
In the flickering light, the doctor stood pale and rigid, his posture stiff, his eyes vacant and terrified, his mouth agape as if trying to say something. A small knife was lodged in his chest, and his clothes around his heart were soaked in blood.
The kindergarten teacher shrieked, stumbling backward into Zhen Ai. Zhen Ai caught her, calmly picked up a nearby candelabrum, and walked toward the doctor.
The boxer, from the other side, lightly pushed the doctor and said, "Hey, are you okay..." Before he could finish, the doctor fell backward like a stiff door. With a thud, his head hit the wall, his toes caught on a chair, and his body formed a perfect triangle with the wall and the floor.
It wasn't the doctor. It was a wax figure.
The group didn't know whether to feel relieved or more horrified.
Zhen Ai, holding the candelabrum, walked up to the wax figure and touched the "blood" and "knife" on its chest. Turning back, she cast the wax figure's face into shadow, making it appear deathly pale and eerie.
Calmly, she informed everyone, "The blood is ketchup, and the knife is a table knife."
After a brief silence, the host threw his napkin onto the table, "Who's playing such a stupid prank? It's boring!"
"Prank?" The model sneered at him. "Then where's the real doctor?"
In the empty dining room, everyone fell silent.
The butler thought for a moment, placed his candelabrum on the table, and asked, "Everyone only has one set of cutlery. Whose table knife is lodged in the doctor's wax figure?"
Everyone checked their cutlery and said, "Not mine."
Only the boxer, staring blankly at his plate, muttered to himself, "Where did my knife go?"
The others eyed him, some skeptical, some not. The actor snickered, "A grown man still pulling pranks?"
The boxer, his voice booming, protested, "It wasn't me!"
The lawyer, sensing tensions rising, quickly intervened, "Now is not the time to argue! Where did the doctor go?"
The host suddenly suggested, "Maybe he's hiding with the race car driver's wax figure?"
The kindergarten teacher then proposed, "Should we go look for him?"
"No need." Yan Su, who had been silent until now, spoke coldly. "He's still in this room."
Everyone looked around, but aside from the creepy wax figures and themselves, there was no sign of the doctor. The dark shadows cast on the walls were unsettling every time they looked over their shoulders.
Zhen Ai returned to Yan Su's side, holding the candelabrum. Yan Su continued, "The dining room windows are locked, and there's only one door. There's a bell hanging on the door, and if anyone had gone out, it would have rung. But since the candles were lit, except for when the maid went out to fix the power, the bell hasn't made a sound."
The actor smiled and tilted his head, "As expected, the logician is the smartest."
The writer hurriedly scribbled notes in the candlelight.
Yan Su was unamused. Something this obvious didn't deserve praise. Without looking at the actor, he gazed at the group of men and nearly commanded, "Lift the dining table."
The host was taken aback, "The doctor's hiding under the table? We could just call for him to come out…" But Yan Su's icy stare silenced him, and some had already sensed something was wrong.
The men worked together to lift the table, and the long tablecloth slid across the carpet, revealing two straight figures.
On the carpet adorned with blooming flowers, the race car driver's wax figure and the doctor's real body lay motionless.
Zhen Ai took a step forward, holding the candelabrum, and its light illuminated two ghastly faces.
The doctor's body, just like the wax figure earlier, was pale and rigid, mouth agape. A small knife was lodged in his chest, with blood staining his clothes.
The boxer, frustrated, walked over, "Stop scaring people." He crouched down to shake the small knife in the doctor's chest, "It looks so real. How'd they stick it in? I can't even pull it ou—"
Suddenly, he screamed, falling backward in terror. "It's real! A real knife, real blood!"
The remaining people paled, exchanging horrified glances.
Zhen Ai crouched down and checked the doctor's pulse, "He's dead, but his body is still warm." She examined the wound, "The blade pierced his heart with precision."
The kindergarten teacher looked at the empty seat beside her in shock, "How could this be?"
"What's impossible about it?" Zhen Ai stood up and calmly said, "Besides, the murderer is right here."
She turned to look at Yan Su, who nodded slightly in return.
