Even now, he was still considering her safety.
Hearing his words, Zhen Ai's tears fell even harder; he gave a faint smile, brushing away her tears with his long fingers, and pulled out a thin knife from his pocket, placing it in her hand.
Zhen Ai wiped her tears and looked down. "Isn't this the scalpel that killed the doctor?"
"Yeah, when I went to look for you just now, I was worried the murderer might have other weapons, so I took the doctor's knife." Yan Su tightened his grip on her hand. "Ai, help me take out the arrowhead."
Zhen Ai was taken aback and immediately shook her head. "The storm has calmed down; let's leave on the boat now."
Yan Su held her by the neck, his voice low. "They won't let us go." While speaking, he lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers, his gaze still clear, looking deep into her heart.
"Ai, listen to me carefully. I know my situation very well. The arrowhead didn't hit the artery, didn't hurt the bone, and didn't strike my heart; it only penetrated the muscle. I won't lose much blood."
After saying this, he let out a self-deprecating smile. "He must have held back; maybe he didn't intend to kill me here."
Zhen Ai assumed the "he" he mentioned referred to the murderer and didn't pay much attention.
She helped him sit down and carefully removed his clothing to check the wound.
The arrowhead appeared to be about two centimeters wide and equally deep. Just as Yan Su said, the wound was located below the heart, between two ribs, embedded in the chest muscle.
Blood slowly oozed out, uninterrupted.
After the initial heartache and panic, Zhen Ai had calmed down.
Yan Su was absolutely right. The arrowhead must be removed as soon as possible. Although leaving it in would slow the bleeding, it would significantly increase the risk of infection. Four to five hours would be unbearable.
Zhen Ai observed the wound and nodded at Yan Su. "Alright!"
She arranged the blankets, helped him lie down, took out the emergency kit and first aid kit, and searched the room again. She had a concave mirror, flashlight, cotton, alcohol, bandages, tourniquet, candles, and a lighter.
She set up the concave mirror and flashlight, ensuring the light on Yan Su's chest was bright enough, and ignited the alcohol to sterilize the scalpel.
Everything was ready, and just as she was about to start, Zhen Ai suddenly realized there was no anesthetic!
Thinking seriously, the No. 7 Castle was a place for experiments; ether, procaine hydrochloride, phenobarbital sodium, carbamate... at least one could surely be found in the lab.
But before she could get up, he grasped her ankle.
The intense light on his chest contrasted with his pitch-black eyes. "Don't go out; I don't need anesthetic."
His thoughts were clear to her, and her voice trembled. "No anesthetic? Do you know how much it will hurt?"
"I know."
He interrupted her lightly, speaking intermittently. "So, do you know the despair I felt when I couldn't find you in the castle? Do you know the pain of wanting to die when I heard you were locked in the ice cellar?"
Zhen Ai suddenly choked up, tears brimming again.
"But, dear, it really will hurt a lot. I'll be careful this time; I promise nothing will go wrong, okay? Please let me go get the anesthetic." She tried to break free from his grip on her ankle, but he held her tightly without a hint of loosening.
"Rather than lying here, worrying whether you'll encounter danger while looking for medicine, whether you'll come back; compared to this torturous and grueling wait, I think a few cuts aren't a big deal." His lips were pale, yet he forced a light smile.
"Don't believe me? Let's make a bet; I definitely won't scream in pain. Maybe we can discuss who the murderer is while I'm being cut!"
His nonchalant attitude made it hard for her to smile.
At that moment, a sharp commotion suddenly erupted outside the door.
Zhen Ai became alert, focusing all her energy on her ears. Yan Su was startled too, reflexively trying to sit up and shield her behind him. Seeing this, Zhen Ai immediately leaped forward, pressing his shoulder down firmly onto the bed.
The room had excellent sound insulation, but they could still clearly hear the sounds outside, and one could imagine how intense the arguing was.
In the corridor, a group of people stood facing each other, with only the model absent.
The usually most easily panicked writer was now filled with overwhelming anger, shouting at the butler and the maid, "Everyone is inside, and it's only the two of you outside! Why did Miss Model's wax figure shatter into powder? Don't you know?"
The maid seemed to have gone through some unbearable terror; she trembled all over, head down, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to speak.
The butler's face was tense as he coldly reprimanded the writer. "I've been with her the entire time; the maid absolutely did not destroy the model's wax figure, nor did she harm her."
