Nailed shut

As my trembling right hand reached toward the face of this madman, my heart leapt into my throat—nervous, wary, and, undeniably, tinged with a sliver of anticipation. Yet he remained perfectly still, bending slightly but otherwise unmoving, as if he truly intended to let me lift his mask and reveal his face, as if it were solely up to me.

But the instant my fingers brushed the cold, hard mask of the killer, he suddenly lunged forward. With a swift, effortless movement, he pressed his masked face against mine, startling me so much that I instinctively drew my hand back.

Of course, it was never going to be so easy to see his true face.

As I was lingering on this thought, he suddenly spoke. “A Mu, do you really want to see my face?”

I was momentarily stunned, but quickly composed myself, feigning calm and expectation. “Yes, because I need to regain my memories. I want to become who I once was—the strongest, Chen Mu.”

He immediately responded, “Very well, then do it. But remember, if you see my face and remain as ignorant as you are now, I will kill you myself.”

My heart gave a heavy thud. But at this point, there was no turning back, so without hesitation, I tore off the killer’s mask in one swift motion.

His face was suddenly revealed before my eyes, and at the sight of it, a shiver ran through me. An indescribable feeling welled up inside. For a moment, it was as if something in my mind had been triggered, buzzing faintly. His face struck a strange chord of familiarity, yet when I searched my memory as quickly as I could, I realized I didn’t know him at all.

That sense of familiarity, I realized, was much like the feeling from my school days when, in the innocence of youth, I’d catch a glimpse of a breathtaking beauty and feel ripples of emotion stirring within me. I have never had any confusion about my orientation—never before, never in the future—but when a man’s appearance is so striking as to inspire awe, even among men, we cannot help but feel a certain admiration.

Yes, this madman belonged to that rarest sort. I always imagined someone as bloodthirsty as him would have a savage face, a wild beard, the countenance of a fiend. But his features were the very opposite—delicate, almost perfect. His beauty was refined but not boyish; his lines lacked the rugged edges of Jin Ze, his face was gentle but not effeminate, carrying instead a chilling strength, a natural aloofness that kept others at bay.

Just as I was marveling at how such a killer could look this way, he suddenly asked, “A Mu, who am I?”

His question sent a jolt through me, reminding me not to be deceived by his appearance. This was, after all, the demon who had committed a slew of gruesome murders in just a few days.

But I was prepared. I answered, “I feel as though I remember you, but my head aches terribly. The more I try to remember, the worse it gets. Still, I recall some things—Dawn, for example, and that I once killed for points on my own. I hate the Dawn organization. I want to kill more of its members, not just the low-level outsiders, but the core members, too.”

Of course, I was fabricating all of this based on scenes I’d glimpsed earlier. I had no real memories of any of it.

As I finished, he showed no emotion, merely looking at me with calm indifference.

I sensed he was weighing my words, judging if I had truly regained any memory.

My heart hammered in my chest, and then he suddenly said, “Chen Mu, whatever else may be said, you are still as clever as ever.”

This time he called me Chen Mu, not A Mu, which immediately put me on edge.

Still, I refused to give up and quickly added, “Xia Tian. Where’s Xia Tian? I remember Xia Tian. A big part of why I’m recovering these memories is because of Xia Tian.”

No sooner had I mentioned Xia Tian than the dim light in the room abruptly went out.

In that instant, a shadow flitted past my eyes. By the time I realized what was happening, the madman had vanished from sight. His speed was astonishing—truly the speed of a killer.

I was just beginning to panic when I suddenly felt a cold touch against my neck, and terror seized me—he was going to kill me!

He wore knuckledusters with sharp spikes, and those could cut my throat in a heartbeat.

But I was overreacting. He did not kill me—he merely let his hand graze my neck.

Yet I knew it wasn’t mercy. He was playing a game of cat and mouse, just as he had when he spared Jin Ze. He didn’t seek the thrill of killing, but rather the terror his victims felt in the moments before death.

I was truly afraid, and instinctively turned to run for the door, but I stopped as soon as I started.

I knew the door was locked. If he didn’t want me to leave alive, there was no escape.

Perhaps it was a test. If I tried to run, it would only prove I was lying.

So, summoning all my nerve, I spun around, then deliberately collapsed to the floor in a controlled fall, and with a powerful push of my arms, I sprang back up—a move that only someone with good physical training could pull off, and fortunately, I was always in good shape.

Finishing the maneuver with practiced ease, I struck a cocky pose and said, “So, you want to play a game of murder in the dark with me? Fine. It’s been a long time since I warmed up. Moving around feels good.”

I was almost impressed with my own performance—on screen, this would be an Oscar-winning moment.

No sooner had I spoken than I heard a creaking sound nearby, like a knife scraping across a porcelain plate.

In the darkness, I couldn’t see what was making the noise, so I instinctively followed the sound.

As I reached the depths of the living room, I could just make out a shadow in the corner. But the figure didn’t seem to be the madman.

I squinted, trying to see more clearly, when suddenly a beam of light shone down from the ceiling, illuminating the figure—it was Xia Tian.

So Jin Ze hadn’t lied to me after all. Although the cave room had collapsed in the explosion, there must have been a hidden escape route.

At that moment, Xia Tian stood by a table, arranging food on a plate with a knife and fork. The sight of the food made me queasy—it looked just like the false brain matter the madman had once served me.

Then I suddenly recalled what he’d told me before: that time had been a fake, but he would one day serve me a real, fresh human brain. Now I saw he had kept his word, and this proved that the cold, remorseless man was indeed the serial killer the police had been hunting.

I watched as Xia Tian shaped the grisly food into a heart. Clearly, Xia Tian was the killer’s accomplice—it had always been the two of them working together, with me merely caught in their wake. I had never killed anyone, and yet I might bear a terrible history of murder. The thought left me feeling wretched, for I felt innocent, yet burdened by inescapable guilt.

I wanted to be a good person, but reality would not permit it.

Just then, I felt a warm breath at my ear.

A magnetic voice whispered, “A Mu, didn’t you want to see Xia Tian? Xia Tian has always been here. I promised you a feast of fresh human brain—I don’t break my promises.”

His words made my stomach churn; I thought I would vomit, but I managed to hold it back. I dreaded that he would force me to eat the brain, because I knew this time it was no fake. At the same time, I was deeply curious—whose brain was it? Jin Ze had said it was fresh; did that mean there had been another murder?

Who had he killed? Suddenly, Liu She came to mind. Could it be that the cunning, calculating Liu She—the one who played the police for fools—had finally fallen to this madman?

As I pondered, the man continued to murmur into my ear, “A Mu, but if you want to taste what I’ve prepared for you, it won’t be so easy. First, you must prove yourself.”

At first, I felt relieved—I wouldn’t have to eat it. But then I realized whatever he wanted me to do might be even more twisted than eating human brain.

I was still trying to guess what it could be when he pressed a button on a remote. Instantly, a spotlight came on—clearly, the madman was skilled with electronics and had rewired the lights in this place.

The beam illuminated the wall, and my scalp tingled with fright.

On the wall hung a massive cross, and tied to it was a person. At first glance, the scene called to mind the crucifixion.

But the one bound there was not Liu She—it was Fang Lin. Seeing her, my heart clenched, for she had once been my girlfriend.

Suddenly, the madman placed five long steel nails on the table and said to me, “There is no Dawn, A Mu. To prove you haven’t deceived me, use these nails to crucify her.”