"Damn it, could it be mentally handicapped?"
Jiang Qiao had an awkward conversation with the ghost for quite a while, talking at cross-purposes, before discovering that the ghost had only repeated that one sentence from beginning to end, just like a customer-service agent on some platform.
But he could also see from this that
as long as he did not answer its question directly and instead responded with a rhetorical question, he could greatly slow down its killing speed.
Why slow it down instead of stopping it?
Because within these few minutes, more and more water droplets had begun dripping from the man's body. By the end, they had turned into thin streams of tap water. The ground had also changed from wet stains into standing water, which gradually spread.
Jiang Qiao slowly retreated.
Avoiding the dirty water.
But he could not avoid that strange, frigid chill that kept accumulating.
It invaded everywhere.
Drilling straight into the gaps between his bones.
In a daze,
Jiang Qiao saw a huge underground factory.
Blinding white lights.
The pungent smell of disinfectant.
Several employees in gray isolation suits pushed small carts, transporting corpses one after another from one room to another.
Vaguely,
he heard someone crying. It sounded like a little girl.
But she was speaking a foreign language.
Intermittently.
He could not understand it clearly.
It did not sound like English. Was it somewhat like French?
"Scene Recreation?"
The scene before his eyes was in a state of overlap. It was somewhat illusory, but that did not affect his control over his surroundings.
"Was its daughter in an underground Corpse Repository overseas?"
"It went searching."
"Couldn't find her?"
"Or had it itself become one of the corpses in the Corpse Repository?"
Jiang Qiao pondered.
He reached out and pulled open the gate,