"Then you two must be in cahoots!" The writer was unusually irritable and frantic.
"I think it's the lawyer who's more suspicious." The actor crossed his arms, retorting sharply, glaring at the lawyer.
"Just now, the maid suggested that everyone go back to the living room and wait for the police. But you insisted that it was safest to stay in your room. The model supported you too. Well, look what happened; she's dead and reduced to nothing! We were all in our rooms, but it's possible you went out and destroyed the model's wax figure and killed her."
The lawyer lost his usual composure, angrily retorting, "I never left the room! It was clearly the maid who pushed open the door to the ice cellar and shattered the model inside!"
"I didn't know the model was in the cold storage," the maid cried out in despair. "You told me to look everywhere, and I thought the student had also been locked in the ice cellar, so I went to check. I didn't know who set the cold storage to Fahrenheit -148. When the door hit, she shattered into pieces."
The maid covered her face, crouching on the ground, crying desperately, shaking her head, clearly unable to accept the sight she had just witnessed. "It wasn't me; I didn't know she was in there. I really didn't know."
The kindergarten teacher turned pale. "Stop shouting. From now on, we all go to the living room. Until the police arrive, no one is allowed to leave even a step!"
Everyone fell silent, staring blankly into space, their eyes filled with bone-chilling fear.
In their lives, whether through firsthand experience, hearsay, or artistic works, they had never witnessed such a terrifying method of murder.
A living person, thrown into the ice cellar, suddenly had the temperature dropped several degrees, instantly turning into a fragile ice sculpture. A single bump shattered her into powder, not a drop of blood was spilled.
Inside the room, Zhen Ai's face turned pale upon hearing their words. Just a few hours ago, the biting cold of the ice cellar in Castle No. 7 was still fresh in her memory, and now, the model had been locked in an ice cellar at over negative one hundred degrees?
Was she instantly frozen into brittle ice?
Zhen Ai felt a chill in her bones, wondering what kind of madman could do such a thing?
She leaned against his shoulder and turned to look at him. His profile appeared disheveled and weak, his eyes downcast, expression unreadable, but Zhen Ai felt an unprecedented sense of helplessness. She remembered what he said in the corridor earlier: "I want to protect everyone present, but clearly that's impossible."
She didn't know how to comfort him, so she leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Dear, don't be sad. I'll listen to you and not go out. Is that okay?"
His gaze slowly shifted to her face, a faint smile appearing, pale and fragile.
Zhen Ai sat up, focusing all her attention on his left chest. The arrowhead was rusted and mixed with torn fabric from his clothing.
She took a cotton ball from the alcohol bowl and began to clean the wound. As soon as she touched him, his whole body tensed, his chest muscles instantly bulging, blood soaking the cotton.
She avoided looking at his face, bending down to scrub the wound deeper with the alcohol-soaked cotton, and he trembled again. She glanced up and saw him gripping the blanket tightly, his knuckles white and veins bulging.
Zhen Ai's heart quivered, but her hands remained steady. With narrowed eyes, she quickly made a cut, removing a small piece of damaged muscle tissue from his chest. His body was tense as if pulled taut like a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment.
Unable to hold back any longer, Zhen Ai glanced at him. He was pale with pain, his lips nearly bitten through, and sweat glistened on his furrowed brow. If she continued cutting like this, he would soon faint from the agony.
After assessing his wound, she measured it with her fingers and had a rough idea.
After the sharp pain subsided, Yan Su noticed her pause and lowered his gaze, speaking in a broken but forced calm, "I'm fine."
Zhen Ai didn't reply. Suddenly, she leaned down and pressed her lips against his pale, sweaty ones, letting her tongue slip inside and mingle with his. Meanwhile, the surgical knife traced a circular motion around the arrowhead with practiced ease.
With her eyes wide open, she fixed her gaze on his, pressing down hard and fiercely kissing him as if trying to draw out his very soul.
At first, Yan Su was bewildered, lost in an explosion of pain. Gradually, it was as if his mind cleared, and his eyes came into focus, locking onto hers, which were so close, dark as night, and eerily tranquil.
For a moment, he forgot the pain and instinctively moved his dry lips to reciprocate her kiss.
Sensing this, a flash of light appeared in her dark eyes, and she resolutely pressed the thin blade into his chest, two centimeters deep, skillfully circling around the arrowhead, clean and precise.
