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墨書 Inktalez
Tears streamed down the eyes of the Murderer. It was not out of sadness, but rather a joy so overwhelming that it brought forth tears. This Twelve Bowls, rough in texture, with the Twelve Zodiac Signs painted on the outside, was not exquisite at all. Yet, because of this bowl, eight people had already died. And those who died had no idea what had caused their demise.
Suddenly, a crucial thought struck me: why did the Murderer choose to write these three stories online? If it was merely to communicate with the other personalities within, writing on a piece of paper would suffice. Moreover, during my brief interaction with the Murderer, I could clearly see that the personalities within could actually converse with one another.
Wasn't this redundant?
All of this was orchestrated by that Uncle Personality, but for what purpose? A person as intelligent as him should understand that once the police discovered this story, they would certainly take the case seriously. So why did the Murderer do this? If we hadn’t intervened, the Murderer might have already taken these bowls away.
A sense of foreboding suddenly welled up within me; I felt that there were still unknown factors behind this case. In an instant, many questions arose in my mind, and I wanted to find that Uncle Personality from earlier. I turned to look at the Murderer, who had now pulled out the paper and pencil that had been set aside and began to draw.
He stood at about five feet seven inches tall and appeared to be twenty years old, yet his demeanor resembled that of a girl. Pouting his lips, he knelt on the ground, placing his drawing board on the table. He sang softly while sketching, seemingly quite happy. Watching the Murderer made my desire to call out to Uncle Personality fade into silence.
All I could hear was the soft scratching sound of the pencil moving across the drawing board; no other sounds could be heard.
I stood up and looked over the Murderer's shoulder at his drawing. The Murderer's work was quite accurate, and I could tell that if he drew it himself, it would surely be better than what was depicted on the bowl. However, what mattered to the Murderer was not how beautiful the drawing was; he painstakingly replicated it stroke by stroke to match exactly what was on the bowl.
After finishing one drawing, the Murderer didn’t stand up but continued to slide along the ground.
The Murderer drew with great seriousness as if completing twelve drawings would somehow bring his mother back to him.
But both I and the other personalities within knew that this was an impossible task. For fifteen years, he had clung to something unattainable; fortunately, he remained stuck at square one. Yet the other personalities had been troubled by this for fifteen years—accompanying the Main Personality in pursuing something utterly hopeless.
And now, this endeavor was finally coming to an end.
I wore only the sanitation worker's clothes that had previously covered my lower body; I had nothing else—not even my phone's whereabouts were known. Time passed second by second as I glanced at the Murderer's watch—it was already six o'clock. At this moment, he had completed half of his drawings.
I felt a surge of anxiety; at this rate, he would finish around seven o'clock. But if he finished at seven o'clock, it would take time for the other personalities to emerge. I also needed time to notify Gu Chen and others to find this place; thus, the Murderer needed to complete these twelve images before six-thirty.
However, given his current pace, it seemed impossible for him to finish in time.
An image flashed through my mind: in a pitch-black underground space, Guan Zengbin was tied to a bed alone. There were no sounds around—no, perhaps only faint noises from mice or insects scuttling across the ground. The camera had stopped taking pictures; its flash no longer illuminated anything. She screamed until her throat hurt, but no one could hear her.
It felt as though she were buried alive underground—isolated and helpless. The early morning air grew colder and colder, yet Guan Zengbin wore no clothing. The chill gnawed at every inch of her skin, causing goosebumps all over her body.
The bed she lay on gradually closed in on her as machines operated automatically. Guan Zengbin found herself caught in between like a pair of chopsticks about to snap. This sensation would be unbearable for anyone.
She was so afraid of the dark; she must be on the verge of breaking down.
Thinking about this made a particularly uncomfortable feeling rise within me. It was a strange emotion, one I had only felt for two people in my life. One was Guan Zengbin, and the other was Zhao Mingkun. These two were sworn enemies.
I didn’t know what kind of feeling this was, but I was certain that if it meant trading my life for her safety, I would willingly do it.
At this moment, I could only hope that Gu Chen had already found this place first. Wu Xiufen had built the activity center to conceal things, using red bricks and cement to create this underground space. Therefore, this place must be beneath Xingdong Village. Even if I had to dig three feet into the ground, I would find Guan Zengbin.
