In order to collect materials for my writing, I once lived in a dilapidated building for three whole years.
The dilapidated building that was about to be demolished was inhabited by the lowest class of people in the community. They were poor, selfish, greedy, vicious, and finally died three times in succession in various bizarre ways.
Finally, only a young man in a wheelchair was left.
And I.
The police investigated and collected evidence countless times, and finally eliminated us as suspects countless times.
On the last day of three years, I finally packed my things and prepared to leave this dangerous place. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. When I looked, it was the boy in the wheelchair.
I have seen him, but we have never spoken, and my eyes are full of doubt.
The boy had a delicate face, and wore a clean, worn white shirt. His skinny body couldn't hold up the clothes, and he looked empty. On his knees was a sunflower in a blue pot, quietly stretching its branches and leaves in the dust.
The boy smiled at me, with a hint of embarrassment and nervousness: "You don't remember me..."
I didn't say anything, but I did remember him.
The boy tried to help me recall: "Three years ago, when I first moved in, I was pushed down from my wheelchair, and I helped myself over... right at the elevator entrance..."
I remember that the hooligans upstairs made fun of him and deliberately tripped over his wheelchair.
"I dropped a pot of flowers, and I didn't have time to return it. Now it has bloomed..."
I remember that when I just moved in, I bought a pot of sunflower seeds for the purpose of decorating the room. When I saw the boy fall from the wheelchair, I subconsciously went to help him, but ended up putting it on the ground and forgot to take it away.
Seeing that I didn’t say anything, the boy paused for a moment and finally said only one sentence: “Thank you… I’ll help you…”
His voice was very soft, like snowflakes falling into a warm palm, and soon melted away.
"Also, give me back this flower, it's very beautiful..."
The young man held up the pot of flowers and handed it to me, his arms exposed, with many old wounds that had already healed.
I don't remember how I answered at that time. I only remember that I took the pot of flowers from him, and I never met that boy again.
Later, a police friend told me that he had died. He said to me with a regretful tone: "He committed suicide the day before he was arrested. What a pity. He was only in his teens."
I was slightly stunned because of the word "arrested".
"When he was a child, he was in a car accident, his parents died, and his legs were disabled. His uncle took over his family's inheritance, but refused to treat his illness and abused and scolded him for more than ten years. Finally, the building was to be demolished, and his legs finally got a little better..."
The policeman paused.
"His uncle broke his legs to get compensation and pushed him down from the building in order to inherit the estate."
I don’t know why, but my heart suddenly sank: “And then?”
"Then?" The policeman took a puff of his cigarette and said with a sigh, "Then his uncle's whole family died."
The uncle, who was drunk, was lying on the bed with his throat stabbed; the sarcastic aunt was hung on the fan and strangled to death; the son who had a heart disease collapsed in the living room, not breathing. The beautiful mistress who came to the house to quarrel ran out of fear and was hit and killed by a speeding car.
There was only the teenager at the crime scene.
The police only speculated that he was the murderer based on clues, and even the previous serial murders had the shadow of the teenager behind them.
But no matter the victims or the perpetrators, they were all buried in the earth along with the truth of that year, and no one knows the answer.
I have remembered that boy for a long time and can't forget him.
I helped him up from the ground, but it seemed like I couldn't pull him out of the dilapidated building.
I asked my friend: "What is his name?"
The friend thought for a moment before saying, "Sui Yuesheng."
—Excerpt from the suspense work "Dangerous Building", the content is adapted from a real case.
Meng Zhoushan was once a popular suspense writer, but after completing his last work, "Dangerous Building", for unknown reasons, he suddenly stopped writing and never wrote a book again. He retreated behind the scenes and became an editor.
July and August are windy and rainy months, the streets are deserted and there are almost no pedestrians.
Meng Zhoushan was sitting in a coffee shop, wearing a pair of silver-rimmed glasses on his nose and his hair was neatly combed. His handsome appearance made the waiter look at him frequently, forming a sharp contrast with the unkempt man opposite him.
Yan Yuezhao scratched his hair, which had not been trimmed for who knows how long. He looked tense and irritated. He threw a stack of photos to Meng Zhoushan and warned his friend of many years in a low voice: "Be careful recently. Ouroboros has come out again. I suspect he is coming this time."
Ouroboros.
Seeing these three words, Meng Zhoushan raised his eyes. It was because of the serial murders in the dangerous building that shocked the whole city. The murderer was codenamed Ouroboros. Because after each crime, he would draw an Ouroboros pattern on the wall of the crime scene. But since Sui Yuesheng's death, no one has committed the crime again.