With a flick of the knife, the arrowhead and tattered fabric mixed with murky blood were extracted.
Yan Su's pupils dilated, feeling as if all his nerves had shattered in that instant. He reflexively pulled her lips harshly, and Zhen Ai nearly toppled over from the pain.
Realizing his actions a second later, he quickly let go.
Exhausted and completely drained, he still managed to remain silent, merely gasping for air, his heart racing while his breathing slowed, quietly enduring the intense pain.
After all the commotion, Zhen Ai was drenched in sweat but dared not relax. She quickly sat up, checked that his wound was mostly cleaned, then hurriedly applied medicine and tied a tourniquet.
Once everything was done, she felt as tired as a dehydrated dog. Throughout, he had remained silent, quietly watching her with a weak gaze.
Zhen Ai leaned closer to him, and his gaze followed, lifting to meet hers, bright yet wet.
She looked into his eyes, brushed his sweaty hair back, and softly coaxed, "Close your eyes and rest for a bit, okay?"
His lips cracked, and his voice was hoarse, "I don't want you to leave my sight."
Zhen Ai felt a lump in her throat; she should have known he was stubborn by nature.
Not wanting to press him any further, she brought warm water from the bathroom, wiping his face and body before cleaning herself up.
Worried he might be in unbearable pain, she sat next to him and chatted to distract him, "So, how about it? Having a girlfriend who can handle a knife means you won't have to worry when you're out, right?"
He didn't have the strength to reply, but the corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he looked at her, a flicker of humor in his eyes.
She continued to proudly lift her chin, "Now you know my advantages, right?"
He just smiled at her.
Seeing his cracked lips, Zhen Ai suddenly remembered how he had fed her water earlier and felt a stir in her heart. She poured a small cup of warm water and brought it to his lips.
Perhaps due to his weakness, he was unusually compliant and gentle, obediently following her lead.
She carefully offered him water, not wanting to leave just yet, gently shaking her head as she brushed her lips against his, whispering, "I won't give you too much, just enough to moisten your throat."
He replied, "Okay."
She lowered her head, inexplicably fond of his current vulnerability, and added, "And your lips." As she spoke, she playfully licked a circle around his lips with her wet tongue.
Yan Su paused for half a second, then suddenly laughed, "Your method of pain relief is very effective. I really appreciate it."
Zhen Ai pressed her face against his and blinked, "Only for you, okay?"
"Of course." He raised an eyebrow, his pale face possessing an unusual beauty. "No one else is worthy."
She chuckled, biting her lip softly, and rubbed her face against his several times. Then she took a deep breath and murmured, "Dear, I really like your scent." As if that wasn't enough, she repeated, "I really like the smell of you."
Yan Su fell silent for a few seconds, deciding he couldn't deceive or hide anything from Zhen Ai, so he said seriously and sincerely, "Ai, actually, people have a scent because their pores sweat."
"So…" Zhen Ai looked at him blankly. Was it really that hard not to ruin the atmosphere?
Someone quickly clarified, "But don't get me wrong; human sweat is odorless. It's the bacteria on the skin that alters the chemical structure of sweat, which produces the scent." (It would have been better if she misunderstood.) He looked at her earnestly, confidently saying, "So, you actually like the bacteria on me, not me."
…
Zhen Ai was stunned for a second, then realized, nodding, "Oh, I see." She touched Yan Su's body and added, "Then you should extract some for me to study. I'll plant tens of thousands of bacteria at home."
…
Yan Su replied, "But I can't smell my own scent. I like yours."
Zhen Ai said, "Then you should plant some of mine too."
"Okay," Yan Su nodded, "but you'll have to water them with sweat."
She didn't know how to comfort him, so she leaned close to his ear and softly said, "Dear, don't be sad. I'll listen to you and not go out. Is that okay?"
His gaze slowly shifted to her, landing on her face, and he gave a faint smile, pale and fragile.
Zhen Ai sat up, focusing all her thoughts on his left chest. The arrowhead had rusted and was mixed with torn pieces of fabric.
She took a cotton ball from the alcohol bowl to clean his wound. As soon as she touched it, his entire body tensed up; his chest muscles bulged in an instant, and blood soaked the cotton ball completely.
She didn't look at his face, instead, she lowered her head to scrub the wound with the alcohol swab, and he shuddered again. She glanced up and saw his fist gripping the blanket, his knuckles pale and veins standing out.