The surroundings remained quiet, but at that moment, a faint sound of a police siren flashed past my ears. I looked at the Murderer; she continued to draw quietly, seemingly unaware of the siren. But I heard it clearly. I woke up to that sound and fell asleep to it; it definitely was the sound of a police siren.
I just didn’t know whether the police car was merely passing by or had begun searching the area. We were underground, and our signal was cut off. However, Team Leader Li would surely be able to locate the last known position of the signal; it was very likely that Team Leader Li had brought people to search now.
It was six-thirty, and the Murderer was still drawing slowly. She was very focused; each stroke matched the pattern above almost perfectly. But while she had time for this, I did not.
The last bowl was at six-forty.
I grew increasingly anxious, but the Murderer continued her work. If I interrupted her now, it might provoke her desire to kill me. In that case, Yama might appear, and if that happened, not only would Guan Zengbin be in danger, but I would also die here.
Yet if I didn’t speak up to ask, by the time the Murderer finished drawing at seven o'clock, Guan Zengbin might have already been stabbed by his own knife. Even if Guan Zengbin could hold on for another twenty minutes, the medical facilities in Xingdong Village were inadequate; if he got stabbed, it would be very dangerous.
At this moment, I had two choices: either ask the Murderer's Main Personality about Guan Zengbin's whereabouts or wait patiently for her to finish drawing and wait for Uncle Personality to appear.
If I chose the first option, there were two possible outcomes: either she would tell me where he was or Yama would appear and kill me. If I chose the second option, there were also two outcomes: either the Murderer would finish drawing and tell me the address with Guan Zengbin safe or she would finish drawing and tell me the address but Guan Zengbin would already be dead.
All four outcomes were unknown options; regardless of whether I chose or not, Guan Zengbin's survival or death remained fifty-fifty. This was a difficult decision, but I had never been someone who liked leaving my fate in others' hands. I needed to know Guan Zengbin's whereabouts through her words; I had to inform Gu Chen before seven o'clock.
"Sister," I finally spoke up.
But I didn’t know if my voice startled her while she was finishing her last bowl. The Murderer's hand suddenly trembled as she reached for the bowl and smashed it onto the ground. It was indeed the bowl belonging to that rooster with a tracker installed; now that bowl shattered into large pieces on the floor.
The air froze at that moment. I thought of four possible outcomes but never imagined it would result in this; I truly did not expect that bowl to fall and break.
Instinctively, I said, "I-I didn't mean to scare you."
But the moment those words left my mouth, I felt something was off. I thought back to what had just happened, and it became clear that the tragedy unfolding was not my doing at all. When I spoke, it wasn't that the Murderer's hand accidentally brushed against the bowl; rather, they had reached out and grabbed it.
The Murderer seized the bowl and then smashed it to the ground. If my shout had startled this sister, perhaps she might have inadvertently knocked the bowl over, but she would never have picked it up and thrown it down. It was evident that the Murderer had intentionally shattered the bowl.
But why would the Murderer do such a thing? Several personalities were clearly trying to assist the Main Personality, so why would they choose that critical moment to destroy the bowl? And who exactly was responsible for breaking it? In that moment, I simply couldn't understand why the Murderer would act in such a way.
I stared blankly at the Murderer's back, while they knelt on the ground, lost in silence. The Tracker continued to flicker nearby; its light was dim, but it was still visible.
At that moment, the crisp sound of the bowl shattering echoed in my ears.
"Woo woo woo..." The Murderer's sobs slowly emerged, resembling a child's cries—soft and whimpering. In this environment, it felt as if a ghostly woman were weeping. The sound was ethereal, drifting as if coming from afar or like someone was gently breathing in my ear.
But just then, the "woo woo woo" of crying gradually morphed into a man's sinister laughter. My heart jolted; it felt like the King of Hell had arrived. Yet this voice did not resemble that of the King of Hell at all. I was momentarily stunned until I finally recognized who it belonged to.
It was indeed that uncle's voice. But why was he laughing like that?
It was a smile that had been suppressed for a long time, akin to a child finally receiving their long-desired toy after a year of longing.
My heart suddenly sank as realization hit me like a bolt.
"What I want..."
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