Chapter 222

The heavy iron door banged and rattled, yet the fine needle inserted in the lock core remained unmoved; Wang Jiao stared dumbfounded at the utterly contrasting scene before him.

"Cell block head, what are you doing?" Wang Jiao's brain had somewhat crashed; his fear had been fried into confusion by his cranial CPU.

Chen Ya stood to the side and answered very seriously: "I'm locking the door!"

Wang Jiao pointed at the gruesome bloodshed all over the floor, his throat dry and hoarse: "They're all dead, dead, and you're still locking the door?"

Chen Ya's expression was solemn and earnest: "That's right. According to the division of labor in the plan, I'm responsible for guarding the door, stopping him from getting out, while you lot are responsible for coming in to kill him."

Wang Jiao stammered: "But, but, can't you see? Everyone's dead. We failed!"

Chen Ya frowned, his voice sonorous and forceful, speaking just like he used to rally everyone's morale: "Aren't you still alive?"

Wang Jiao: "Huh?"

Chen Ya spoke in a deep, philosophical tone:

"As long as during the mission process, assuming even one person is still alive, you absolutely cannot say there is no hope of completing the mission. You must believe in yourself, launch a final charge for your own fate, fight to the death, not give up or flee."

Wang Jiao: "......"

Wang Jiao looked at the cell block head's solemn, explaining expression, and suddenly felt a strange illusion, as if Chen Ya's face and another gentle smiling face were silently merging and overlapping.

Although the two faces — one always brimming with a smile, the other always wearing gravity — when they expounded principles, that brook-no-doubt quality was exactly the same...

Wang Jiao's shoulders involuntarily shrugged, his body twitching as if struck by electric current, as if his soul had been completely swallowed by fear, turning idiotic and bewildered.

He extended a finger, now pointing at Chen Ya, now pointing at Feng Mu.

He let out a horrifying laugh from his throat, clutching his stomach laughing until breathless, tears of laughter at the corners of his eyes:

"Hahahaha, you're crazy, you're crazy too, you two are the same, only I'm a normal person left, Maniacal Laughter——"

Wang Jiao did not know that at this moment he had accidentally spoken the fate's underlying label — 【Madness】!

【Madness】: Formal members of Fate, all are obsessive to the extreme madmen; to achieve their aims, they stop at nothing, disregard life and death, never rest until dead.

Empathy reduced by 50%, fearlessness of death increased by 300%.

Chen Ya looked at Wang Jiao woodenly, raised an eyebrow slightly, sighed at Feng Mu with some sorrow: "He seems to have gone mad."

Feng Mu scrutinized Wang Jiao seriously, nodded in considerable agreement, and said with regret:

"Yes, he's mad. It's hard to reason with a madman. Fortunately he still has a face left, so you handle it."

Wang Jiao instantly laughed even more crazily, his whole face twisted from laughter, as if mocking the two of them, yet also as if laughing for his own ears:

"Two crazies, they're in cahoots, hahahaha, they say I'm the mad one, Maniacal Laughter——"

The laughter broke off abruptly.

Because a fine needle pierced into Wang Jiao's cheek, puncturing his flesh, sinking deep into his facial bone.

Immediately after, fine needle after fine needle, dense as a violent rain, pierced into his cheeks one after another, each needle bringing heart-drilling pain.

The laughter turned into pained screams; however, those screams did not last long either, because Chen Ya found him too noisy and stuck a needle in his throat as well.

"Don't move. It'll be over soon. Though I could kill you first then do it, in my experience, when a person is alive the muscles have more elasticity, the cosmetic result is more lifelike."

"Anesthesia won't work either, because after anesthesia the facial expression becomes overly stiff, that would affect the final result."

Chen Ya was like an experienced doctor, patiently soothing his surgical patient; at the same time, he very thoughtfully pulled out a mirror from his sleeve.

This mirror was no ordinary glass product, but formed by a string of fine silver needles cleverly arranged; each silver needle was like a pixel of the mirror.

Although its surface was not smooth, under the faint light it could still faintly reflect the outline of a human face.

Wang Jiao widened his eyes, staring dead at this mirror, yet saw the face in the mirror was not his own features, but a face gradually deforming in a bizarre way.

With each precise withdrawal of needle tips and silk threads, the face in the mirror gradually shed its original features, increasingly matching Chen Ya's appearance; this gradual transformation made Wang Jiao's blood run cold.

"Done. Surgery completed successfully!" Chen Ya announced, his voice carrying a hint of satisfied accomplishment.

Chen Ya nimbly removed the last needle and thread, letting Wang Jiao's gaze fall on the brand-new face in the mirror.

Then he reached out and wiped across "Chen Ya's" throat, ending his postoperative suffering.

"Chen Ya" fell backward face-up; at the last moment of life, his peripheral vision inadvertently swept the floor — those limbless corpses scattered everywhere.

Some missing skulls, some missing chests, some missing arms, some missing legs; they had been arranged in a row by Feng Mu with near-obsessive meticulousness, one by one.

At the edge of consciousness, a puzzled thought flashed: "Strange, why does it feel like there's one extra corpse?"

Carrying this strange puzzle, "Chen Ya" closed his eyes and died unwillingly.

Question:

How to use eight portions of meat to piece together nine corpses.

This question, thanks to the previous life's "Youth Bao Qingtian" for the enlightenment, Feng Mu copied the gourd to draw the ladle, and gave the answer to this ground of mutilated corpses.

He didn't have any perverse hobby of necessarily crushing skulls, tearing off shoulders, smashing leg bones, and such cruel acts; he did these cruel things all for a hidden purpose — to let another person "die" properly and logically in the prison.

Or rather, to let him truly become a ghost who does not exist in the Second Prison!

Of course, the corpse piecing is not yet perfect, may not completely escape the forensic doctor's sharp eyes.

Fortunately, standing at his side is a masterfully skilled tailor.

Sewing clothes and stitching corpses, in technique there is actually not much difference.

This point, Chen Ya proved best with his own practice and experience; he is that artist who uses needle and thread on flesh and blood to embroider life.

"Entrusted to you." Feng Mu lightly patted Chen Ya's shoulder, smiling as he handed over the task.

"Rest assured." Chen Ya's reply was full of confidence; he bent down and began the final processing on those already-pieced-together corpses.

His movements were skilled and silky, as if what he handled were not flesh and blood but soft fabric; he was merely sewing fabric back into garments, as simple as breathing.

"A tailor is art!" Feng Mu sincerely praised in his heart.

All this sounds long but in reality was only a few short minutes; after Chen Ya finished the tailoring work, after Chen Ya completed his tailoring work and carefully moved the corpses back to their original positions, Feng Mu nodded at him.

Then he walked to the iron door and gently pulled out the needle tip from the lock core.

And behind him, there was no longer any trace of a living person; only the incinerator door swayed slightly.

Feng Mu turned his head, used his palm to gently pull the iron door from the inside; immediately after, the iron door was violently slammed open by external force, a figure lost balance and stumbled in, crashing straight into his embrace...

End of Chapter