23: Living Oil Painting, The Devil's Game

That was not a painting.

Under the spotlight, there was no canvas, no oil paint.

It was a three-dimensional scene, sickeningly real.

The scene imitated the world-famous painting "the death of marat," the revolutionary who was assassinated in his bathtub.

Except, everything in the painting had been replaced with reality.

An old enamel bathtub.

A man lay in the bathtub, stark naked, his skin a ghastly pale from blood loss.

His body was slumped in the exact same posture as in the painting.

One hand hung limply over the side of the tub, still clutching a blood-dripping quill.

The other hand tightly gripped a piece of paper, upon which a name was written in blood—Chen Mo.

A primitive-looking dagger was plunged into his chest.

Blood had dyed all the water in the bathtub red.

This wasn't an imitation.

This was a... 3D printing, executed with a living life and dripping blood.

"Ugh—"

A violent wave of nausea, Li Ke red-hot iron pincers, gripped Chen Mo's stomach.

He spun around, leaning against the cold wall, and began to retch uncontrollably.

This body's PTSD, Li Ke a dormant demon, was instantly awakened by the ultimate evil before him.

Cold sweat flowed Li Ke a stream, instantly soaking his back.

His vision began to spin, and a sharp ringing sounded in his ears.

"Hehehe..."

That voice, processed by a voice changer and indistinguishable in gender, echoed through the empty hall with a sense of morbid satisfaction.

"How is it, my distinguished guest?"

"This piece, I have named 'The End of an Era'."

"What you are stepping on is a defender of the old order. And you, my future companion, will witness the dawn of a new era."

Inside the command vehicle.

Through the hidden camera on Chen Mo, everyone saw this hellish scene.

"You bastard!!"

Zhao Dahai slammed his fist onto the console, leaving a shallow dent in the hard alloy surface.

"Check! Find out for me! Who is the deceased!"

"Reporting, Captain Zhao!"

Li Ke's voice was trembling. "I... I found it! The deceased is... is the Deputy Director of the Municipal Bureau's Inspectorate Division, Wang Fugui!"

Wang Fugui!

Director Wang, the one who had treated Chen Mo Li Ke trash and kicked him into the cold case Archives Office!

Zhao Dahai's pupils constricted suddenly!

This lunatic, he didn't kill an ordinary person.

He killed a police officer!

This was a declaration of war! It was mocking all the dignity of the police in the bloodiest way possible!

"He used to be your enemy, didn't he?"

The voice, carrying a bewitching magic, rang in Chen Mo's ear.

"I helped you clear away the trash."

"You should... thank me."

Chen Mo leaned against the wall, gasping for breath.

He didn't answer.

He slowly straightened up, forcibly suppressing the churning discomfort within his body.

Turning around, he looked at the "artwork" once more.

His face was still pale, but in his eyes, reddened from retching, there was not a hint of fear.

Only a cold, polar-ice-Li Ke... calmness.

"Artwork?"

Chen Mo spoke.

His voice was slightly hoarse.

Yet it was Li Ke a Scalpel, precisely slicing through the other's smugness.

"No, this is not an artwork."

"This is just a pile of... rather crudely processed trash."

"What did you say?!" For the first time, a ripple appeared in that voice, Li Ke a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"I said, your methods are full of amateurish stupidity."

Step by step, Chen Mo walked toward the bathtub, toward the corpse.

His steps were steady, each one Li Ke a stomp on the other's heart.

"The essence of the painting 'the death of marat' lies in the use of light and shadow, in the martyr's expression on Marat's face—a mixture of peace and pain."

"But you only used a crude overhead light; the lighting is harsh and devoid of any aesthetic sense."

"You didn't even handle the corpse's rigor mortis properly; his arm muscles have already begun to contract, ruining the sense of limp relaxation in the original work."

"And that dagger."

Chen Mo's gaze fell upon the murder weapon.

"You used a medieval replica to create a vintage feel. But you forgot that the person who assassinated Marat was a woman, and she used only an ordinary kitchen fruit knife."

"You haven't even figured out the most basic background knowledge."

Chen Mo's voice wasn't loud, but it was Li Ke a series of invisible slaps, fiercely striking the face of the lunatic hidden in the darkness.

"You think you're creating art?"

Chen Mo walked to the bathtub and looked down at the corpse, at the blood-written note with his own name on it.

"No."

The corner of his mouth curled into a cold sneer.

"You are just using flowery words to cover up your inner fear and... incompetence."

"Shut up!!!"

The voice finally lost control, letting out a sharp roar!

All the lights in the hall suddenly flared to life!

The blinding light caused Chen Mo to instinctively squint his eyes.

On the circular corridor of the second floor.

Stood a man in a black trench coat, wearing a silver mask.

He was the Envoy!

He held a tablet in his hand, its screen showing dozens of split surveillance feeds.

Through these screens, he was enjoying Chen Mo's every move.

"You have successfully infuriated me, Mr. 'Critic'."

The voice behind the mask trembled violently with rage.

