Release them immediately.

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Staring at the wide-eyed head in the corner under the bed—a head that looked as though it could not rest in peace—I was utterly horrified. I felt that the very first thing I would do upon returning home would be to change my underwear, because I had already wet myself.

Despite the terror clawing at my heart, I couldn’t help but take another look at the severed head. Only then did I realize it was Zhang Wentong—the very psychiatrist recently discovered dead. This baffled me. Hadn’t the police already taken away his body? Why was his head severed and hidden beneath this bed?

It was so perplexing, so unbelievable, that I wondered if perhaps I was mistaken. Surely the police would have kept a strict watch over the corpse—how could the head have been removed without anyone noticing?

I thought maybe I was seeing things, maybe it wasn’t Zhang Wentong after all. So I crawled a little closer for a better look. Up close, I could see his mouth had also been sewn shut with black thread. It truly was Zhang Wentong, only his expression seemed even darker and more sullen.

What frightened me further was the yellow talisman paper stuck to his forehead, exactly like the ones used in horror films to ward off the dead. I shivered involuntarily, immediately thinking of Zhang Wentong, who had been calling me incessantly.

Damn it, could it be that the one calling me all this time was this severed head? Had some evil master used a special technique to control him?

My imagination ran wild, and suddenly I noticed a line of tiny writing on the yellow paper. Summoning my courage, I leaned in to read it, and instantly a chill ran from the soles of my feet to the top of my head—a fear that seemed to come from the very depths of my soul.

On the yellow paper, it read: “Chen Mu, remember to mail this head to that address in your name. You must send it, or you will die a terrible death.”

To be honest, I was utterly petrified. My mind went blank—not so much from the horror of the severed head itself, but because whoever left that note seemed to know me inside and out. They had somehow predicted I would crawl under the bed and see Zhang Wentong’s head, so they left this message just for me.

But soon I was somewhat relieved. Perhaps the person wasn’t that deranged—no matter whether I hid under the bed or not, the police would have found the head eventually, and I would have seen the note then.

What continued to puzzle me, though, was if the police found the head, how could the person be sure the police would let me mail it out? If I didn’t send it, would I really die a miserable death?

A torrent of questions exploded in my mind, leaving my thoughts a tangled mess. Who was this twisted mastermind, and why were they controlling me?

Could it really be He Ping?

In the end, I figured He Ping had already left, so I decided to get out of there first and wait for Jin Ze outside. After all, the severed head was simply too unnerving.

I crawled out from under the bed, my nerves stretched taut. I had no interest in checking out the knives in the wardrobe, and headed straight for the door.

As I stepped out of the room, I suddenly noticed that the television was still playing footage—showing the scene of me sleepwalking, returning with the heart and liver. My heart leapt to my throat. Hadn’t I ejected the disc just now? Why was the footage still playing?

I supposed He Ping must have watched it again before he left. But I found it odd he hadn’t taken the disc with him as evidence. Clearly, He Ping hadn’t come here as a police officer this time.

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As I was thinking this, I suddenly saw a shadow stretch across the floor and swiftly envelop me.

Someone was behind me!

I spun around instinctively and found myself staring down the dark barrel of a gun.

It was He Ping, gun in hand, aiming at me. He spoke coldly, “Chen Mu, it really is you. You are under arrest.”

Honestly, in that moment, I couldn’t react at all. The reversal happened so quickly. I’d been pondering what kind of person He Ping was, only to have him, the very next second, standing before me in the righteous guise of an officer, arresting me.

I stood there, mouth agape, staring blankly at him. He looked at me with stern seriousness, his square face filled with an upright, indignant air, as if he were righteously furious.

I was bewildered. Had I misunderstood him? Was He Ping really just brought here to investigate, lured by the killer to catch me?

I hurried to explain, “Officer He, there’s been a misunderstanding—I’ve been framed. You’re being used. I have nothing to do with this!”

As soon as I finished, there was a pounding on the door. It wasn’t fully closed, so with a kick, it swung open, and Jin Ze burst in, gun drawn. He’d arrived much faster than I expected.

Seeing Jin Ze, a thought flashed through my mind—perhaps He Ping realized I had called Jin Ze for help, knew Jin Ze was almost there, and, with no time to escape, decided to switch roles and arrest me as a police officer.

Either way, with Jin Ze here, I felt safe at last.