On the table was a pile of evidence photos taken at the crime scene. Last week, the police found a man dead at his home at No. 67 Qingnan Road. Someone had drawn an Ouroboros pattern on the wall. They did not release the photos to the public for fear of causing panic among the public.
Yan Yuezhao happened to be the person in charge of the serial murder case three years ago. As soon as he saw the pattern, he knew that something was wrong, so he quickly made an appointment with Meng Zhoushan.
Meng Zhoushan took the photos and looked at them one by one. He looked at the Ouroboros pattern left on the wall of the crime scene, and his expression gradually became solemn: "Don't tell me, the murderer is Sui Yuesheng?"
Yan Yuezhao thought about the case three years ago, frowning, "We searched Sui Yuesheng's home and found that he had drawn this Ouroboros pattern on his notebook, which represents reincarnation. And Sui Yuesheng was the only resident of that building who survived to the end. He is not the murderer, is that possible?"
The image of the young man suddenly flashed through Meng Zhoushan's mind: "But he's in a wheelchair."
Yan Yuezhao and Meng Zhoushan are both 30 years old, but unlike Meng Zhoushan, Yan Yuezhao has an unshaven beard and looks quite haggard. "We went to the hospital to investigate. Before Sui Yuesheng's leg was broken by his uncle, he was able to stand up. He had a 50% chance of recovery, so he didn't have a chance of committing the crime."
Meng Zhoushan curled his lips and said, "The person is dead, so of course you can say whatever you want."
His eyes fell on the photo again. The wall was covered with blood, which was glaring and unsightly. "Is there anyone who can imitate the crime?"
Yan Yuezhao said: "Not likely. The case just happened and they are still investigating and collecting evidence. I can't apply for protection from the higher-ups. Anyway, be careful during this period and send me a message every day to let me know you are safe."
All the people in the building were killed, except Meng Zhoushan. The latest murder took place at No. 67 Qingnan Road, just opposite Meng Zhoushan's residential area.
Meng Zhoushan didn't say anything. The incident three years ago had obviously become a knot in his heart. He took a bunch of sunflowers next to his seat and prepared to say goodbye.
Seeing this, Yan Yuezhao tapped the table with his fingers and said, "Three authors on our website died for no apparent reason. Who are we honoring?"
Strangely enough, three authors under Meng Zhoushan's wing died suddenly recently. A big name in melodrama died of a heart attack, a serious historical writer died in a car accident, and a cool writer fell to his death from a building.
When viewed individually, they seem to be just a few ordinary accidents, but when viewed in conjunction, it always makes people feel that there is more to it than meets the eye.
Meng Zhoushan paused when he heard this, but did not turn around: "I checked, it was an accidental death."
Yan Yuezhao poked his head in and asked, "What if he was killed by the curse?"
Meng Zhoushan adjusted his glasses and looked back at him: "Then it's the next one's turn."
After he finished speaking, he stopped arguing with Yan Yuezhao and left the cafe directly.
It was dark outside, and the cold wind blew in the face, making people shiver. Meng Zhoushan took out the car keys from his coat pocket, opened the door, got in the car, and drove to a dilapidated demolition area.
Today is Sui Yuesheng’s death anniversary.
Meng Zhoushan didn't think about the boy's story, but he couldn't help thinking about him. So much so that every time he picked up a pen, he felt it was as heavy as a thousand pounds and it was difficult to write down any words.
The dangerous building had been demolished long ago, and now only a pile of broken walls and ruins remained. The twisted steel bars were exposed through the cement brick walls, like a ruthless steel behemoth in the cold night.
Many people died here.
Good, bad, kind, vicious,
But now it is all deeply buried.
Meng Zhoushan leaned over, placed the sunflower in his hand on a brick, and stood there for a long time. Thinking about the murder case of that year, he always felt that there were still many mysteries that had not been solved, but it was a pity that it had been too long and there was no trace left.
If the Ouroboros was really Sui Yuesheng, then why did the same murder case occur many years after his death
The building collapsed, and the huge pit created by the machine was like a pair of cold, empty eyes, glaring at the sky in the night. Meng Zhoushan slowly stepped back and left the ruins.
Someone was handing out flyers on the empty street outside. As soon as Meng Zhoushan appeared, he was pestered by the other party: "Sir, may I get in?"
