This was a man whose actual age was far younger than he looked.
His rough face was twisted with ferocity, but his bloodshot eyes were red not from anger, but exhaustion.
Though he held a short knife and spoke in a hostile tone, he kept backing away. It was clear he was not attacking, but on guard.
Obviously, this was merely how someone whose nerves had been stretched to the limit, nearly to the point of collapse, reacted when faced with strangers.
Ji Li reached out and pressed his hand against the inside of the security door, shifting his gaze to the Living Room behind the man. His expression changed slightly.
The scene inside flickered between dimness and blood-red hues.
The yellowed walls were covered in splattered bloodstains. The wall directly facing the door had nearly become a blood-red mural.
The floor in the middle of the Living Room had slightly curled at the edges. Blood trickled through the gaps like a stream, flowing down to the floor below and staining its original color.
Human tissue had been discarded everywhere—stuck to the walls, lying on the floor, scattered across the sofa and in the corners... Countless red, white, and black fragments had become impossible to identify as any particular part of flesh.
It was simply a battlefield from hell.
Amid this hellish scene stood a little girl in pale white pajamas.
She held the wooden handle of a fruit knife in her hand. Her head dangled from her neck, and her dead-fish eyes stared blankly at Ji Li.
After Ji Li blinked for the second time, the Old House and the middle-aged man standing before it were still there.
He had known at first glance that he had come to the right place.
He carefully examined the man before entering