The beautiful boy smiled.
Not the uncanny smile of something pretending to be human.
No… this one was warm. Real. Gentle enough to melt frost on windows.
He looked at Zhao's stunned face and tilted his head slightly, strands of dark hair brushing his cheek.
"Yi Chen? That is not my name. I am Lian Zhen. Please come in."
His voice was soft. Too soft. Like a lullaby drifting through a graveyard at dawn.
Wen Jun lifted his hand in a small gesture, signaling everyone to step inside. His expression unchanged. His calm terrifying. His violet eyes washed into stormy gray by the early light leaking through the trees.
They entered the house.
It was small. Cozy. Soft lights. Wooden floors. Old floral curtains. A teapot sitting on a stove as if someone had been making tea before dawn called their names.
But the smell.
The smell slapped them like a heavy hand across the face.
Rotting blood. Thick. Metallic. As if the walls themselves were bleeding. As if something had died, decayed, then decided to linger anyway.
Zhao Liren flinched, covering his nose.
Shen Lian shut his eyes tight, leaning away from the source.
But Qin Yuelin…
Smiled faintly.
He walked deeper into the room, completely unfazed, completely calm, his mask covering half his face but unable to hide the strange peace in his posture. Nothing about this should have made sense. Yuelin who trembled at shadows. Yuelin who could not stand the smell of rust. Yuelin who panicked when cutlery clattered too loudly.
Yuelin felt nothing.
Shen Lian noticed this for a heartbeat. A single flicker of doubt. But the smell was too strong, too suffocating, too distracting. His mind reeled.
Wen Jun, unaware of Yuelin's odd reaction, turned to their host.
"Where is this smell coming from."
Lian Zhen's smile faded. His eyes lowered. For a moment, he looked heartbreakingly fragile.
"Ah. I was not home for days. When I returned, I found the smell too. I checked. It was my dog. He died because the ceiling fan fell on him."
His voice cracked in the middle.
A tremor.
A trembling breath.
Eyes glossing with tears that clung to his lashes like dew.
Everyone softened instantly.
Everyone believed him.
Except for Shen Lian.
Shen's gaze sharpened. His instincts twisted uncomfortably. Something inside him hissed that the story was wrong. Too rehearsed. Too neat. Too perfectly tragic.
But he said nothing.
Lian Zhen wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
"I will take him out and bury him in the yard."
Wen Jun nodded with quiet respect.
The moment Lian Zhen stepped toward the back door, Yuelin followed him with his eyes, something unreadable flickering behind his mask.
The remaining four sank onto the old couch.
The room creaked softly, like it was breathing with them. Shadows shifted behind curtains. A fly buzzed near a lampshade. Somewhere deeper in the house, a floorboard let out a long cry, like something heavy had just stepped across it.
Shen Lian's gaze wandered.
Every corner.
Every shelf.
Every detail.
His heart thumped in slow, heavy beats, like it was sinking deeper into a swamp.
Then he saw it.
A photograph on the wall.
At first, he thought it was just a generic framed picture like you find in every small roadside home. But the longer he stared, the louder the alarms rang in his chest.
A man.
Sharp jawline.
Long fingers.
Eyes that looked like they were thinking too deeply.
Heterochromic… gold and blue.
He felt his spine stiffen.
He walked toward it, his breath thinning. His footsteps silent, swallowed by the carpet.
"Zhao."
His voice was tense, low.
"Zhao come here. Look at this."
Zhao Liren walked toward him, confused. Still unsettled from the scent of decay but willing to trust Shen Lian's instincts like he always had.
"What is it."
Shen Lian lifted his phone. On the screen, a photograph. One they both knew. One etched into memory like a warning carved into bone.
Shen pointed at the wall.
Then at the phone.
His hands trembling slightly.
Zhao's breath caught.
"They are the same person."
Shen whispered as if the house could hear them.
"He is He Mingzhao."
The air turned colder.
The lights flickered softly.
Somewhere deeper in the house, something moved.
And from outside, the soft sound of digging echoed faintly through the walls.
END OF THE CHAPTER.