Zhen Ai's heart trembled, but her hands remained steady. She narrowed her eyes and swiftly cut away a small piece of injured muscle from his chest. Beneath her, his body was as taut as a bowstring, about to snap at any moment.
Zhen Ai couldn't help but steal a glance at him; he was in so much pain that his lips turned white, and he was close to biting them raw, his tightly knitted brows dripping with sweat. If she kept cutting like this, he would surely faint from the agony.
She looked at his wound, gauged the size with her fingers, and understood.
After the intense pain, Yan Su saw that she had paused, lowered his gaze to look at her, and his voice came out broken but forced calmness, "I'm...fine."
Zhen Ai didn't respond. Suddenly, she leaned down and pressed her lips against his pale, sweaty ones, her tongue slipping in and mixing with his. The scalpel, meanwhile, twisted in her wrist, making a circular motion.
She kept her eyes open, staring into his, pressing her lips hard against his as if trying to draw out his very soul.
At first, Yan Su was stunned, still caught in the explosion of pain. Gradually, as if he was regaining consciousness, he focused his eyes and saw her right in front of him, her gaze as dark as night, exuding an unusual tranquility.
For a moment, he forgot the pain, even moving his dry lips instinctively, wanting to respond to her.
Sensing his reaction, a flash of light sparked in her dark eyes. With determination, she plunged the thin blade two centimeters into his chest, skillfully circling the arrowhead with steady hands.
With a flick of the knife, the fabric and muddied flesh surrounding the arrowhead were lifted away.
Yan Su's pupils darkened; he felt every nerve in his body snap at that moment. Instinctively, he sucked in her lips hard, causing Zhen Ai to nearly topple over from the pain.
But a second later, he realized his actions and quickly let her go.
He was utterly drained and in a state of disarray, yet he made no sound, only gasping for breath, his heart racing, but his breaths were extremely slow, enduring the excruciating pain.
After this ordeal, Zhen Ai was also drenched in sweat but dared not relax. She sat up quickly, noting that his wound was nearly cleaned out, and promptly applied medicine and bandaged it.
Once everything was done, she felt as exhausted as a dehydrated dog. Throughout it all, he remained silent, watching her quietly with a weakened gaze.
Zhen Ai leaned closer to him, and his gaze followed her, lifting slightly to meet her own, bright and glistening.
She gazed into his eyes, brushing his sweaty hair with her hand, and pressed her lips against his face, softly coaxing, "Close your eyes and rest for a bit, okay?"
His lips were chapped, his voice hoarse, "I don't want you to leave my sight."
Zhen Ai felt a twinge in her heart; she should have known he was inherently this stubborn.
She stopped persuading him and brought warm water from the bathroom to wipe his face and clean herself as well.
Worried he was in unbearable pain, she sat beside him to distract him with conversation: "How is it? Having a girlfriend who can wield a knife means you don't have to worry when you're out, right?"
He didn't have the energy to speak, but the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, looking at her with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
She continued, proudly lifting her chin, "Now you know my worth, right?"
He just kept smiling at her.
Seeing his chapped lips, Zhen Ai suddenly recalled how he fed her water and felt a tug at her heart. She brought a small cup of warm water and brought it to his lips, mouth to mouth.
Perhaps because he was too weak, he was unusually docile and compliant, allowing her to take charge.
She gradually fed him water, reluctant to pull away, gently shaking her head as she rubbed against his lips, murmuring, "I won't let you drink too much, just enough to moisten your throat."
He replied, "Okay."
Lowering her head, she felt an inexplicable fondness for his vulnerability at that moment and added, "And your lips." Saying this, she lightly licked around his lips with her moist tongue.
Yan Su paused for half a second and then smiled, "Your pain-relief method is quite effective. I appreciate it."
Zhen Ai pressed her face against his, blinking her eyes, "Only for you."
"Well, of course," he raised an eyebrow, his pale face possessing a unique beauty, "No one else is worthy."
She chuckled, biting her lip softly as she laughed, rubbing against his face several times, then taking a deep breath, murmuring, "Dear, I really like your scent." As if that wasn't enough, she repeated, "The scent on you, I really like."
Yan Su fell silent for a few seconds, deciding he couldn't deceive or hide from Zhen Ai. He sincerely replied, "Ai, actually, people have a scent because their pores sweat."
