Cheese and mousetraps

"Cheese?" Ryuk's voice sounded like fingernails scraping rusty sheet metal. He tossed and caught an apple that was almost rotten through, splattering sticky juice onto the wall now and then. "Did he say cheese? Hahahaha! Does he mean those humans so fat they ooze grease and squeal at the slightest touch?"

He rocked back and forth with laughter, bits of rotten apple falling from his gaping mouth.

"Careful the cheese doesn't crush you... Whoa, now that's a 'delicious' warning." He mimicked the electronic voice, his mockery crude and undisguised.

I didn't laugh. My fingers tapped unconsciously against the desk, making a soft, monotonous sound.

Liu Jianming, deputy director of the municipal Food and Drug Administration. The third person on the list.

The caller had not only singled out that exact name, but also identified his position. This was no longer a vague probe or an attempt at psychological pressure. What did it mean?

First, they had very likely already been monitoring Qian Hui's social connections and communications records. They might even have obtained that internal list in advance. So when Qian Hui shouted those names in public, they could immediately match them to their identities.

Second, they knew the Death Note's "rules" required a name and a face. They were implying that I had learned Liu Jianming's name and appearance through some "unconventional" channel, such as... hacking an internal system? Or did they suspect I had an inside source? Qian Hui's manner of death had been too specific, too pointed. It had exposed how much I knew.

Third, a warning. A blatant warning. Liu Jianming was a government official. Going after him was an entirely different matter from going after a ruthless businessman or a corrupt judge. This meant stirring up a bigger, more sensitive hornet's nest. The web of interests involved would be far larger, and the backlash far more vicious.

"Crushed by the cheese..." I repeated quietly, yet the corners of my mouth curled involuntarily into a cold smile.

Afraid? No.

It was excitement.

He's afraid. Or rather, the forces behind him are afraid. They've started marking boundaries, warning me which territories I mustn't touch. They're trying to lay down rules for me.

How ridiculous. I'm the one holding the ledger of life and death. I'm the one making the new rules. What makes them think the old order can still bind a new god?

But acting rashly would be foolish. I need information. More information about this "opponent."

The pen spun between my fingers, casting a shadow on the faintly yellow paper.

Liu Jianming... I can't touch that name yet. At least, not right away. It would directly confirm their suspicions and expose my contempt for their warning, inviting a more direct, less controllable attack. It isn't time for all-out war yet.

I need another target. Someone who will let me continue my "judgment" while testing their response mechanism. Someone who might even... provide me with information in return.

A "mousetrap," to see just how much "cheese" is gathered around it, and which "mouse" it draws out.

I searched through the dense mass of local news and online public outrage. It couldn't be a government official, not yet. It needed to be someone else who inspired immense public anger, someone the law was powerless against, and... someone whose manner of death could strike precisely at a sensitive nerve.

I found him.

Zhao Kun. Nicknamed "Uncle Kun." A big shot who operated in the gray areas. On the surface, he owned several nightclubs and lending companies. Behind the scenes, he controlled a vast network of underground banks and online gambling operations that had destroyed countless families. Most importantly, rumor had it that he was closely connected to people in Liu Jianming's circle, serving as a front for certain figures and handling funds that could never see the light of day. The police had investigated him several times, but every case had fizzled out for "lack of evidence."

The perfect test case. Going after him will indirectly strike at his protectors without openly declaring war. His death can be designed with an underworld flavor, fitting his identity without pointing too abruptly toward government officials.

Besides, someone like him has enemies everywhere. His death will throw the underworld into chaos, and chaos always makes it easier for people to slip up.

I picked up the pen.

[Zhao Kun]

Cause of death: debt settlement. Time: eleven tomorrow night, in a VIP room at his own most luxurious nightclub, Golden Splendor. Cause of death: metal casino chips embedded in both eyes, while swallowing a large quantity of IOUs (they must be original documents written by his own hand). Before dying, he must use his blood to write his largest creditor's name on the gambling table (I knew who that name belonged to-the code name of a "protector" he would never dare offend).

As I wrote that final code name, I paused. This was a risky move. If they were monitoring Zhao Kun, they would know what that code name meant. Writing it was tantamount to telling them plainly: I know more than you think.

But that was precisely the key to this "mousetrap." I wanted to see how they would react when I touched that crucial code name. A stronger warning? Or... something else?

The following night, at five past eleven.

A post appeared on an obscure local online forum: [Holy shit! Something huge happened at Golden Splendor! Looks like Uncle Kun's dead!]

The post was jumbled and incoherent. It said that a horrific scene had been discovered in a VIP room. Zhao Kun had died a gruesome death, his eyes stuffed with chips and his mouth full of paper, with words written in blood on the table. The poster claimed to have heard it from an employee and said the news would probably be suppressed very soon.

No photos. No videos. The information had been shut down fast.

But it was enough.

I waited patiently. Waited for that disposable phone to ring.

This time, it stayed silent longer than ever before.

Until one in the morning.

At last, the phone let out a shrill cry, especially piercing in the silent room.

I answered.

Once again, there was that brief, token silence.

But when the electronic voice spoke, there seemed to be the faintest trace of... hesitation? Or perhaps a deeper chill.

"Your curiosity," the electronic voice said, stressing each word, "has gone too far."

He didn't mention the code name. He didn't mention Zhao Kun. He didn't mention any specific details.

But he knew. He must have learned about the name written in blood.

"Curiosity," I said into the phone, speaking first for the very first time, my voice a little low and hoarse from going so long without talking, "is the driving force behind progress."

The other end fell silent. For a full five seconds. I could almost picture him narrowing his eyes slightly at my reply.

Then the electronic voice spoke again, devoid of emotion yet carrying an almost tangible chill.

"Very good."

"Then let's see..."

"Whether your curiosity finds the answer first,"

"Or my mousetrap snaps your neck first."

Click. The call ended.

Only the busy signal remained.

I slowly lowered the phone, my heart beating heavily and slowly inside my chest.

A mousetrap?

Did he mean mine, or his?

I walked to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain again. The city's neon lights flickered silently in the night, like a vast, cold chessboard.

The players were in position.

What should my next move be?