“How did you kill him, and how did you dispose of his body?”
Qi Si mulled the question over in his mind, sinking into thought.
The question was undoubtedly asking about the method of murder. Given the peculiar way the corpse before them had died, if he described the details of how he handled his own victim, the other players could easily connect the dots.
Unless...
“Shouldn’t player number five be the one to start?” Hansen suddenly interjected. “I don’t think Zhou Ke is the killer. What if the real killer is number four or five? They could use the time while we’re talking to cook up a good lie.”
Qi Si, who had just been inexplicably cleared of suspicion, raised an eyebrow at Hansen.
It was obvious this man wasn’t trying to help him; he just didn’t want to be the first to speak. By starting with number five, Hansen would be the fourth to answer, giving him plenty of time to think.
What was he so afraid of?
A suspicion formed in Qi Si’s mind. It needed verification, but given the Weird Game’s penchant for cruel twists, it was highly probable...
“You should know that your request is not reasonable,” Cynthia said, her voice deep as she looked at Hansen. “The question about age was simple, unlikely to reveal any tells. But the method of murder could easily expose useful information. Please permit me to be impolite and blunt, but I find you extremely suspicious.”
Cynthia projected the kind of dignified grace unique to educated, cultured older women. A benevolent smile remained on her lips, so that even as she delivered such a sharp accusation, she sounded like a grandmother offering guidance to a younger generation.
“Hansen, you are the only one of the five of us who hasn’t taken notes. The first question was simple, yet all of us jotted down at least some information about the others. Only you recorded nothing. In fact, while the others were speaking, you looked distracted, like a startled squirrel at the mouth of its burrow.”
“Logically, someone who truly wants to find the killer would pay close attention to the words and expressions of every suspect, but you did not. You’ve been trying to lead us to suspect others, and you’ve twice suggested we start with number five. I’m sorry, but I have to suspect that you know you are the killer and have been trying to figure out how to absolve yourself.”
Hearing this, Hansen’s expression soured. He pointed a finger at Cynthia and roared, “You’re the one who’s suspicious, old woman! You were supposed to just give your age, but you rambled on and on. Who knows what useful information you were trying to hide! So what if I didn’t take notes? It was just our ages, simple enough to remember after hearing it once, wasn’t it?”
He knew his actions were indefensible, so he could only retaliate with accusations of his own.
Qi Si watched this play out and chimed in nonchalantly, “So, Ms. Cynthia, could your actions now be interpreted as, one, you want us to suspect Hansen, and two, you don’t want to be the second to speak?”
Cynthia was genuinely surprised that after she had avoided implicating “Zhou Ke,” he would turn around and bite her.
However, drawing on her years of experience navigating the political arena, she knew she would betray no flaw in her expression or demeanor. She calmly replied, “Although this does indeed cast suspicion upon me, I must maintain my doubts about Hansen. The order of speaking makes no difference to me. I am more than willing to cooperate with any questions and investigations, in the hope of eventually earning your trust. As you all know, it is not a pleasant feeling for an innocent person to be treated as the culprit.”
Hansen sneered, scoffing, “You’d know all about that!”
Cynthia shook her head with a weary smile. “Sir, I do not believe you are innocent.”
As the two bickered, He Hui buried her head low, as if trying to shrink into the floor.
Dong Xiwen glanced at the players, then at the unmoving figure of Charlie by the side. He cleared his throat and announced, “Then let’s have this round of questions start with me.”
The argument ceased. Qi Si leaned back in his chair, relaxing as he observed this rookie who seemed so out of place among the others.
Dong Xiwen was dressed in a casual gray hoodie. His features were plain, not ugly, but the kind that would go completely unnoticed on a college campus.
His eyes were bright, shining with a kind of clarity and sincerity. The last person who had given Qi Si that impression was Lin Chen, back in the Rose Manor instance.
“The security around my university was terrible. It wasn’t hard to get your hands on illegal substances. I was a chemistry major myself, so I used to synthesize some chemical compounds. After I decided to kill that person, I created a hallucinogenic drug, knocked him out with it, and threw him from the roof of a building.”
“Why did you kill him?” He Hui asked, picking up the thread.
“Because he killed my little brother.” Dong Xiwen’s fists clenched tightly.
He Hui lowered her head again and said softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect to hear something like that. My condolences.”
Dong Xiwen smiled, unconcerned. “It’s fine. It’s all in the past. I’ll kill those scumbags sooner or later.”
Hansen didn’t hide his impatience. He cut their conversation short, barking at Cynthia, “Alright, old woman, you’re next!”
Cynthia let out a soft breath and said, After two seconds of silence, she said with a smile, “My statement is concluded, because there’s not much to say. I didn’t personally go to the front lines; I was just making decisions from the rear, so I can’t accurately describe the details.”
“How do I know you’re not deliberately hiding key information? Tell us, where were you sent, and what faction were you suppressing?” Hansen asked, suspicious.
“I was sent to West Silesia. Those people were well-disguised; we couldn’t tell which faction they belonged to. But no matter who they were, they shouldn’t have been allowed to endanger the well-being of all humanity.”
Listening to the bureaucratic tone of this woman, who was clearly well-connected with the Federation officials, Qi Si offered a wry smile. “You asked us about our method of murder and how we disposed of the body. The point is to compare it to the victim’s cause of death and appearance to help us make a judgment. But you’ve obviously omitted the most crucial information. How did those people die? In other words, what was the order you gave? Gunfire or bombardment?”