"So…" Zhen Ai looked at him with a confused expression. Couldn't he keep the mood intact? Would that be too hard?
Someone quickly clarified, "But don't misunderstand, human sweat is odorless. The bacteria on the skin alter the chemical structure of the sweat, which gives it a scent." (It would be better if she misunderstood) He looked at her earnestly and assuredly said, "So, what you actually like is the bacteria on my body, not me."
…
Zhen Ai was stunned for a moment, then nodded in understanding, "I see. You should extract some for me one day to study. I'll plant a few tens of thousands of bacteria in my home."
…
Yan Su: "But I can't smell my own scent. I like yours."
Zhen Ai: "Then extract some of mine too."
"Sure," Yan Su nodded, "But you'll have to water them with sweat."
After saying that, he slightly furrowed his brow, muttering to himself, "I respect your interests, but I personally really dislike bacteria. They're dirty, very dirty." He frowned for a moment and added, "Except for E. coli."
Zhen Ai lay beside him, tilting her head, "And lactic acid bacteria."
"Oh, I like that too… otherwise, we wouldn't have yogurt."
Zhen Ai rested her chin on her hand and gazed at the ceiling, "I also like Staphylococcus aureus; it has a beautiful color."
"It's a bad bacteria."
…
The two chatted casually for about an hour and basically reached a consensus.
They liked 379 types of bacteria in common, Zhen Ai liked 7,137 types individually, and Yan Su liked 0 types individually. After Zhen Ai listed the ones she liked, she drank a large cup of water due to thirst and then realized that Yan Su wasn't asleep and was listening intently.
In that moment, she felt they had truly found love in each other.
After discussing bacteria, the topic returned to another issue they both found interesting: the case.
Zhen Ai leaned beside him and asked, "For these murder cases, is there more than one killer?"
Yan Su glanced at her and countered with a question, "How did you figure that out?"
Zhen Ai pondered, "I don't know what the scene of the model's death was like, but the host's murder was too strange; it's completely different from the previous few deaths. In the doctor's case, there was a power outage for more than ten seconds, yet the killer was fast, precise, and ruthless; in the boxer's case, it was a locked-room murder, the scene was clean, and the boxer didn't resist at all. The killer is very powerful.
But what about the host's case? The scene was a mess, with the ropes choking and the host's head being smashed against the corner of the table. It was all too chaotic. I suspect there isn't just one person."
Yan Su listened with a smile, looking faintly at the brightness on her face, seemingly enjoying the atmosphere of discussing things with her. Once she finished speaking, he smiled slightly, "The method of the host's death means that only one person could kill him."
Method of death?
Zhen Ai was taken aback; how did she not think of that?
Someone used a rope to choke the host, who was very tall, over 190 cm. The tallest model among women was less than 180 cm, and for men, Yan Su was 188 cm; based on his estimation, the butler was also 188 cm, the writer was 182 cm, and the most petite person was the agent, 176 cm.
After all, the person who attacked the host had to have a certain height to hang the rope to choke him.
Zhen Ai's heart raced; she suddenly thought of something and immediately asked, "So, what do you think is the height of the murderer?"
Yan Su thought for a moment, "At least 180 cm, so it could be a person taller than 180 cm."
Zhen Ai felt her heart race even more. If she could infer that the murderer was tall, then the chance of the murderer being the agent or the model decreased. What's more, the butler had to have a hidden purpose.
So, it could only be the writer!
Zhen Ai spoke rapidly, "Then the murderer is most likely the writer."
Yan Su nodded, "The one with the strongest motive for revenge is indeed the writer, who was once the idol of the host."
Zhen Ai leaned back, looking at the ceiling, "This case is so complicated. I think we need to find out the writer's whereabouts."
Yan Su agreed, "Right now, I think we need to keep a close eye on him."
At that moment, a gentle knock sounded outside the door, followed by the sound of the door being pushed open. A middle-aged woman entered with a bowl of soup.
"Master Yan, Miss Zhen," she said with a warm smile, "I made soup for you two. It's good for recovery."
Zhen Ai quickly thanked her and took the soup from the woman's hand.
The woman's expression was amiable, her eyes full of kindness as she spoke gently. Zhen Ai couldn't help but feel warm inside.
Once the woman left, Zhen Ai and Yan Su shared a bowl of soup. Zhen Ai felt like they were a couple; they exchanged glances, spoke softly, and shared intimate moments.