Chapter 5
"What did he do?"
The flickering candlelight lit up the luxurious candlesticks, along with the expensive handmade carpets around, the mahogany desk not far away, and the boy on the black chair.
Osamu Dazai rested his chin in one hand and held a document in the other. His eyes fell on the document named 'Investigation Report of Renyang Aoike'.
"He asked for an undisturbed room, and I gave it to him."
An immature and somewhat excessive girl's voice sounded in the darkness, and through the only light source in this room, the light of the candlestick, one could barely see The short one was a girl in a kimono with long blue hair.
"Then, he wanted another corpse, but..."
After saying this, the girl knelt on the ground, her body moved forward a little, revealing her face, which was probably only eight or nine years old.
She is a killer reserve who was brought back recently. She is an orphan whose parents were killed. She used to wander in the slums. Although she is young, she is highly valued because of her powerful superpowers.
Osamu Dazai also entrusted her with the task of taking care of and monitoring Lianyang Aoike.
"Unfortunately, today's low-level personnel just sent a batch of corpses to the crematorium, and there are no more corpses in the organization."
Dazai Osamu did not look up, he was still staring at the document, his voice casual.
"So you took him to the dungeon privately? If he is a spy, you will make a big mistake, Jinghua."
Quan Jinghua's expression did not change at all, as cold as ice, but look carefully It can be seen that her pupils are anxious, and the hands hidden under the sleeves of the kimono are also tightly clenched.
"But your order is to meet all his requirements."
"Should I praise you?" Osamu Dazai finally raised his head, with a half-smile: "Or should I blame myself for not explaining in detail?"
Quan Jinghua shook her head, her voice was a little trembling, no one could keep calm against the leader of this so-called hell monster, especially when he was angry, she kept suppressing herself.
"I don't know why... as soon as he talks to me, I feel very kind, I..."
Quan Jinghua didn't know what to say.
Nor could she describe the odd feeling.
That indifferent young man gave her the feeling that his mother had passed away long ago.
Dazai Osamu looked at her with a smile, his kite pupils were full of scrutiny: "Qingchi is not such a talkative person as you describe." His
look of hating everyone equally, unexpectedly attracted little girls to like him. He even made her so obsessed that he forgot the discipline of the organization.
"Sorry..."
"Okay." After Izumi Jinghua trembled with fright, Osamu Dazai smiled again, and said in a persuasive voice: "Go ahead, after you take him to the dungeon, he will do everything." What?"
Quan Jinghua swallowed.
"I took him to the place in the dungeon where the garbage for newcomers was placed. He seemed dissatisfied, but he still picked the tallest one out of it, and asked me to help cut that person's throat...and then slit his arm. , took out a forearm bone, and brought it back to that room."
Quan Jinghua couldn't forget the look on the boy's face when he entered a room that even well-trained interrogators were reluctant to go to.
What he looked at seemed to be not the same kind who were crying in pain, but raw materials that were not perfect. No one is even moved by the sight of a fly.
Quan Jinghua, who was evaluated by the trainer as a natural dark killer, thought that if she did the same thing, she would never be so indifferent.
In particular, the first words the other party said after contacting her were enough to make her have nightmares for several days-you are lucky, your mother must love you very much.
Lucky? What the other party said seemed to make sense.
Although the children of the Mafia who can appear at this age are unlucky, they are also considered lucky.
At least the chosen ones no longer have to hide in the dark sewers like wild rats to linger.
Not long after Quan Jinghua fell into hell, she was given salvation by the man in front of her, and became the lucky one chosen by the mafia.
But mother...?
Quan Jinghua did have a mother who loved her very much, but she passed away more than ten days ago.
She didn't know how Qingchi Lianyang saw it, and what kind of mentality he was holding, and said that sentence to her.
Anyway, Quan Jinghua's heart was full of turmoil after hearing this, but the young man seemed to just mention it casually, without taking it to heart, and didn't even need to verify it.
Osamu Dazai became interested: "A bone?"