Jin Ze immediately questioned He Ping: “Old He, what’s going on? Is the evidence conclusive?”

He Ping nodded. “The evidence is solid. We caught him red-handed. This must be another of Chen Mu’s hideouts. We found his personal belongings here, and that disc—look, it’s the most direct evidence.”

Jin Ze turned to watch the footage on the TV. When he saw me carrying the heart and liver, he frowned deeply.

Soon, Jin Ze looked at me. “Chen Mu, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

I immediately protested, “It’s a misunderstanding! I was lured here—check my phone, Zhang Wentong called me again and told me to come here. I’ve never been to this place before. Someone set this all up to frame me. He wants to ruin me.”

Thinking that wasn’t enough, I added, “I don't even know what’s going on in that video. Even if I was sleepwalking, you can’t just say I’m the killer because of that. Zhang Wentong said sleepwalking doesn’t make people murderers—if I had killed someone, I would have woken up. And if I were the killer, would I be stupid enough to keep this incriminating video at my own place?”

He Ping retorted, “Nonsense. Chen Mu, wake up. Whether you’re pretending or truly unaware, the fact remains: you killed someone. But you’re not the only one—there’s an accomplice. That’s why you have perfect alibis for some cases. And you didn’t put the video here; your partner did.”

Hearing He Ping’s deduction, I decided to throw caution to the wind. “Jin Ze, don’t believe him! He Ping is the one with the problem. How did he know to come here? He was admiring the knives earlier and standing by the bed to scare me. He knows this place inside out. If I hadn’t texted you for help, he might have already killed me. He’s turning on me now because he knows you’re here and doesn’t have time to run or hide. So he’s putting on his police mask.”

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No sooner had I finished than He Ping snapped in a low, angry voice, “What a glib tongue—too bad your slander is so feeble.”

As soon as he finished, Jin Ze shook his head at me. “Chen Mu, this time you’re wrong. Old He came because we received a tip-off directly naming you. He didn’t come alone—he notified me and other officers before arriving. Your accusations against him don’t stand.”

Hearing this, I suddenly understood—I’d been too naive, falling into a trap. He Ping might not be the killer after all; perhaps, like me, he’d been lured here to complete the frame-up against me. The real killer had exploited my suspicions, turning the police’s trust in me to dust. Now I was nothing but a desperate madman biting at anyone.

I trembled with anger, wanting to defend myself but unable to find the words—my thoughts were a tangled mess.

More officers soon arrived, and I was taken away.

That very night, they launched an emergency interrogation. It was He Ping and Jin Ze questioning me together. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, on the verge of collapse.

Jin Ze spoke first, “Chen Mu, until you confess, you’re just a suspect. You have the right to defend yourself. Is there anything you want to say?”

His words sounded like a reminder—there was still hope. That pulled me back from the edge of despair, and I immediately said, “I’m innocent! Think about it—if I were the killer, would I be stupid enough to lure the police to myself? Didn’t He Ping say he received a tip? Bring the informant here—let me confront him face-to-face!”

He Ping replied, “I only received an anonymous message and a video clip online. I’ve never met the informant.”

I pressed on, “Exactly! How could the informant know so much about the case? He must be the real killer. He’s watching you head in the wrong direction, laughing at you behind your backs! You’re being played for fools!”

He Ping tapped the table and said, “You’re right, the informant could very well be the killer. But that doesn’t prove you aren’t. In fact, it only makes you look more suspicious. The informant could be your accomplice. Maybe you fell out, or he wanted to operate alone, so he abandoned you and handed you to us. Either way, you’re a killer—one of them.”

He Ping’s reasoning was methodical and logical, leaving me momentarily speechless.

Just then, the door to the interrogation room opened and in walked Miao Miao, curvy as ever.

She carried a test report and said directly, “Captain Jin, it’s confirmed—the bloodstains on the funeral robe you gave me are indeed from the deceased, Zhang Wentong.”

She shot me a cold look, as if to say, “What a perverted murderer—you deserve to die.”

I shivered, knowing this bloodstained funeral robe was yet another piece of evidence against me. I was doomed—if not convicted immediately, I’d still spend the coming days in detention. Unless the real murderer was caught, I would become the scapegoat.

Just as I was drowning in despair, the interrogation room door swung open again, and a deep, magnetic voice rang out: “Fools—release him at once!”