Cynthia didn’t answer immediately. She picked up her pen and began to doodle on the paper as if she hadn’t heard him.
Into the tense atmosphere, Charlie, who had been standing silently to the side, turned his masked face toward her. “Ma’am, please answer the gentleman’s question.”
“Very well.” Cynthia looked up, her gaze flicking imperceptibly toward the corpse hanging before them. “To ensure the safety of innocents, I ordered them to advance with tanks. At the first sign of trouble, they were to simply run them over.”
Qi Si observed Cynthia’s strained expression, a thoughtful look on his face. So, it wasn’t just Charlie’s questions; questions from other players also had to be answered.
Perhaps he could ask more private questions—about items, skills, and trump cards?
A smile touched Qi Si’s lips. Just as he was about to press further, Charlie’s voice boomed with excitement, “Excellent! And now, let us eagerly await the answer from Miss Number Three!”
Cynthia’s turn was over.
He Hui looked around at the others, visibly uncomfortable, before speaking in a low voice.
He Hui’s story was far more ordinary than the previous two. Hansen pressed, “What exactly did you do? Did you sleep with him? How did you get him to lower his guard?”
He Hui’s face turned pale, and her voice became timid. “I really don’t want to relive it, but if I must say...”
“Miss, your turn may now end.” Charlie let out a gravelly laugh. “The questions from Mr. Number Two are useless to the development of the plot. Too much information will distract the audience, and they have no interest in hearing such boring nonsense!”
Qi Si now understood. There were limits to the questions. They had to be directly related to the goal of “finding the killer,” and... they had to be able to pass review.
Wait a minute. When it was his turn, would his answers really pass review?
Qi Si fell into deep thought.
Charlie looked at Hansen. “Mr. Number Two, it’s your turn to answer.”
Hansen said reluctantly, “It was an accident. I was just trying to get some money from him to go out and party with my friends—I mean, all his money was going to be mine eventually anyway. But he refused and told me to stop hanging out with my friends. Said if I didn’t, he’d donate all his money to charity when he died. I got so angry I just pushed him, and I didn’t know his head would hit the corner of the table.”
Qi Si asked, “Who was ‘he’?”
“My dad,” Hansen said with an indifferent shrug.
The expressions of the others changed.
Dong Xiwen had acted out of revenge for his brother, Cynthia was following orders, and He Hui had acted in self-defense. Their actions were, to some extent, understandable.
But Hansen had killed his own father over money.
In most people’s eyes, harming one’s own family was incomprehensible... and in the Weird Game, such a person was clearly a dangerous “slaughter-stream player.”
Qi Si’s expression remained unchanged as he continued to question him. “What about your mother?”
Hansen didn’t answer right away. Charlie prompted him, “Mr. Number Two, please answer Mr. Number One’s question!”
“I killed her later too,” Hansen said viciously. “When she came back and saw my dad’s body, she freaked out and wanted to call the police, so I had to kill her.”
Qi Si nodded in understanding, but beside him, Dong Xiwen’s eyes narrowed. A lowlife who would murder his own parents was bound to disgust anyone.
“Mr. Number One, it’s your turn,” Charlie said.
“My turn, is it?” Qi Si came back to himself, the corners of his lips curling up slightly.
Qi Si’s tone was perfectly calm, as if he were discussing not a murder, but something as trivial as eating or drinking—a perfectly ordinary, everyday occurrence.
For a moment, the other players’ breathing hitched. The looks they gave him were even more wary than the ones they’d given Hansen.
If Hansen’s actions were still within the realm of their comprehension, Qi Si’s fit their image of a psychopathic killer perfectly.
He was indifferent to human life, clear in his objective, and methodical in its execution. Furthermore, as he recounted the events, he sounded completely nonchalant, even proud. The way he savored the telling made them suspect he was itching to kill again.
Dong Xiwen silently thought, *A real shining example of humanity,* before speaking directly to Qi Si. “Seriously, man? You were just a kid back then. What could have been so bad that you had to kill him?”
Qi Si countered, “Is that question important?”
Charlie interjected, “Mr. Number One, please answer truthfully.”
“Let’s just say I may have had an experience similar to your brother’s. The difference is, I survived,” Qi Si said lightly, his eyes fixed on Dong Xiwen. As expected, he saw understanding and pain dawn in the other man’s eyes.
Then, he turned to Charlie. “Mr. Charlie, I have a small question. To determine who the killer is, isn’t it enough to consider the method of murder and the victim’s cause of death? Is the motive really necessary?”
Charlie nodded stiffly. “Very necessary. It’s crucial for the plot development!”
Is that so?
Qi Si’s eyes narrowed.
His earlier suspicion flashed through his mind. He broke into a strange, hyena-like grin. “Right. Actually, back then, I hadn’t quite mastered the art of perfectly disposing of a body. And as it happened, I was feeling a bit hungry after the intense physical exertion...”
“That was a truly painful memory. They tasted absolutely awful.”
..................
[Note] “No Exit” is a 1945 play by the French author Jean-Paul Sartre. It depicts three sinners—a postal clerk named Inès, a Parisian socialite named Estelle, and a journalist named Garcin—who are condemned to a room in Hell after their deaths. In this locked room, they guard themselves against one another, hide their past sins, and engage in mutual “interrogation.” Each exists perpetually under the “gaze of others,” constantly judged and scrutinized.