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墨書 Inktalez
For a moment, Guan Zengbin wiped his tears and said, "Some things are easier to bear when they come out, especially since I have entrusted them to two of my most trusted people. Let's not dwell on this matter; it can't be rushed. By the way, Wu Meng, what exactly are you doing here?"
I no longer felt conflicted about this issue. After all, whether I would see Zhao Mingkun again was still uncertain, let alone having the chance to confront him alone. If there was another opportunity, I would save it for later; for now, I needed to find some clues about the Perverted Killer. Otherwise, more people would surely die.
Thinking of this, I spoke up, "How do we find a drop of water in an ocean?"
Gu Chen replied, "Stop being cryptic."
I raised an eyebrow and said, "The best way to find a drop of water is to let the other drops search for it. The world that normal people cannot understand might be comprehensible to the mentally ill. We may not understand the characters left by the Murderer, but that doesn't mean others can't. Perhaps the person we're looking for is upstairs."
Extracting clues from these mentally ill individuals wouldn't be easy. First, we needed to determine whether they understood the sentences left by the Murderer and whether they would cooperate with us. Both points were difficult to confirm.
At that moment, we had no choice but to search room by room for those who seemed capable of solving this problem. After several attempts, the results were always somewhat awkward. As Guan Zengbin conversed with those patients in both Chinese and English, many of them banged on doors wildly, while those tied to their beds thrashed around even more frantically.
I began to doubt whether my approach was correct; perhaps normal people shared similar worldviews while the mentally ill had vastly different perspectives. After witnessing these patients one by one, I suddenly found my previous thoughts amusing and ridiculous.
As we ascended the stairs, the sound of our shoes echoed in the silent corridor. Guan Zengbin remarked, "I think we're going back empty-handed this time. Those convoluted and obscure texts might not even be key to solving the case. Is it possible that those words are meaningless and meant to mislead our investigation?"
We continued up to the second floor to inquire further. As we passed a room, I noticed a woman lying motionless on the bed; she seemed less like a living person and more like a corpse. Gu Chen knocked on the iron door and peered through the window, but the woman remained still.
"The devil—it's the language of the devil," one mentally ill patient suddenly shouted as Guan Zengbin recited those sentences in English. He dropped to his knees and repeatedly drew crosses on his chest while mumbling those words.
We exchanged glances, all sensing that this might lead somewhere!
"What does this mean?" I pressed my face against the door to catch a glimpse of the man on the floor inside.
I could see that his face was drenched in tears; he looked extremely pained as he said, "Come here; I'll tell you."
Upon hearing his words, his expression darkened. I pressed my face against the iron gate, and just then, the person inside suddenly stood up, reaching out towards me with one hand. The gaps in the iron bars of the window were so narrow that it was difficult for even a hand to fit through.
Yet this man seemed undeterred, managing to extend his hand through the tight space. I noticed that his wrist must have been broken. He grabbed my collar tightly, refusing to let go. At that moment, I heard the sound of sirens, followed shortly by the sound of footsteps approaching. I knew help was on the way.
The man looked at me with a mix of sadness and fear before turning away and releasing his grip.
He then retreated to the farthest corner of the room, hiding like a frightened child. I straightened my clothes just as the Head Nurse rushed in with several security guards. When she saw that I was unharmed, she slowed her pace and said, "I told you to be careful, but you just wouldn't listen."
I ignored the Head Nurse and focused on the man who appeared to be mentally unstable. "What do you mean? Be clear!" I demanded.
But he refused to speak.
The Head Nurse interjected, "Why are you taking this so seriously? Can you really trust what a mentally ill person says? I've told you before that none of this is reliable. Stop wasting time on this and go back to investigating properly. Just avoid getting caught up in Delusional Disorder again. You won't find anything here because everything is an illusion; it's all fake."
She looked at the man locked inside with a gaze full of pity, then turned that same look towards me. "The world is the same for everyone, yet different people perceive it differently. Perhaps what we see is false while their reality is true."