Izumi Jinghua nodded, and then said: "He also ordered a carving knife, a bowl, a box of ink, a box of pens, a roll of bandages, and a stack of Manuscript paper."
Knife, bandages. Dazai
Osamu recited these two nouns that obviously did not belong to writing materials twice in his mind: "What is he going to carve?"
"A pen."
The deepest fear is because of Dazai Osamu, but also because of Aoike Renyang. She was only a ten-year-old after all, and she had only been in the Port Mafia for a few days.
"That's right, I know how he writes... I also almost know the reason why he didn't use supernatural powers before."
Osamu Dazai put down the materials on Aoike Lianyang and chuckled.
"Jinghua, I need you to do one thing for me."
Quan Jinghua said respectfully, "Please tell me."
"Go to the police station for me, bring back Qingchi's adoptive father's body, and then..." Osamu Dazai paused for a moment: "Ask the Minister of Logistics to see me, I have something to talk to him about."
Quan Jinghua took the order: "Yes."
Recalling the girl's face suppressing numbness and fear under the dim light, Aoike Lianyang picked up the carving knife on the table and shook the white powder on it .
"I knew what story I was going to write."
After seeing the girl, the inspiration came.
Qingchi Lianyang murmured softly, and poured the ink into the bowl.
The room Quan Jinghua prepared for him was not big. It used to be the office of a certain clerk. There was only a set of desks and chairs, and useless documents were listed in the cabinets close to the wall. The lights were turned on very brightly, illuminating the entire office like daytime.
"Such a delicate ceramic-like face, and the fear and innocence in the eyes, it must be a child carefully cared for by the mother." Aoike Lianyang stretched out his left hand, and
put a few scratches on the wrist Swipe hard.
Those scratches were not done by him when he was young, but by Mr. Writer to convince outsiders that his adopted son was suffering from depression. Those in the know can see that those injuries are very difficult to delineate by the self-injurer himself.
Qingchi Lianyang didn't care about this either.
[Eternal Old Things]
Use human bones as brushes and human blood as ink.
It sounds scary, but it's actually a means of assistance, and it doesn't matter if you don't use it.
But after many years of rehab, Aoike Lianyang intends to take it seriously.
The ability has already taken effect since the "material collection".
The dark red blood gushed out from the scratched skin like water, and formed a pearl necklace in the air, dripping into the porcelain bowl half filled with ink, splashing black and red mixed flowers.
"Mother died.
The police found her body on the ceiling of Yuichi's bathroom. Her eyes were wide open, staring straight at the bathtub. In the hot
summer, most of the body had rotted away.
During the process of being transported down, yellow and white oily bodies kept falling from the breach, like melted moldy butter, and poured onto the police uniforms, causing everyone to shout with disgust.
Thinking of her disappearing for so many days, hiding in the ceiling and staring at his bathtub, Yuichi felt sick all over his body.
This chill reached its peak when the police took out a note from the mother's pocket -
"My dear Yuichi, I will always watch over you and protect you."
This is how a mother should say to her son if!
After reading it, Yuichi threw the note on the ground as if he had touched something dirty, his stomach churned.
The note just fell into a puddle of melted fat on the ground, and was mostly wet. On the east and west sides of the beach was a pile of wet, rotten meat mixed with hair.
"Hey, that's evidence!" a young policeman snapped.
"Sorry, I'll pick it up right away."
Yuichi was taken aback. As an ordinary high school student, he was very afraid of these gentlemen who were city law enforcement officers.
"Forget it, it's nothing important anyway."
A chubby policeman waved his hands, and there was a trace of kindness in his cloudy eyes, not much bigger than melon seeds. He had a good relationship with Yuichi's father.
"Yuichi-kun, I suggest that you and your father quickly find a housekeeper to clean up this place. The corpse fluid left on the ceiling may be stained by mice. Of course, it is best to move." "Yes, thank you.
"
Xiong nodded and bowed gratefully. After the policemen walked out of the bathroom, he looked back at the messy room, and his handsome face was replaced by boredom.
He couldn't help complaining about his mother—why he couldn't die a little farther away, and it would be better to be clean. How can a housekeeper be willing to do this kind of work?
