There's definitely something wrong with this murder mystery game

It was nearly identical to the object on the woman writer's body.

Seeing this, the woman writer's expression suddenly became even more astonished, staring at him in disbelief, "Does this mean it's definitive proof we had an affair, even having a token of love?!"

"Cough, don't get agitated."

The piano player awkwardly stuffed the musical note cufflinks back into his pocket, continuing, "Perhaps this object was a gift from someone else?"

The woman writer slightly frowned, but also quickly thought of another person who often appeared in her diary later on, "The blind girl?"

"Right," the piano player nodded.

"But I haven't seen anything similar on the blind girl," the woman writer pondered, resting her chin in her hand.

"You haven't seen it on me either," the piano player said.

"..."

But thinking about it, the doll-collared dress the blind girl wore didn't seem like it had pockets for keeping things.

The reason why the piano player speculated in this way, aside from them both not feeling involved, was because the diary recorded a somewhat intricate intimacy between the three of them.

In the heart of the woman writer, who was devoted to chasing inspiration, the piano player might hold a position similar to the blind girl, for his presence had given inspiration for her writing.

Even more important was what the blind girl said while he was playing piano before.

At that time, not only the dancer's behavior was a bit odd, but he also thought the blind girl's reaction was puzzling.

"Although she's in my diary records and is almost certainly not the 'murderer', I always feel something odd about her." The woman writer knitted her brows, speaking softly, "You don't really think what she said in the living room about 'so-called impressions' is completely credible, do you?"

"I don't know if what she said is credible, but I do notice that you don't trust anyone," the piano player shrugged.

"Can't help it, we don't have our memories," the woman writer said noncommittally.

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"What a pity, if it wasn't for the dancer always clinging to her, maybe the three of us could work together to investigate," the piano player said.

"You don't trust the dancer?"

The piano player didn't speak, but instead raised his hand and pointed at the ceiling of the piano room.

Although the mansion only had two stories, for this type of duplex structure, the owners generally design the space under the sloped roof as an attic, usually used for leisure and sightseeing, or as a private storage room.

[In the attic, the tapping of footsteps interweave into a requiem, freely dancing in this silent world.]

There were many guest rooms in the mansion, but why did the dancer live in the attic?

It might not necessarily be about living there, but in any case, that place was definitely her territory within the mansion.

This territory was indeed a bit eerie.

The woman writer looked up at the ceiling, her eyes flickering, and asked, "What's up there?"

The piano player shook his head and, without responding to her question, changed the subject, "Since we can't directly get information from the blind girl, let's just go take a look in her room. If she hasn't got the object on her, it might be in her room."

The woman writer looked at him suspiciously, "You're not just looking for an excuse to go into someone's room, are you?"

After all, the previous conversation was just their speculation and concoction.

...

In the end, the two still came to the door of the blind girl's room.

The blind girl's room was near the spiral staircase, and after stepping out of the piano room, the piano player even stealthily glanced down the corridor, but the living room was empty.

"They are in the kitchen now," the woman writer said with some resignation.

"Hey, it would be so embarrassing to be caught red-handed," the piano player laughed.

"I've already seen this room with the lawyer before, there were no additional abnormalities," the woman writer stood aside, gesturing towards the red-brown door panel ahead.

"Looking and searching are two different things,"

The piano player said as he put his hand on the doorknob; however, the moment he touched the cold, icy chill, he suddenly withdrew his hand. Enjoy more content from empire

The red-brown door panel in front looked plain and was the same style as every other guest room in the mansion, but the piano player's expression inexplicably became odd.

He stared blankly at the door in front of him, his focused gaze seemingly piercing through the panel to glimpse the scene within.

The female author waited for a good while, but seeing that the door did not open, she couldn't help but turn her head with confusion, "What's wrong?"

"Ahem." The pianist looked down at the dark gap beneath the door that met the floor, speaking in a peculiar tone, "Why don't you open it?"

As he spoke, he also stepped back a few paces, making room.

The female author looked at him strangely, "What's so hard about opening a door?"

As she spoke, she also took a step over to the doorway, but just as she raised her hand to press down on the doorknob, she suddenly paused.

Wait, what's the big deal about opening a door?

The female author swiftly turned her head to look at the pianist behind her, her piercing gaze scanning him from head to toe, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.

The pianist blinked, "What's the matter? You open it. You all have already been inside before, haven't you? I thought about it, and as a man, it doesn't seem quite right to open the door to a girl's room."

After staring at him for a long time, the female author let out a cold laugh, turned around, and walked away from the blind girl's room, her high-heeled footsteps clacking as they receded.

The pianist watched her departing figure with a hint of regret, then turned back to the door in front of him.

He couldn't quite describe the feeling, but he sensed that if he opened this door, he would be facing an abyss!

Such repulsive malice was all too apparent—it was better left to someone else to confront.

...

...

The kitchen on the first floor.

The dancer was supporting the girl, carefully explaining the bloody scene within the kitchen.

At that moment, as if sensing something, the dancer imperceptibly looked up towards the second floor, the corners of his mouth curling into a creepy smile.

"What's the matter?" Xu Shuo asked.

"Hm?" The dancer paused for a moment.

"You just said there's something strange with the refrigerator." Xu Shuo said, his right hand holding a cane tapping lightly on the ground.

"Oh, oh! I'll open it for you to take a look!"

Regaining his enthusiasm, the dancer flung the refrigerator door open, and at once, the blood that had been accumulating inside began to drip down once more, quickly staining the surface of the refrigerator with streaks of blood.

The blood flowing onto the floor kept spreading as the dancer sidestepped to avoid it, also being careful not to let it touch the hem of Xu Shuo's skirt.

"I tell you, inside there's definitely ghastly items like heads, organs, bodies and such!" the dancer said with a tense tone.

"Is that so?"

Xu Shuo reached out to touch the items inside, but his hand extending into the air was abruptly seized by the other person.

The dancer said with a chirpy smile, "So dirty, don't touch it."

Xu Shuo withdrew his hand in stride, asking, "Is it a male or a female?"

"A female, I guess."

"How old?"

"Hiss, B-cup?"

"...I meant, how old was she approximately?"

"That, I can't tell."

The dancer pondered, looking at the empty refrigerator, "But the corpse is missing some weight, so it must have had quite a few parts eaten away. I think the perpetrator kept these remains here intending to continue eating them later."

"She really is pitiable," Xu Shuo said softly, turning towards the doorway, "The kitchen's done, let's have a look elsewhere."

"Where do you want to go?"

"The attic, perhaps."