So it wasn't that she had failed to recognize him—it was that she had recognized him for who he "really" was.
After that unusual gesture, she did not hesitate in the slightest. The faint sound of the staff member's footsteps quickly faded away.
For Fu Qian, both the earlier warning and the thing in his hand drove home one point.
The attendant had not been unskilled at her job and mistaken him for the original owner of these clothes. On the contrary, that was exactly why she had come.
She not only knew that he was the columnist who was supposed to have been tied there and suddenly gone mad, but had specifically come to warn him—and had even given him something.
As expected, the sanatorium had not disappointed him. It was becoming more interesting by the minute.
At the same time, though, another thought became increasingly familiar—wasn't this timing a little too precise?
How did she know he would escape?
How did she know he would escape at this exact time?
This was no longer a matter of waiting here with a stopwatch. It was like a director was on site, holding a script and calling the shots.
Yet despite those doubts, Fu Qian did not chase after her to ask more questions. He kept walking without pause, continuing in the opposite direction.
Then, at one point, he lowered his head to look at the thing in his hand—
[Having escaped by sheer luck, the columnist knew that his crude disguise would not buy him much time.
However, before he could pass through the thorny hedge and find a way to flee into the mountains, he luckily learned that it was actually a trap.
After a brief internal struggle, he chose to trust the warning and instead find a