The weapon by the pillow

Chapter 95: Record of the Massacre

Director Sun's hand trembled, and the card he had just picked up almost fell onto the table.

"Yes...yes," he answered softly.

"Thirteen years ago, you were in charge of approving urban renewal projects," the man continued, his eyes fixed on Director Sun like a hawk. "During that period, you approved seventeen projects, involving 3,422 households. Among them, eight households experienced 'accidents' during the demolition process, resulting in the deaths of eleven people. Do you remember?"

Director Sun's face turned deathly pale. Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

"I... I was just following the approval process... the actual execution is done by the following..."

"Thirteen years ago, the Anpingli urban renewal project," the man interrupted him. "Jin Dafu's company won the bid for that project. During the demolition process, one family's husband was crushed to death by a collapsing wall, the wife suffered a mental breakdown, and their seven-year-old daughter went missing. Do you remember?"

Director Sun's hands began to tremble violently. He picked up a tile, a Red Dragon, but he seemed not to notice, staring intently at his own hand.

"That family...it was an accident..." he murmured.

"An accident?" The man chuckled. "The forensic report showed that the load-bearing structure was deliberately damaged before the wall collapsed. The police opened an investigation, but the case was dropped three months later due to 'insufficient evidence.' And you, in the second week after the case was dropped, found an extra 500,000 in your account, from an overseas shell company. Do you need my bank statements?"

Director Sun's breathing became rapid. He suddenly raised his head and looked at Sister Fang, his eyes filled with fear and pleading for help.

Fangjie avoided his gaze and focused intently on her hand of cards.

"It's your turn to play, Director Sun," the man said calmly.

Director Sun's hand trembled as he played a card—Red Dragon.

"Pong," the man said, picking up the Red Dragon tile and forming a set with his two Red Dragon tiles. Then he picked up the suit tile, glanced at it, and a cold smile appeared on his lips.

He played a 50,000.

Cheng Tan's heart skipped a beat. The 50,000 was the tile he needed. His hand was now ready to win, waiting for the 50,000 and 80,000.

But he didn't move. He sensed that the card was a trap.

Sure enough, in the next round, after Fang Jie drew her card, she pondered for a long time. Her fingers tapped lightly on the table—it was the same rhythm again, short, short, long, short, short, SOS.

She was calling for help. To whom? Besides the two armed men, only Cheng Tan, Cheng Jing, and General Manager Zhao remained in the room. Cheng Jing stood by the wall, her hands behind her back. Cheng Tan noticed her fingers were twitching slightly—she was using a police signal: waiting for an opportunity.

An opportunity? What opportunity? The two gunmen were clearly well-trained, and the waitress stood at the door, controlling the exit. General Manager Zhao was terrified; he couldn't be relied upon. Director Sun had already collapsed. Sister Fang… she might have her own trump cards, but at this moment, she also seemed to be at a disadvantage.

On the eighth round, Cheng Tan drew an 8 of Wan. He won.

But he still didn't move. He was waiting, waiting for a signal, waiting for an opening.

The game continued. The man with the gun didn't seem to be in a hurry to win. He was manipulating the situation, slowly applying pressure like a cat playing with a mouse.

On the tenth round, the man suddenly turned to Cheng Tan: "Mr. Cheng, I heard you had a nightmare. You dreamt of a room, a woman, and thirteen murder weapons. Could you describe it in detail?"

Cheng Tan's fingers froze. How did he know about his nightmare?

"You investigated me?" Cheng Tan asked coldly.

"Investigate? Just watch the live stream!" The man laughed. "We've been observing you for a long time. From the moment you woke up in room 403, to when you went to find Zhou Zhigang's safe house, and then to when you came here disguised as a deliveryman. I know everything you've done."

Cheng Tan felt a chill run down his spine. If what this person said was true, then he had been under surveillance all along. Who was surveillance? And why?

"My nightmares have nothing to do with you," Cheng Tan said, "but the disappearance of that house may be related to you..."

"It's related," the man said definitively, "because your nightmares aren't dreams. They're memories."

"What?"

"Have you never thought about it? Why are your nightmares so real? Why are the details so clear? Why," the man paused, lowering his voice even further, "why are your nightmares so similar to Jin Xiaohao's memory fragments?"

Cheng Tan's mind went blank. Similar? Jin Xiaohao's memories?

"Jin Xiaohao described fragments of that night thirteen years ago," the man continued. "He said he hid in the closet and saw the killer committing the crime through the crack. The scene he described, the details, even some of the killer's characteristics, all match your nightmare perfectly. Don't you find that strange? Why would an event you never experienced appear in your dream?"

Cheng Tan's hands began to tremble. He recalled the details of those nightmares—the man in a pool of blood, the weeping woman, the swaying chandelier, the cold key, the murder weapon beside the pillow… Every image was so clear, so real, as if he had experienced it himself.

"You mean... I experienced that night?" Cheng Tan's voice was a little dry.

"No," the man shook his head, "You weren't there. But you 'saw' it. In some way."

"I never believe in the supernatural, I only believe in scientific explanations..." Some way? What way? Cheng Tan shook his head.

"It's your turn to play, Mr. Cheng," the man reminded him.

"A story might lead to the truth, but this..." Cheng Tan pointed to the gun barrel, "it might be even more difficult..." He played a safe card—a blank card.

The game had progressed to the twelfth round. Director Sun's condition was deteriorating; he was sweating profusely, and his hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the cards. Sister Fang's complexion was also growing increasingly grim, but she remained calm and continued to play cautiously.

The man with the gun appeared to be handling the situation with ease.

He continued to apply psychological pressure while playing cards.

"Sister Fang," he suddenly spoke, "can you name the owner of each of those thirteen dice?"

Fang Jie's fingers froze in mid-air. Her eyes were fixed on the cards in her hand, but Cheng Tan could see that her pupils were contracting.

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice was cold.

"Then let me remind you." The man took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the table.

A list, handwritten, with thirteen names.

Cheng Tan couldn't see all the names from his angle, but he recognized a few: Chen Jianguo, Liu Xiaomei, Zhang Weiguo, Li Xiuying...

When Fangjie saw the list, her face turned deathly pale. Her breathing became rapid, and her chest heaved violently.

"You...how could you have this..." Her voice trembled.

"I don't just have a list, I also have photos." The man pulled several more photos from his pocket and threw them on the table. The photos were black and white, some already yellowed. The photos showed different people, men and women, young and old. Each person in the photos was missing a finger—some were missing their thumb, some their index finger, and some their little finger.

Cheng Tan suddenly realized something at that moment.

He looked at the photos, then at the bone dice on the table. Thirteen dice, thirteen fingers, thirteen names, thirteen photos…

This is a record of a massacre.