Chapter 1111: Killing in a Good Dream

Killing in a Good Dream

In a bustling room of a private club, a young man who looked somewhat like the elder Mr. Porter was slumped on a sofa, smoking a cigarette laced with additives.

He squinted his eyes, as if what he was inhaling into his body wasn't mere smoke, but the finest beauty he could find in this world.

His gaze drifted and then refocused; it was clear that the extract of Maple Kite Grass was taking effect.

In truth, the effects of Ghost Face Mushroom were better, but... it was too cheap. Sometimes, the sales volume of a product within a specific group has nothing to do with its inherent quality, but rather its positioning.

Ghost Face Mushroom was mostly played with by the middle class; its price was very low. As long as one found a place suitable for its growth, one could harvest quite a lot of its spores and powder every year.

But Maple Kite Grass was different. This stuff was extremely demanding of its environment; there weren't many places in the Federation where it could be grown, and there were also some artificial factors involved—

For instance, the Perez family would clear out farms that didn't belong to them and burn the Maple Kite Grass grown by others. The capitalists' game of monopoly in a free market was something they were now playing as well, and they were playing it quite well.

Currently, there were only three or four suppliers of Maple Kite Grass extract in the Federation. They had already carved up the market, so the price of this "naturally" higher-end amusement was naturally higher.

But to say it was definitely better than Ghost Face Mushroom? That was likely not entirely true.

This young man was the grandson of the elder Porter. As a typical future government official, even if he was currently worse than the worst of the dregs, as soon as the right time came, he would put on a formal suit, walk into a government department, and sit behind a desk in some office.

His name would be hung on the door, along with his position in the government department.

It wouldn't be very low; he would start as a municipal councilor. After all, his grandfather was the President; how could he truly climb up from the very bottom?

He didn't need to pay any price to enjoy things that others couldn't enjoy in a lifetime. If one had to say what he paid, it might be that his life would be relatively boring, with little challenge.

That was why he was here looking for amusement now.

Smoke, alcohol, hazardous materials, sex—he was surrounded by things that could stimulate his senses.

The young men and women around him knew that this wasn't actually a good thing, but they would still do it, surrounding him to do it.

Everyone has their own way of living; some are born at the finish line, while others want to borrow the wind.

Mr. Porter's grandson was clearly a decent gust of wind.

"I heard your grandfather is running for President?" a companion he often played with couldn't help but ask.

A smug smile immediately appeared on young Porter's face. "That's right. I heard his chances of winning are very high. In the future, I can invite you all to play at the Presidential Palace. I heard there are quite a few guest rooms inside; we can stay there when the time comes."

Expressions of longing immediately appeared on the faces of the others. Being able to stay one night in the Presidential Palace, even without getting an audience with the President, was already the greatest honor of a lifetime for many people here.

They immediately began to flatter him, which kept a happy smile on young Porter's face the whole time. He liked being surrounded by these people who fawned over him.

As for those who couldn't flatter him, or those of similar status and standing, they were not at this gathering today.

It was impossible for anyone to participate in only one circle; there were many circles waiting for them. In some circles, they were supporting roles, but in others, they were the protagonists.

When they are the protagonists, there cannot be other supporting characters here who threaten his status, so the people here are all similar to lackey roles.

The beautiful girls surrounded him, feeling that smooth skin. Under the influence of the laced cigarette, he quickly entered a muddled state.

It was a bit like being overly drunk, to the point of being unconscious, but it wasn't exactly the same as just collapsing and knowing nothing.

He would remain between a state of sobriety and intoxication, as if standing between illusion and reality. This feeling was hard to describe; the whole world was undergoing wonderful changes!

It became strange. As his senses were magnified, the things before his eyes would sometimes undergo some wonderful changes.

In short, this feeling was wonderful. He began to feel hungry and thirsty; this was also something he often did.

After obtaining all kinds of satisfaction, he would finally release his primal impulses. Today would be the same as any other day in the past; there wouldn't be any difference.

He would sleep after venting in his muddled state, and when he woke up tomorrow morning, it would be a brand new day.

This kind of thing had happened often before. He knew very well that the future of everyone in this room depended on his growth, so he wasn't worried at all that he would get into trouble; they would handle everything.

In his muddled state, he knew he had been sent to his villa. He could feel a girl staying behind to accompany him. He did many things, and finally, he fell into a deep sleep while holding her.

In his sleep, he had a dream. He turned into a ferocious beast, tearing everything apart, and then his consciousness sank deeply into the depths.

The next morning, he woke up from his muddled state. The hangover, combined with other messy circumstances, made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

Extremely uncomfortable!

Whenever he indulged himself the night before, waking up the next morning was inevitably like this.

Alcohol, tobacco, and other things made him feel extremely miserable. He told himself more than once: next time, don't ever do this again.

But once he sat there, starting from lighting the first cigarette, everything became impossible to refuse.

He hadn't opened his eyes yet. The glaring sunlight shone in from outside the curtains. The summer morning sun was very fierce; even if it wasn't direct, it made it hard for people to open their eyes.

He felt a bit uncomfortable as he threw off the thin quilt on his body. This villa had an air conditioning system. In fact, many people still thought that home air conditioning was nonsense, a lie, but in reality, some people had long since been enjoying it.

The room temperature was kept constant at twenty-six degrees, requiring a very thin quilt, otherwise, it would be a little cold.

It was just that today, the quilt made him feel a bit heavy and a bit damp.

These sons of bitches must have wet his quilt and left without changing it. He cursed all these unreliable people in his heart, but soon he felt that something was wrong.