The group fell silent, each person frowning and deep in thought.
The writer leaned forward slightly and cautiously glanced at the butler, "What if this is the castle's curse?"
"I've lived here for thirty years. While I believe in the castle's curse, I don't believe a curse would kill anyone!" The butler's cold face showed a hint of anger. After all, ghost stories attract tourists, but a real murder would drive them away. He sternly declared, "One of you must have had a grudge against the doctor!"
The host blurted out, "We met on the boat and decided to travel together. We didn't know each other before this. Why would there be any hatred?"
"You!" The butler was at a loss for words.
"I agree with the butler," Yan Su's calm voice broke the tension. "The weapon is a sharp surgical knife, one used by a surgeon. It was brought in advance, fitting with the doctor's profession. This was a premeditated murder."
His words settled the matter of the doctor's death.
Just then, the chandelier flickered back to life, restoring light to the dining room.
The corpse in the middle of the carpet was now fully illuminated, gruesome and terrifying. But everyone's attention was immediately drawn to the race car driver's wax figure, its face horribly mutilated, smeared with "blood" — ketchup. A table knife lay beside the wax figure's head.
Yan Su glanced at the table. Aside from the boxer, the doctor's own knife was also missing.
He could almost guess that the unseen race car driver had already been murdered somewhere and was likely as disfigured as the wax figure.
If that were true, then what was the meaning of the cipher on the plates?
The race car driver's death must have occurred before anyone saw the Caesar cipher, and the doctor's death was premeditated, unrelated to the cipher.
"In that case, before the intimidating effect of this password took effect, someone present must have already harbored murderous intentions.
If that's the case, the entire story needs to be reanalyzed. Was that string of passwords left by members of the organization, or was it a traitor on site using the password communication method to pose as the organization and exert pressure?
Yan Su's expression was cold, his face taut.
This castle could change its form at any moment, easily overturning his previous assumptions and reasoning, reshuffling everything. He truly loved this feeling!
The others also maintained serious expressions, showing nothing but gravity.
"Call the police!" the kindergarten teacher was the first to react, pulling out her phone, but "Why is there no signal?"
The maid quietly explained, "Mobile phone communication signals do not cover this area."
The kindergarten teacher asked, "What about the telephone? How do you communicate with the master?"
The butler replied with a serious demeanor, "The previous owner of the castle disliked communication with the outside world, so there are no phones. As for the telegraph station in the tower, it has only one fixed channel, which cannot communicate with the outside. Moreover, it can only passively receive messages and cannot actively contact the current owner."
The boxer was already agitated and shouted, "Impossible! Who would live in such an isolated place? You're lying! It must be you!" He grabbed the butler by the collar and pulled him up.
The host and the lawyer rushed to intervene. "Calm down!"
With their help, the butler broke free from the boxer's grip, gritting his teeth as he adjusted his suit collar, feeling insulted by the boxer's rudeness, and his face turned ashen with anger:
"Rude brute! I've lived here my entire life, loving this profession and this castle. My life has been full of dignity! You're the truly boring one with your senseless brawling!"
The lawyer, on the other hand, remained calm and shouted, "Everyone, stop arguing and don't panic. Let's leave the scene as it is, and we'll take the boat to report it in the morning."
The rest of the group couldn't come up with another solution and had no choice but to follow his suggestion.
Seeing this, the maid said, "Then let me take everyone to their rooms to drop off their luggage!"
The group followed the maid and the butler to their rooms.
Thirteen rooms were arranged in a curved line, neither straight nor on the same level, resembling interlocking blocks. Each room had a corridor at its entrance, deep and unfathomable, with countless tightly shut doors on either side.
The butler explained that if the thirteen individuals followed the thirteen corridors straight to the end, they would ultimately converge in the hall, which was what they had seen when they first entered the castle.
But the butler also reminded them that there were many forks in the corridors, making it easy to get lost, so they shouldn't wander off on their own. If they wanted to go to the hall, it was best to take the route around the dining area.
Everyone, each with their own thoughts, returned to their rooms.