Meng Zhoushan glanced at the person handing out the flyers. He was wearing a cap and a mask on a cold night, and his voice was hoarse and rough because of the cold wind. It was hard to tell whether he was a man or a woman, but he was tall.
Meng Zhoushan took the flyer and stuffed it into his coat pocket: "I'll go back and take a look. Thank you."
After he finished speaking, he walked towards the parking space on the roadside. However, before he took a step, he suddenly realized that the surrounding area was a demolition area, so why would someone come here to hand out flyers
Meng Zhoushan lowered his head a little later, took out the flyer from his pocket, and slowly spread it out under the dim old street light. But on it was a picture of a giant snake swallowing its own tail, with its body shaped like a ring.
Below is a row of neatly printed characters:
I devour sin, and I gain eternal life.
I am born perfect, and I go on and on infinitely.
Before Meng Zhoushan could fully digest the meaning of the above, he suddenly heard a gust of wind. His eyebrows froze, he turned around and dodged, then grabbed the dagger that stabbed at him in the dark, only to see the person handing out the leaflets.
Meng Zhoushan looked puzzled: "Who is it?!"
The opponent said nothing, his eyes flashing with murderous intent. He raised his leg and kicked towards Meng Zhoushan, swiftly and powerfully, obviously a martial artist. Meng Zhoushan ignored the blood on his palm, snatched the knife, and directly tangled with the opponent. During the fight, he accidentally pulled off the opponent's gloves, and there was a dark red birthmark on the base of his palm.
But Meng Zhoushan wanted to see the attacker's face more clearly. He turned his wrist, grasped the dagger and stabbed it towards the side of the attacker's face. While the attacker raised his hand to grasp the knife, he directly pulled off the mask on the attacker's face with his other hand.
"boom-"
A silenced gunshot suddenly rang out behind Meng Zhoushan, sounding particularly clear in the silent night.
Meng Zhoushan paused and subconsciously lowered his head, only to see a bloody hole appearing in his heart. Blood was flowing everywhere, soaking his shirt and coat.
A man whose face could not be seen stood behind him and slowly put away his gun.
There is more than one murderer.
Meng Zhoushan's body shook, and he fell to the cold ground. His brain consciousness had gradually become numb, and he tried his best to open his eyes, trying to see the face of the attacker whose mask he had pulled off.
However, due to the massive blood loss, his vision became difficult to focus. In the end, Meng Zhoushan could only see the other person's right hand hanging by his side, with a dark red birthmark at the base of his thumb.
The gunman walked in front of Meng Zhoushan and slowly stopped: "We shouldn't attack this person."
He was speaking to his accomplices.
The attacker put on a mask, leaned over and used his gloves to pick up Meng Zhoushan's blood, then slowly drew an Ouroboros symbol on the crumbling concrete wall. He looked at the collapsed building in front of him and said, "Today is the anniversary of his death..."
None of them noticed that the dying man on the ground suddenly moved, and with his last bit of strength, he left a mark on the base of his right hand.
In the boundless darkness, a ball of light that no one could see quietly appeared above Meng Zhoushan's body and flew around him.
The system said in a surprised tone: Oh my God, this host died so tragically!
One of its hosts died suddenly, another died in a car accident, three of its hosts fell to death, and another was murdered.
The system glowed with white light, slowly covering Meng Zhoushan's still warm body. Among the series of suspense works written by the other party in this life, he chose "Dangerous Building".
Start Binding...
Binding...
Meng Zhoushan died once,
Lived again...
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a simple room. There was a rotten and musty smell in the corner, and large pieces of white wall peeled off due to moisture, revealing the mottled wall inside.
It was obvious that the room had been carefully decorated by the owner, but it still couldn't hide the shabby look of the building from the inside out. The poorly soundproofed walls could even hear the sounds of the neighbors chopping meat and cooking.
Meng Zhoushan slowly sat up from the bed, suspecting that he was having an illusion, because this shabby room was where he lived when he wrote "Dangerous Building". But after he moved out, it was demolished not long after.
Meng Zhoushan fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table and put them on. The scenery around him suddenly became clear. However, before he could take a closer look, a dazzling diamond suddenly appeared in front of him and a mechanical prompt sounded in his ears.
Ding! Congratulations on successfully binding the villain rescue system, loading...
Machine power
Author's surname: Meng Zhoushan
Cause of death: murder.
His works include: "Book of Innocence", "Intersection 18", "Dangerous Building", etc.