I wasn't a philosopher and had no desire to ponder such questions; they were ultimately unanswerable.
"However, there's still someone we haven't seen," I said.
"Who?" The Head Nurse frowned, clearly becoming annoyed.
I pointed upwards and replied, "Of course, the Erudite Elder. We haven't met him yet."
The Head Nurse waved her hand dismissively and said, "No way, absolutely not. No one can meet him; he's too terrifying. It seems he can see right through people's hearts. In front of him, it's as if you're completely exposed. He can penetrate your innermost thoughts and uncover your secrets."
Listening to the Head Nurse's ominous tone, I asked, "It sounds like you've tried it yourself?"
The Head Nurse shook her head and replied, "I haven't tried it. There are some things I wouldn't dare to try. Otherwise, why would he be locked up here?"
I said, "That might not concern you, but I have a feeling I can find some useful clues from him."
Despite her repeated attempts to dissuade me, the Head Nurse could only advise me against it since I had the necessary authorization. I was eager to see what made this old man different from others.
Unable to argue with me any longer, the Head Nurse warned me at the door, "Just remember not to believe anything he says. Keep in mind that he's a lunatic, not a scholar; otherwise, he wouldn't be here."
With that, the Head Nurse gently knocked on the door, and a heavy voice from inside called out, "Come in."
She patted my shoulder, signaling me to enter.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The old man adjusted his glasses and looked at me.
"Why are you so nervous?" he asked as he pushed his glasses up. "Am I really that frightening? Have you heard those rumors about me again? Sometimes I wonder why I was sent here. Why don't you sit down and talk with me? Please, take a seat."
I looked at the old man, pulled out a chair, and sat down. "I'm not nervous," I replied.
He shook his head. "No, you are. Humans can be quite amusing at times. They can't even understand their own emotions. You might be able to deceive yourself, but your subconscious actions betray you. The way you closed the door with a slight bend in your body and your fingers trembled slightly all reveal your tension."
"Psychology?" I stared at him without moving. "You give me a show of strength as soon as I walk in, which inevitably pulls me into your rhythm. Regardless of whether I answer yes or no, the initiative in this conversation is already in your hands. So now I'm at a disadvantage, aren't I?"
The old man's expression remained unchanged. "Interesting. You study psychology too?"
I shook my head. "This is just the most basic psychology. Anyone who grasps a little and can apply it can create such an effect. I didn't come to hear you flaunt your knowledge of psychology. You have so many books in your cabinet, most of which study human psychology and criminal motives. I came to you for help with a case."
"Are you afraid?" The old man stared into my eyes, and I looked back into his. Behind the glass, those eyes seemed capable of piercing through one's soul, as if they could see the deepest secrets within me. "Let me think. In your gaze, I see not only fear but also weakness and resentment."
I continued to hold his gaze.
The old man rested his chin on his hands. "You've been fearing something deep inside you, but what exactly is it? Let me take a guess."
I shrugged.
The old man smiled. "I know what you're afraid of—you're afraid of loneliness. The more you pretend to be indifferent, the more your inner anxiety reveals itself. Even though you've sat down without making any movements, your eyes have been darting around the room."
He surveyed the surroundings and said, "You must understand that the more one tries to conceal something, the more it will inevitably come out. The less someone has of something, the more they will display it because they fear others will notice their lack."
"Isn't that right, officer?" he chuckled. "Then let me guess why you feel so lonely. Why don't you trust anyone? Why do you doubt every person? Hmm, this must have started when you were young—you were abandoned, weren't you? You're an orphan, right?"
I remained silent.
"Haha." The old man winked at me. "So what you're most afraid of is betrayal; you're most afraid of getting too close to someone. You'd rather do everything alone; you'd prefer to die quietly by yourself, wouldn't you? So have you ever thought about why you are this way?"
"Don't you think it's time to look for reasons within yourself?"
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