Zhen Ai turned around in her room. Although the house was built during World War II, its style was older and more elegant. She glanced at the various decorations and paintings in the room, then looked out the window; the wind and rain seemed to be getting heavier.
Could they really leave first thing tomorrow?
She felt uneasy. From what she could tell, the doctor's death appeared to be a murder. But everyone was pretending not to know each other, and she couldn't discern who the murderer was. As for that string of Caesar passwords, she recognized it as a simple code used by the organization's peripheral group, with the key being her name in the organization. Why had it appeared here?
Besides that, the password her brother had left for her not only wrote the coordinates of silverland and the time of the summer solstice but also included a poem by Emily Brontë. What connection did this poem have to the castle?
While she was lost in thought, someone knocked on the door—steady and unhurried, not too light and not too heavy.
"Who is it?" Zhen Ai asked.
There was a moment of silence outside, and the voice seemed displeased: "Who else could it be but me?"
Zhen Ai immediately jumped up from her chair to open the door, only to see Yan Su standing there with a small black suitcase, blocking the doorway.
She quietly glanced at the suitcase at his feet, then looked back up at him, hesitating for half a second: "What… do you want?"
Yan Su's expression was calm, his chin held high with arrogance: "I'm here to protect you!"
He expected Zhen Ai's beautiful black eyes to flash with tender anticipation, but they didn't; Zhen Ai didn't understand and asked dumbly, "Why do you want to protect me?"
Yan Su's face slightly stiffened, and he said seriously, "With the lightning and thunder, I'm worried you'll be scared!"
Zhen Ai furrowed her brows, even more confused: "Lightning and thunder are just two clouds with opposite charges colliding; why would I be scared?"
Yan Su smiled faintly, a hint of frustration visible on his clear face. He patted Zhen Ai on the shoulder: "Well, you're right. I just came to experiment."
After saying that, he turned around and walked away, dragging his small suitcase with him.
Zhen Ai looked at him in surprise. Just as she was about to close the door, he stopped again, turned around, and came back to stand in front of her.
Zhen Ai looked up at him: "What's wrong?"
He touched his nose, his gaze drifting as if pondering something, and after a moment, it seemed he had made up his mind: "Actually, I lied."
"Lied?"
"I'm the one scared of lightning and thunder; please protect me!"
Zhen Ai: …
So he really is someone who never lies? Even a logician has things he isn't good at! His clumsy lie reminded her of who had held her tightly to calm her down during that moment of blackout in the dining room.
"I'm scared of lightning and thunder; please protect me!" But when he said this, his eyes were filled with expectation and innocence, like a puppy crouching on the ground saying, "Hold me, hold me!"
Zhen Ai stepped aside, letting him in.
Zhen Ai closed the door, and the curved corridor fell into silence. After a moment, a certain half-closed door was shut.
T closed the door to the room and said to the person sitting on the sofa, "Sir, actually, you didn't need to come personally for this trip. I could have completed your plan alone."
The person in the darkness remained silent.
T asked again, "Miss C, she seems to be looking for something left by Mr. C?"
"Her affairs are not for you to worry about." A cold voice replied, "Let her do as she pleases; don't obstruct her."
"And the 1 billion?"
"Chace cannot possibly have hidden that 1 billion here." Still calm and unperturbed, "My purpose for coming is not for such a trivial amount of money."
T pondered over something but didn't dare to say it aloud.
The person across from him said again, "There's a police officer in the castle; did you notice?"
T hesitated for a moment and made a gesture related to that person.
The shadowy figure nodded: "Do not act against the police officer for now. Just clean up those traitors; don't create unnecessary trouble. This castle is not suitable for that." Looking out the window, as if thinking, "I don't want the government people to come here and interfere."
T bowed deeply: "I understand the importance of this castle."
---
Zhen Ai found a set of intellectual wooden games in her room, so she sat on the carpet with Yan Su to play. But no matter whether it was Sudoku, disentangling puzzles, or pyramid games, Yan Su could always quickly dismantle it and, after fiddling for a few seconds, restore it. He was as swift as a robot, Walle, always wearing a look of, "How boring, I'm so stupid, I'm begging for someone to challenge my intelligence!"
