Shao Lan tried to turn, but it was already too late.
Red flooded his vision. Blood burst from his chest, splashing across the living room's aged, yellowed walls. The massive blood loss instantly drained the life from him.
His head sagged.
Everything blurred. He couldn't even make out what had pierced his chest, only a length of brilliant red.
It had driven through him from behind, impaling his body.
While he was on the phone, the killer had circled the couch and approached him without a sound.
But... why?
He hadn't heard anything.
Even if the killer had taken off her shoes like they had and moved silently, what about Jiang Mingran, who'd been watching the kitchen door?
Surely Jiang Mingran should have signaled him!
Shao Lan tried to look back, but an ice-cold hand clamped around his neck, pinning him in place.
Then whatever had pierced his chest was withdrawn. More blood gushed out.
He had no strength left to think. He fell to the floor, all thought and consciousness draining away with his blood.
He felt someone dragging him toward the kitchen.
His lifeless eyes stared ahead as the furniture slowly slid past. Then the pile of clutter entered his field of view.
He saw Jiang Mingran.
At last, he understood why Jiang Mingran hadn't warned him when the person in the kitchen emerged.
Blood wound across the floor, soaking all the dark yellow paper bags.
Jiang Mingran's bloodless face lay in the gap between the bags. His unseeing eyes stared into Shao Lan's as Shao Lan lay on the floor.
Jiang Mingran was dead.
He'd died before he could signal Shao Lan.
Without making a sound. Given his strength and athletic ability, that meant he hadn't even had a chance to fight or resist. He'd been killed instantly.
That shouldn't have happened.
It shouldn't have happened at all...
Shao Lan could think no more. He was dragged into the kitchen. After a crackle of static, eighties hits drifted from the radio.
A heavy, cold meat cleaver struck the back of his neck. Blood sprayed into the bubbling clay pot.
That was the last thing he remembered.
...
Drip. Drip.
Shao Lan jolted awake.
Cold sweat had drenched his clothes as though he'd just stepped out of a shower. His face was deathly white, his mouth open as he gasped like a fish out of water.
Everything that followed was familiar.
The living room. The couch. The funeral altar.
And, of course, only two little red goldfish remained in the tank.
At exactly four, the owl emerged again. Then the door clicked. Someone came in.
Driven by a survival instinct that had become muscle memory, Shao Lan rolled over and hid beneath the couch.
This carving was more complicated than the previous ones. He traced it for a long time before deciphering it:
[Rule: Owls are birds skilled at disguise. Do not trust owls.]
Owls? The only thing in this apartment connected to owls was the clock in the corner.
It did only two things: announce the start of the game and tell them the time.
Was the time fake?
His headache seemed worse. Cold sweat seeped across his back as he lay under the couch, mechanically watching the red embroidered shoes cross the living room and enter the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up from beside the couch.
The bedroom door opened again. The dark figure emerged again.
In the faint light, Jiang Mingran looked frighteningly pale, as though he'd just woken from a terrible nightmare.
He stared at Shao Lan, trembling all over.
After a moment's thought, Shao Lan rushed toward the other bedroom.
He pushed open the door and threw back the covers, revealing an old man curled up beneath them.
Before the old man could scream, Shao Lan clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Man..." Jiang Mingran followed him inside, startled. Afraid to speak, he shut the bedroom door and gestured frantically beside Shao Lan. What are you doing?
Shao Lan silently mouthed a question to the old man. "Which time is this?"
Unable to see clearly, the old man struggled and shook his head wildly.
Jiang Mingran found pen and paper and quickly wrote down the question.
He made the letters large and held the page in front of the old man.
"Which time is this?"
This time, the old man could read it.
Shaking, his eyes wet, he lifted a trembling hand and held up three fingers.
Shao Lan quickly scanned the room.
It was slightly larger than Jiang Mingran's and probably the master bedroom.
Like their rooms, it contained a funeral altar, a fish tank, and an owl clock.
Shao Lan signaled Jiang Mingran: Tell him to stay quiet.
After two loops, Jiang Mingran understood him well enough.
He wrote quickly: "Uncle Pancake, I'm Little Jiang. I've bought pancakes from your stall. We were abducted here with you. If you make any noise, the killer will find us. We're going to let go of you now. Don't make a sound. Understand?"
Uncle Pancake nodded desperately.
Shao Lan cautiously released him. True to his word, Uncle Pancake didn't make a sound.
He only huddled there, trembling, clearly terrified.
Shao Lan rubbed his temples.
Though his body was now completely intact, the sensation of being murdered still haunted his mind like a nightmare he couldn't shake.
"Write down what happened to you last time and the time before," he said, pressing the pen into Uncle Pancake's hand. "What you saw, what you heard, what you did. All of it."
"Man, you..." Jiang Mingran started to say something, but a look from Shao Lan stopped him.
Uncle Pancake took the pen shakily.
"Was killed," he wrote in a crooked scrawl.
"Which time?" Shao Lan's expression was cold.
Uncle Pancake stared blankly at him.
"How many times were you killed?" Shao Lan rephrased.
He wrote "2."
"Then we'll do them one at a time," Shao Lan said. "How were you killed the first time? Write it in detail."
Uncle Pancake was close to tears. Recalling his own death clearly plunged him back into overwhelming terror.
"Was watching the shop. Dozed off. Woke up here."
His account was fragmented, his handwriting messy enough to require careful study.
He owned a small shop selling egg-stuffed pancakes. He'd been dozing behind the counter in the early evening when, like them, he'd been transported into this apartment without knowing it.
"Someone talking outside. A man. Went out, saw a woman. Wanted to ask her. She suddenly killed me."
That had happened in the first loop. He'd been the first to die. Shao Lan and Jiang Mingran had watched from their bedroom.
His account largely matched what they'd seen. He wasn't lying.
The "man talking" was Jiang Mingran, holding up his student ID and apologizing to Shao Lan. Hearing his voice, the old man had gone into the living room, where he'd run into the woman, also drawn from the kitchen by the noise. She'd killed him on the spot.
Shao Lan tapped the word "woman" with a finger. "What did she look like?"
The old man's hand shook.
"Black padded jacket. Red shoes. Hair over face. Tall."
He set down the pen and demonstrated, raising his hand beside Jiang Mingran, then lifting it a little higher.
Understanding, Shao Lan's pupils contracted. "Taller than him?"
Jiang Mingran was at least 1.85 meters tall. Did that mean the woman in the kitchen was over 1.9 meters?
Uncle Pancake nodded hurriedly, glad Shao Lan understood. Then he remembered something and wrote two more words.
"Big belly."
Shao Lan and Jiang Mingran's eyes widened again.
A pregnant woman?