Yu Xing had been made into a human-skin garment.
It had happened so suddenly. Just a moment ago, he had felt himself holding the fabric and listening to Miss Wu. He had only glanced at the mannequin a few more times out of the corner of his eye.
The next second, his hands were empty. It seemed as though some important memory had been pulled from his mind. His perspective shifted, and he found himself in the center of the workroom.
He couldn't move, and it seemed he no longer had any concept of facial features, yet he could still "see" the outside world. Lifeless bolts of fabric surrounded him, and Miss Wu stood directly in front of him. She held the withered-leaf-yellow garment—the unfinished one... no, the one that had somehow been completed—and met his gaze with that eerie, serene smile.
A little farther away, a tall male corpse lay on the ground, its flesh and blood mangled beyond recognition.
Was that... him?
Was he dead? When had it happened?
Blood spattered Miss Wu's cheeks. She looked as though she had just committed a terrible murder, and the mess on the floor was several times worse than before. Every detail told Yu Xing that he hadn't suddenly swapped places with the human-skin garment on the mannequin. Something had happened, but it had left no trace in his mind.
Yu Xing: "..."
Tsk. This was interesting.
The same thing had happened the first time he touched Qianjie's idol. Somehow, he had forgotten a huge chunk of time.
Cognition and memory were closely linked. Qianjie was undoubtedly a master at manipulating memories. Yu Xing hadn't expected that Miss Wu could do the same, even though Qianjie himself wasn't here. She was, at most, one of his followers.
Or perhaps Miss Wu