After a few rounds of play, Zhen Ai felt quite frustrated, rolled onto the carpet, and turned her back to him: "I don't want to play anymore! You have no sense of fun at all!"
Yan Su leaned over to grab her slender waist, lifting her from the ground and holding her in his arms, seriously asking her: "You don't like my quick reactions? Don't you think being slow is fun?"
Zhen Ai lay in his arms, rolling her eyes; what would Yan Su be like if he were slow? She found it amusing and immediately said, "Yes, being slow is fun!"
Yan Su patted her head: "Ai, you are the most interesting girl I've ever met."
Zhen Ai: …
She suddenly jumped up and knocked him down to the ground, really wanting to bite off his sharp-tongued mouth.
But when she finally pounced down to bite him, she hesitated and couldn't bring herself to use too much force.
As for Yan Su, he was completely unprepared for Zhen Ai's sudden attack and was caught off guard as she knocked him down. In the next second, she opened her mouth to bite him. He relaxed entirely, lying on the soft carpet with her soft body on top of him.
A strange thrill surged through his body.
Zhen Ai lightly bit him, only to realize that after being mocked for being slow, she actually kissed him. It was a huge loss. Wanting to rise up with pride, she became enamored with his pleasant scent and greedily pecked at him a few more times.
This peck piqued his interest. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly as they rolled on the floor.
It was as if they were engaged in a private contest, passionately biting each other's lips, their bodies competing to pin each other down, rolling all over the room for quite some time.
In the end, it was Zhen Ai who ran out of strength. With a soft sound, she pounded her fists against his chest, and only then did he let her go.
He lay on the floor while she leaned beside him, quietly closing her eyes without speaking.
They stayed in silence for an unknown amount of time when suddenly, a loud thunderclap echoed outside. Zhen Ai opened her eyes abruptly, suddenly recalling the incident in the restaurant. She quickly lifted herself up, propping her head on her hands, and tilted her head to look at him.
"Dear, have you noticed how strange the doctor's death is?"
He slowly opened his eyes, looking deeply at her without speaking but encouraging her with his gaze.
She knew they had returned to their countless previous discussions; he enjoyed watching her think, relishing the sparks of their minds colliding.
She gently continued, "The doctor was only separated from me by the kindergarten teacher, such a short distance, yet when the murderer killed him, why didn't I notice anything unusual?"
Yan Su smiled slightly and lifted his fingertip to gently stroke her soft cheek. "And?"
Zhen Ai turned to lie next to him: "Why didn't the doctor cry out for help or scream in pain when he was killed?"
"Hmm."
Encouraged, she continued, "Based on the situation at that time, the murderer did several things: he took the boxer's dinner knife and the doctor's dinner knife, and one of them was stabbed into the chest of the doctor's wax figure. He used a scalpel to kill the doctor, dragged him under the table, and also dragged the wax figure of the race car driver under the table, using another dinner knife to mutilate its head. Why did he do so many meaningless things?"
"You…"
Just as Yan Su began to speak, a terrified scream suddenly echoed through the castle.
"Ah!!!"
Yan Su and Zhen Ai exchanged glances, instantly jumping to their feet and opening the door. At the same time, all the doors in the corridor opened simultaneously. Everyone looked at each other, realizing it was the sound coming from the writer's room.
They quickly gathered at the writer's door, knocking. After several seconds of desperate knocking outside, there was no response from inside.
Yan Su's expression darkened as he commanded the people crowded at the door, "Stand back!" Everyone instantly understood and stepped aside cautiously. Just as Yan Su was about to kick the door, it creaked open slowly.
The writer stood there, pale as a ghost, staring wide-eyed in shock.
The people outside were dead silent.
The three women—actress, model, and kindergarten teacher—trembled simultaneously, asking, "Hey, are you alive or dead?"
The writer shivered all over, "I... I saw the race car driver!"
Everyone exchanged several glances, and the host asked with doubt, "Are you dreaming again?"
The writer stiffly turned around, raising his violently trembling finger, pointing towards the stormy, thunder-stricken night outside the window, "He... he's on the glass of the window!"