24 Prison Break

When I saw that figure suddenly rise from the blood-filled coffin, still clutching a severed head in its hand, I was stunned, my heart nearly leaping out of my throat.

Because the headless figure stood up with such force, the blood was agitated, spraying all over Fang Qinghe and me.

Fang Qinghe reacted quickly, pulling the trigger on the headless man instantly. He did not intend to kill the creature at first, likely assuming it was a prank involving a head hidden inside the clothes, and wanting to take it alive. His aim was excellent; he struck the thing’s knee with a single shot.

I, acting on pure physical instinct, fell to the ground, rolled, and only stood up after confirming I was safe.

Once on my feet, I saw the terrifying thing still standing in the coffin, motionless. Though it lacked a head, I felt as if a pair of eyes were staring at me from the hollow space where the head should have been, making my skin crawl.

It was covered in blood, and the head in its hand was drenched as well, making its features indistinguishable. Since it had crawled out of this coffin, I immediately assumed it was the assassin, Chen Mu.

Fang Qinghe hadn't lied; the assassin Chen Mu had been beheaded, but he hadn't died! Or rather, he was dead, but his ghost was still controlling his body?

My worldview began to crumble. Was it truly a ghost that had been taking revenge on me all this time?

While I was trembling in fear, Fang Qinghe aimed his gun at the headless figure and said, "Who is playing these tricks? If you don't show your true face, I will shoot to kill."

The headless corpse ignored him. Even after being shot in the knee, it didn't collapse or react, which made it clear that this was no mere prank.

Ultimately, Fang Qinghe pulled the trigger again, the bullet striking the figure's chest. With a wet thud, I saw flesh and blood fly, yet it remained standing, perfectly still.

Even Fang Qinghe was taken aback, his brow furrowing.

However, Fang Qinghe was truly capable. As the leader of the Cold Case Unit and an officer of the Ministry of State Security, he finally showed me his real prowess. He pushed off the ground, leaped into the air, spun sharply, and delivered a powerful kick to the creature's chest. The headless man was sent sprawling, his back slamming against the side of the coffin with a loud crash.

Yet, a chilling sight followed. As soon as the headless figure hit the edge of the coffin, it sprang back up in a single motion, swaying for a moment before standing firm.

Even more horrifying, whether by intent or momentum, the head it held was suddenly flung away. It rolled across the floor and stopped right at my feet.

I scrambled back two steps in fright, but I couldn't help but look at the head. Upon closer inspection, I realized something was off. I knew my own face well; even covered in blood, I could tell it wasn't me.

The face was familiar, however. It hit me suddenly: it was Jiang Haodong, the police officer who had told me about the existence of another Chen Mu!

I hurried to tell Fang Qinghe, "Team Leader Fang, Team Leader Fang! This isn't the assassin Chen Mu's head; it's Jiang Haodong's!"

When I looked at Fang Qinghe, his actions shocked me. He jumped directly into the blood-filled coffin and grabbed the headless corpse, trying to pull it out. He was truly fearless.

"Chen Mu, don't panic," Fang Qinghe said. "I've figured it out. It's not a ghost. There's a mechanism here. Come and help."

I mustered the courage to join him. We tipped the coffin over, draining the blood, and found a spring-loaded catapult mechanism fixed to the bottom, along with a signal receiver.

The headless corpse was just that—a corpse. Two long metal rods had been driven through its body from the soles of its feet to its shoulders, allowing complete control over its movements. Once the receiver caught a signal, the catapult would trigger, forcing the corpse to stand up. That explained why it rose so abruptly and why it bounced back up after Fang Qinghe kicked it.

It really proved the saying that a criminal with intelligence is the most dangerous kind; this pervert was a total genius.

After we pieced the head and body together, we confirmed it was indeed Jiang Haodong. It was now obvious: Jiang Haodong had been killed by the assassin Chen Mu. As for the nature of the assassin—whether he was alive, resurrected, or a ghost—I had no way of knowing, as I hadn't witnessed his beheading.

But one thing was certain: the assassin Chen Mu was seeking revenge with a vengeance, killing everyone who had ever harmed him or displeased him in the most extreme ways.

Fang Qinghe frowned and muttered, "It seems someone was here. They stole the assassin Chen Mu's body and left Jiang Haodong’s to confuse us and scare us off."

He rushed out to search, but found no one. I knew the culprit had likely been watching us the whole time—otherwise, the signal receiver wouldn't have been triggered—but he had surely escaped by now.

"Chen Mu," Fang Qinghe said, "it’s not a supernatural haunting; someone is definitely pulling the strings. But I believe you now. Perhaps there was something fishy about the original beheading operation, or someone else is mimicking the assassin. Either way, I will keep investigating. The truth will come to light. I must return for an emergency meeting."

Suddenly, he seemed to remember something. "Bai Ye! I have to check on Bai Ye immediately to see how he is. He’s a dangerous lunatic; if he escapes as well, this camp of perverts will be impossible to handle."

At the mention of Bai Ye, my heart skipped a beat. Though I wasn't the real assassin, I had played the role twice—once as an undercover agent and once while suffering from amnesia. The second time had left a deeper impression, revealing a softer side to Bai Ye’s character.

I felt a spark of anticipation. It had been a while since I last saw him, and I wondered what his state was.

We went to the prison-hospital where Bai Ye was secretly detained. With Fang Qinghe’s high status, we faced no obstacles and soon arrived at the ward.

We pushed the door open to find a bed with someone lying quietly beneath the covers, surrounded by medical equipment.

For some reason, when I looked at Bai Ye on the bed, something felt wrong. It was an indescribable feeling, but I knew there was a problem.

The doctor who had accompanied us suddenly cried out, "Oh no! The instruments show no signs of life!"

Fang Qinghe rushed to the bed. I was curious why Bai Ye was lying on his side, and then Fang Qinghe yanked back the blankets.

When he did, my heart sank, and my scalp went numb.

There was a large pool of blood on the bed. Lying in it was a person—or rather, half a person. The body had been severed at the waist. The lower half was missing, leaving only the torso.

And it was not Bai Ye.