The Vulgar Fear (23)
The murder scene in the dark depths was gone.
A wardrobe, a full-length mirror, a single bed, no television. There was no doubt that the room before him was a woman's bedroom.
Why was he so bold as to assume her gender?
Simple. The head struggling desperately beneath his hand felt unmistakably familiar—Salma.
If his guess was right, he had probably broken into her home.
Even the sensation beneath his hand was clear: he wasn't holding the back of her head, but her mouth.
It looked exactly like a scene where an intruder was caught in someone's home and quickly covered her mouth to keep anyone else from hearing.
He had to admit, the role this script had assigned him was getting more and more outrageous.
So why was he delighted rather than alarmed by the situation?
First, after so many previous scene changes, when the light abruptly shifted and the "corpse" started moving, Fu Qian's first reaction hadn't been to think it was a ghost or anything like that. He'd thought the scene was changing.
Second, this was exactly the outcome he'd been hoping for.
The notebook under the corpse's head hadn't been some kind of performance art. It had been a deliberate test.
After exploring the place, he'd already figured out the truth about Twilight School.
There was no doubt that Wen, who had fallen from the building, was the culprit. All that remained was to confirm his identity.
But after he opened the notebook, another explanation emerged.
The questions and answers, scrawled until they were nearly illegible, seemed to piece together another version of Eva beneath her tranquil exterior.
Fierce and deranged, she had, at some point, driven a knife into Salma's chest in that state.
At the beginning of the script,