Investigations

At the school evening party, four girls from the Dance Club collapsed from poisoning while performing ballet.

After being sent to the hospital, three died from the poison, and one was lucky enough to survive.

The one who survived was me.

The one who poisoned them was also me.

I spent ten years in the imperial harem testing rouge, and not once did I fail to detect a single trace of poison.

That was until Consort Hua dropped dead after applying the “Drunken Beauty Red” I had personally verified.

It was then that a newly arrived talented lady told me: what truly kills isn’t the rouge, but the intent to murder.

When I was a child, my father once gave me a ten-yuan bill as pocket money.

He said he had picked it up on the road.

I remember very clearly that on the back of that bill, written in black ink, was a line:

“There is a pyramid scheme on the fifth floor. Help.”

I took the money to show my father, and he smiled and told me,

“Who knows how many people have used this bill? Who knows when those words were written? Maybe the person who wrote them has already been rescued.”

I was in a hurry to buy chocolate, so I didn’t think much about it.

Because chocolate is sweet, after all.

Not long after, there was a piece of news on TV.

“A man mistakenly entered a pyramid scheme den, was beaten to death, and then dismembered.”

As a child, I stared blankly at the television.

My father also stared blankly at the television.

I asked him what was wrong.

He shouted at me angrily, telling me not to meddle in his business, and then left the house.

At the time, I didn’t know what was going on; I just felt confused.

It wasn’t until the New Year, at the family dinner, that my father got drunk and cried uncontrollably. In front of all the relatives, he confessed to picking up that bill.

The place where he found the money was directly below the den mentioned in the news.

In other words, the words on that ten-yuan bill were very likely written by someone who had fallen into that pyramid scheme, possibly even the person who was dismembered.

He sobbed, clutching a bottle of liquor, saying that it was his fault that the man died. The whole family comforted him, but I just stood aside, dumbfounded and at a loss.

So… I used that money to buy chocolate…

Something indescribable seemed to awaken within me.

Throughout my later life, I would often think of that ten-yuan bill.

I wondered, was the original owner of that money alright? Was he really rescued? Or… did that money really come from the man who was dismembered?

If it really came from him, he must have endured painful beatings and inhuman torture before finally seizing a chance one day to write those words for help on the bill and toss it out the window.

He must have clung to hope for rescue until the very moment he died.

Yet my father ignored that hope.

I always ask myself, if I had been the first to find that bill, could I have saved him? Or would I have overlooked the writing, just like my father?

This thought haunts me like a ghost, tormenting my mind more and more as I grow older.

Until that day.

A new “bill” appeared before me.

…

I was about to hide my boyfriend’s body in the refrigerator.

Then Siri on his phone suddenly spoke.

“The refrigerator is not the optimal location for concealing a corpse.”

I stared at the phone on the floor in terror, a chill running through my entire body.

“A better location for corpse concealment has been detected. Would you like to proceed?”

Siri continued. As if possessed, I asked, “Where?” “The basement. The entrance is inside the wardrobe in the master bedroom.”

Half-doubting it, I followed Siri’s instructions and actually found the basement.

It really was the perfect place to hide a body. Because inside, I found several more corpses…

A year ago, on a whim, I told my wife a story.

Because the content was bizarre and the details were too realistic, she was scared out of her wits.

Afterwards, I deeply regretted it and emphasized countless times that the story was made up. But her trust in me had already collapsed, and the look in her eyes was filled with fear.

That night, she ran into the bathroom, locked the door, and called the police.

As a result, I ended up in jail.

Now, I am sorting out the whole incident as follows.

At the Dong Manor’s night banquet, the beautiful Singing Girl transformed into a Pink Skeleton.

The next day, I entered the manor to interrogate, but everyone gave the same answer: they saw nothing.

What was even more outrageous-

The coroner’s examination revealed that the skeleton was a man!

After my ex-boyfriend, Gu Yanzhou, died, his will specifically named me as the one who had to read it aloud. He left me one billion in equity, three video recordings, and a final message: “Don’t be so quick to hate me. Among the people sitting across from you tonight, there is one who killed me-and your brother.”

At my boyfriend’s house, I finally found my aunt, who had been missing for over a decade after being abducted.

She was no longer the gentle, soft-spoken goddess from the dance department I remembered.

As for the family that had tormented her: the father, dressed in a sharp suit, expected me to call him ‘Uncle’; my boyfriend was in the middle of a soulful marriage proposal; and the youngest sister, wearing a bright, radiant smile, referred to her as ‘the family-less madwoman.’

–

I swear, I didn’t mean to break into that room.

It was just that the sound of something slamming against the door was so violent, it made me feel as if a wild beast were trapped inside.

My cousin is dead.

His hands were tied to a ceiling beam, and he was wearing a red dress over a swimsuit-a swimsuit that was still dripping wet.

The police report claimed it was a suicide.

But I know he didn’t kill himself. And I know who’s next.

It’s me. There is no escape.

On the night of February 2, 2011, my daughter was lured to a park under the guise of a part-time job.

There, she was raped and her body was discarded. At least three people were involved in the assault, but the killers were never found.

On New Year’s Eve, 2026, I prepared a table full of poisoned food and looked at my daughter’s photograph. “It’s been fifteen years, and I still haven’t found the people who destroyed you.

I don’t want to spend another New Year without you. I’m coming down to join you now.”

As the poison began to take effect, I set down my chopsticks and leaned over the table, retching. Just then, my phone rang.

When I answered, a familiar voice came from the other end: “Dad, I’m at the park. Wait for me, I’ll be home soon.”