Yuichi has always hated his mother in his heart. She is dull, stupid, old-fashioned, obsessive-looking, "poor-looking", not worthy of her father who is a psychiatrist.
Fortunately, my mother has always been very silent, and she doesn't make things difficult for servants like other wives, and she even seldom speaks or moves around, so Yuichi has always ignored her.
But who knew that his mother, who had always been unknown, would do such a big thing to him. If this spreads to the school and father's unit, how can they hold their heads up!
For such a troublesome and disgusting woman, my father burst into tears because of her death.
Yuichi is really worthless for his father. "
When immersed in the world outlined by writing, the writer does not feel the passage of time at all.
Qingchi Lianyang wrote seven or eight pages eloquently, and wrote most of this short horror story in one breath. When he reached the end, his pen froze on the half-written words.
'し'
This should be the dead word, I knew it in my heart, but he was stuck on that vertical, and couldn't hook it up no matter what.
Could he really have written the ending?
The question that echoed thousands of times in his mind rang out again, and the doubts in Qingchi Lianyang's heart were about to pile up into a mountain.
Is it really possible... is it really possible? Is it really possible?
Whenever he was about to write, these noisy voices from unknown sources would sound, disturbing him.
Aoike Renyang remembers his first work, which was a ghost novel, telling the story of a female ghost and a samurai hidden in a teacup.
He intends to write it and submit it to a magazine. But before showing it to the editor, Qingchi Lianyang wanted to show it to the policeman who encouraged him to take this path.
Then...
the door of the room was suddenly pushed open, and the bloody smell that had been lingering in the room was released.
"Did you kill yourself in the house?"
The girl in kimono opened the door and came in, she looked at Aoike Lianyang expressionlessly.
The boy had already taken care of himself, but the hair on the back of his head had no choice but to cut it off because it was entangled with the wound.
The rest of the white hair was long, soft, and uneven, and it looked messy when it fell down, like a tramp or a murderer. So he wove two strands of fine twist for himself, hanging down over the collarbone.
At this time, Qingchi Lianyang was sitting in front of the table, wearing a poor-quality black coat pulled from the warehouse, and raised a pair of cold eyes to look at her unkindly.
Quan Jinghua's eyes fell on his hand.
A hand full of dried blood was holding a white bone pen full of scratches. The wound on the left wrist had just scabbed, and the wound was very long. And the bandage was lying peacefully not far away.
After the guy mixed the ink, he didn't bandage it.
The unhealed wound continued to bleed profusely until the platelets healed themselves and made a mess of the table.
The manuscript paper was wet.
Quan Jinghua couldn't figure out how he used grafted inferior bone pens to create in this murder scene-like place. Shouldn’t novelists have a clean and tidy environment for creation?
Qingchi Lianyang replied: "I am a horror novelist."
I am not afraid of this, and it even fits the occasion.
In order to paralyze himself thinking about the "ending", Aoike Lianyang even went to find the haunted house, dragged out the bones left by the police's carelessness, sat on the sidelines and wrote, trying to use fear to dominate the brain. Of course, in the end he found that it was useless.
He was a monster born ignorant of what fear is.
Did she say it?
Quan Jinghua was taken aback.
After answering her question, Aoike Lianyang put the bone pen on the table with a snap.
He was not a handicraft master in the first place, and the bone material was hard, so he got scratches all over his hands when making pens. The quality of the pen is also not good, and the nib is always crooked, so I am in a bad mood.
"Do you have something?"
Quan Jinghua originally wanted to tell him that his hand was broken, but after thinking about it, Qingchi Lianyang probably wouldn't care about this, so he went straight to the point: "The leader wants to see you." The author has something to say
:
because I didn't find the age when Kyoka's family was in trouble in the original book. I only know that she was brought back from the slums by Akutagawa, so I pushed forward and privately assumed that if she joined the mafia at the age of ten.
People who are "sourced" will have different perceptions of the novelist according to the content of the novel.
Jinghua: Mom?
Aoike: ...