Debilitating topic. "
Ye Zhao: "..."
The traffic in front started moving again, and Ye Zhao stepped on the accelerator and drove out.
The car was left behind at the corner, Ye Zhao took another look in the rearview mirror, but this time only saw a clean wall, nothing resembling a door.
Ye Zhao raised his eyebrows and said, "Okay, maybe I read it wrong again."
"Well, it seems that you are really not very good, just make a little bit of dinner, take a hot bath, take a cup of hot cow nǎi, drink it, go to bed early, do you want to sing you a lullaby or something, I will follow you Saying that I'm good at coaxing people to sleep—"
"Thank you, no, I'm afraid of having nightmares."
Luo Xiaochen: "..."
Luo Xiaochen always felt that these hallucinations were only caused by Ye Zhao's lack of sleep for so long, even Ye Zhao himself felt the same. It wasn't until the next morning when Luo Xiaochen was drinking cow nǎi and nibbling bread in the living room while watching the morning news that he realized that things were not so simple.
He ran to the master bedroom with the bread in his mouth and knocked on the door, then shouted through the door: "Ye Zhao Ye Zhao! I told you that you may not be hallucinating! Maybe there is something wrong! What you said That construction site! And the corner of the pedestrian street we passed by last night is in trouble! Get up and see!"
A few seconds later, Ye Zhao, who had a serious sense of getting up, opened the door, looked at him blankly and said, "It's a coincidence." Then he slammed the door shut again.
Luo Xiaochen's nose was almost flattened, and he said angrily, "Nima! Labor and capital are tall and handsome nose bridge!"
Luo Xiaochen, with a tall and handsome nose, screamed all morning, and was thrown out of the door by Ye Zhao along with the car keys and protective mask.
After eating the fried eggs he kept before leaving, and heating up a cup of beef nǎi, Ye Zhao held the cup and looked down from the balcony window. From this floor, you can overlook the entire construction site. Next to a cement mixer, the cordon surrounded the circle, and there were some people in uniforms or squatting. There was a circle of people who were estimated to be construction teams, wearing hard hats, but their faces looked blurred because they were too far away.
The TV in the living room was still on, and there were some pictures of the two scenes in it. With a numb face, the reporter said something that audiences would recite over the past two years—
Except for some personal belongings scattered by the victim, very few pieces of clothing and a small amount of dripping blood, there were no other traces at the scene of the case. No fingerprints, no footprints, no clues that would help identify the perpetrator. There were no witnesses, and no one even heard or saw any unusual movement.
Similar cases have occurred one after another since about two years ago. However, apart from confirming the victim's information, helping family members to claim relics, and admonishing the public not to stay in remote corners or travel alone at night, the police can hardly do anything. Such a clean scene made it impossible for the police to start.
Du fog that people don't know how to resist and serial killers that can't be prevented—
It seems to acquiesce to this sad and unchangeable reality, people have changed from worry at the beginning to now almost twisted numbness; life is more than two or three