This dampness wasn't just the simple dampness of being soaked by water; there was also a faint, fishy smell. He opened his eyes, stared at his blood-red palms for a while, and then let out a piercing scream.

He rolled directly off the bed onto the floor, using both hands and feet. The muddled sleepiness disappeared in an instant. He looked in horror at the blood-soaked bed, and at a young girl who was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

There were many wounds on her body. These wounds were no longer bleeding; in all likelihood, the blood had already drained out, leaving only the gaping wounds and some dark red scabs.

"Fuck!" After young Porter cursed, he trembled and stood up, leaning against the wall beside him. He looked in disbelief at the girl who had been dead for a long time, and even tried to call her name.

But there was no response; she was already dead.

Young Porter tremblingly moved to the bedside and felt under the girl's nose with his hand; there wasn't a hint of warmth. He was so scared that he hugged his arms and hid in the very corner of the room.

He looked at everything that had happened here and couldn't help but curse again. He didn't know what exactly had happened, but he knew he had caused trouble.

His father and his grandfather had both told him that he could do anything he wanted to do, no matter what it was, they could help him clean up his mess, but he should try his best not to do those criminal things.

Murder, kidnapping, abuse, or other vicious criminal acts—these could not be done.

It wasn't that they had some moral cleanliness, but that they were worried young Porter wouldn't be able to handle these things and wouldn't know how to clean up the aftermath, thereby bringing in some uncontrollable risk factors.

Unlike them, they could handle all potential risks themselves and minimize them, but young Porter lacked experience. He still needed to grow until he was thirty-four before he could be allowed to touch these things.

Touching these too early would only turn him into a liability.

He had listened; he almost never did anything illegal. Even if he took a fancy to a girl, he would use his family background and money to corrupt her.

As for forcing her?

He wouldn't do that. He had a bright future and a prominent family background; what woman couldn't he get?

Why must he hang himself on one tree? His positioning and understanding of himself had allowed him to live smoothly until now—until now!

As if remembering something, he immediately walked to the bedside. He glanced at the girl who had died with her eyes wide open, and grabbed the blood-soaked quilt to cover her face.

He knew this girl; she wanted to get some money from him. A gold-digging girl, willing to kneel before him for money to catch anything.

These girls were just toys and tools to him, but he had never thought about hurting anyone! With trembling hands, he dialed his father's phone number and said in an equally trembling voice, "I've caused trouble!"

Upon hearing his voice, his father knew immediately that he wasn't lying. "Where are you now?"

"What did you do?"

"Who else is around you?"

A series of questions left young Porter not knowing how to answer—what to answer first, what to answer later. He could only hold his forehead and pace back and forth near the nightstand.

While pacing, he answered at his own pace, "I don't know. I went out and partied all night last night, and then, as usual, brought a girl back to spend the night."

"But just now, after I woke up, I discovered that she..."

"Died!" When he said the word "died," he felt unprecedented unease and confusion. He had never had such a thing happen before; he didn't know how to deal with it!

His father took a deep breath upon hearing this. It was just one person dead; to the upper class, this didn't count as a problem at all.

He had experienced many things worse than this—he, the elder Porter, had experienced many. He maintained his steady voice, which allowed young Porter to feel some sense of security.

"Besides you, does anyone else know about this?"

"Are you in your villa right now?"

Young Porter only then remembered that his father had other questions for him. He hurriedly replied, "Yes, yes, I'm in that villa in the suburbs. I don't know if there's anyone outside. I'm in my own room; I haven't gone out yet."

"I'm covered in blood, fuck!"

His father breathed a slight sigh of relief; as long as it wasn't in some public place, it was fine. "Very well, stay calm, lock the door, and don't let anyone in. I'll bring people over immediately."

"Remember, don't open the door for anyone except me, and don't tell any of your friends anything!"

After ending the call, his father immediately took his assistant, and after calling and contacting some people, took them together to young Porter's villa.

There were still a few people in the villa; they were the ones who had partied too hard last night and hadn't woken up yet.

Young Porter's father politely chased them all away. After confirming that there was no one else in the room, he knocked on the door of young Porter's bedroom.

"It's me, open the door."

Hearing his father's voice, young Porter immediately said, "Thank God," and then trotted to the door and opened it.

The moment the door was opened, his father frowned because a somewhat putrid, bloody smell rushed toward them. He and the few people behind him were wearing gloves and clothes that looked like they weren't usually worn.

The first thing that caught their eyes was the blood-soaked quilt, and the raised object under the quilt that looked like the shape of a person.

Young Porter's father walked to the bedside and lifted the quilt, taking a look at the girl's situation. There were others beside him. "Died of blood loss. No fatal wounds in the strict sense, but too many wounds. There are also strangulation marks on the neck."

The person beside him completely lifted the quilt, which made young Porter immediately turn around, not daring to look in that direction, and he didn't forget to curse a few times.

His father, however, was very calm. "Let's get to work first."

Soon, the few people in the room began to clean up the aftermath here. They appeared very professional; they separated everything.

The girl was placed in a body bag, and then the quilt, pillows, mattress—everything stained with blood was packed together separately.

This was to avoid any accidents during the disposal process that might lead to the discovery of a chain of evidence.

These things would eventually be disposed of separately to ensure that even if someone got hold of one part, it wouldn't have any actual value or significance.

But soon, these people who were working discovered a problem.

"We didn't find the murder weapon."

Clearly, such a tragic murder case certainly wasn't completed by young Porter using his teeth or his fingernails. There must have been a sharp murder weapon, but now they couldn't find anything that matched the murder weapon.

Young Porter's father turned around to look at him. "What did you use to kill her?"

"Where is that thing?"

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 1112 =====