"Since you love pointing out mistakes so much, let's play a more exciting game."

He waved his hand sharply.

On the walls all around the hall, all the famous paintings were suddenly covered by black curtains simultaneously.

Immediately following that, the curtains rose.

What appeared on the walls were no longer those world-renowned masterpieces.

Instead, they were... people nailed to the walls!

They were dressed in clothes from different eras, posed in the stances of various famous paintings.

"The Scream," "The Creation of Adam," "The Vitruvian Man"...

The entire art museum.

Had turned into a... gallery of death, composed of living human beings!

"Here, there are thirteen 'exhibits' in total."

The masked man's voice was filled with cruel delight.

"They have all been injected with muscle relaxants; they cannot move, they cannot speak."

"But they are all still alive."

"Their hearts are all connected to a miniature bomb."

"Now, the game begins."

"Among these thirteen exhibits, there is only one... fake, which I put in just to make up the numbers."

"That is a real death row prisoner; his heart bomb is a fake."

"You have ten minutes."

The masked man's voice was full of malicious banter.

"From these thirteen living people, find the only 'dead person'."

"If you find the right one, the remaining twelve can live."

"If you choose wrongly, or if time runs out..."

He spread his arms Li Ke a conductor welcoming the climax of a movement.

"Everyone here, including you, will become the most brilliant... fireworks in this exhibition of mine."

Just as he finished speaking.

The holographic projection in the center of the hall flared to life.

A blood-red ten-minute countdown began to tick away mercilessly.

09:59.

09:58.

...

Inside the command vehicle, there was a dead silence.

Through the cameras, everyone saw these rules of what could be called the devil's game.

"You animal!!"

Zhao Dahai smashed the screen in front of him with one punch; glass shards mixed with blood seeped from between his fingers.

"Bomb Squad! Snipers! Get..."

"Don't move."

Chen Mo's voice came through clearly via the hidden earpiece.

His voice was calm, terrifyingly so.

"This is a game between him and me."

"Any intervention from outside forces will cause him to detonate the bombs prematurely."

Zhao Dahai's body stiffened suddenly.

He looked at the screen at that solitary figure standing alone in the center of the thirteen "living sculptures."

He felt, for the first time, an emotion called "powerlessness."

Inside the art museum.

Chen Mo didn't look at the countdown.

His gaze, Li Ke the most precise scanner, slowly swept over those twelve people nailed to the wall, their eyes filled with endless fear and pleading.

Ten minutes to find the only dead person?

This was an absolutely impossible task.

They had all been injected with drugs, and their vital signs were weak to the extreme; it was impossible to distinguish them with the naked eye.

"How about it, my dear referee?"

The masked man's voice was full of the pleasure of victory.

"Do you feel despair? Do you feel your own insignificance?"

"This is true art!"

Chen Mo ignored him.

He slowly closed his eyes.

To an outsider, it looked as if he was giving up.

But in reality.

His consciousness had completely sunk into the depths of his own mind.

[Heartbeat Localization (Intermediate)]

[Scanning 1000-meter radius...]

On his consciousness radar map.

A large red dot representing the masked man flashed on the second floor.

[Emotion Analysis: Ecstasy, Excitement, Cruelty.]

And around him.

Twelve faint green dots representing the hostages pulsed at an extremely slow and weak frequency.

They were Li Ke candles in the wind, liable to go out at any moment.

Chen Mo's consciousness, Li Ke an invisible net, enveloped the entire hall.

He carefully distinguished the heartbeat of every green dot.

Slow... weak... filled with fear...

Every single one was the same.

No.

That's not right.

Chen Mo's brow furrowed sharply.

He "heard" it.

Amidst those twelve fear-filled heartbeats with a strong desire to survive.

There was one... outlier mixed in.

That heartbeat was equally slow, equally weak.

But in its rhythm, there was no fear, no will to survive.

Only a kind of...

Numbness.

A total numbness toward death.

Li Ke a pool of stagnant water, without a single ripple.

"Found it."

Chen Mo snapped his eyes open.

His gaze precisely locked onto the man in the corner who was posed in the stance of "The Thinker."

The man had his head down, his face obscured.

But Chen Mo knew it was him.

Five minutes remained.

"Decided so soon?"

The masked man was somewhat surprised, then laughed again.

"It seems you're prepared to give up and just pick one at random? Fine, let me see the look of despair on your face."

Chen Mo did not walk toward "The Thinker."

Instead, he turned around and walked back toward the bathtub imitating "the death of marat" in the center of the hall.

"What are you doing?" The masked man's voice was full of confusion.

Chen Mo didn't answer.

He walked to the side of the tub and reached out his hand.

Under the horrified gazes of everyone, including those in the command vehicle.

His fingertips lightly touched Wang Fugui's cold corpse soaking in the bloody water.

[Ding!]

[Strong sinful energy detected, Thought Synchronization (Intermediate) activated!]

Buzz—!

Chen Mo's brain let out a roar!

This time, what he saw was no longer the killer's perspective.

But...

The perspective of the deceased, Wang Fugui!

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