The goal of this mission: to rescue Sui Yuesheng, the villain in "Dangerous Building".
Mission reward: Get a chance to resurrect once.
Mission failed: Eradication.
The system finally added: The villain Sui Yuesheng’s current blackening degree is 999999. If the blackening degree is cleared to zero, the mission will be successful. If the blackening degree reaches 100, the mission will be considered a failure. Please be careful, host!
Meng Zhoushan has been to many places in his life and witnessed countless crimes. He compiled the unknown stories and peeled off the lead-printed words, revealing bloody people hidden inside.
He always thought he had seen the most bizarre things in the world, but he didn't expect to encounter something even more bizarre.
For example, the book that became reality,
For example, the system that allowed him to save Sui Yuesheng...
Many years later, when he returned to this place again, Meng Zhoushan still felt unreal. He pushed the door open and walked out of the room, looking at the narrow and dim corridor in front of him. In a trance, he seemed to see a ruthless beast standing in front of him, devouring the bones and flesh and remains crazily.
This dangerous building that is about to be demolished has only a few residents. They are all people who have been selected by poverty. Their tight living conditions make them stay here temporarily like nails, and they are getting rusty in the wind and rain.
Sui Yuesheng lived in a room at the end of the corridor, on the same floor as Meng Zhoushan. When Meng Zhoushan occasionally went downstairs to buy things, he would see him pushing his wheelchair out and taking the elevator downstairs to buy groceries.
At first Meng Zhoushan thought he lived alone, but later he found out that his alcoholic uncle, card-addicted aunt, and a cousin with a chronic heart disease also lived in that room.
Meng Zhoushan walked to the elevator door and slowly stopped, thinking about how he would meet the boy in the wheelchair who was closely related to the serial murders again.
He unconsciously touched the place where he was shot in the heart, thinking of the faceless murderer. Doubts in his heart rose one after another, but he had to suppress them one by one.
Just as Meng Zhoushan was lost in thought, there was a sudden burst of shrill laughter from above the stairs. A man and a woman came down from upstairs, wearing strange clothes, heavy makeup, and strange metal decorations, just like ordinary thugs on the street.
The girl, wearing exaggerated smoky eyeshadow, pinched the boy's ear and teased him: "Fuck, you are fucking sick. You have to take the stairs instead of the elevator!"
"Get lost!" The boy, with hair dyed electric purple, pushed her impatiently. "The customers have called to urge us. How long are we going to wait for that crappy elevator? You're going to die!"
After he finished speaking, he suddenly noticed Meng Zhoushan standing at the elevator door. He couldn't help but pause, and the girl also became quiet.
The residents of this building are in some sense synonymous with poverty, and Meng Zhoushan doesn't fit in here. He wears a handmade suit worth tens of thousands of yuan, which is so smooth that there is not even a wrinkle to be found, and his leather shoes are shiny and dust-free. The dim corridor light makes the gold wire lenses on the bridge of his nose have a hint of white, and it is difficult to see his expression. His temperament is mature and steady, like a glass of red wine that has been precipitated by years.
The girl stared at Meng Zhoushan's profile for a moment, then suddenly blushed and pushed the man next to her, her voice suddenly gentle: "Just take the elevator, my legs hurt..."
The boy stared at Meng Zhoushan's expensive watch for a moment, then realized what the girl was thinking. His tone became even more irritated than before, and he cursed: "Your legs hurt, they're not broken, take a fucking elevator!"
He waved his hand after saying this, turned around and was about to walk downstairs, but when he turned the corner of the stairs, he bumped into a boy pushing a wheelchair and kicked him directly: "What a fool you are!"
After the thug finished cursing, he didn't even look at the boy who fell from the wheelchair, and went downstairs like a gust of wind. Seeing that the situation was not good, the girl had to follow him, and the footsteps gradually faded away.
Meng Zhoushan didn't expect to see Sui Yuesheng again and see the same scene.
The frail boy was hit hard on the knee and fell to the ground without any balance. He supported himself with both hands and tried to straighten his upper body, trying to climb back into the wheelchair, but every time he tried, the wheelchair moved with him, so he failed.
The disabled leg was motionless, limp on the ground, without any feeling, as powerless as a mermaid coming ashore.
Before Meng Zhoushan could even react, he had already taken a step forward. He bent over to hold the boy's wheelchair and asked in a deep voice, "Do you need help?"
His hair was neatly combed, and the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose made him look gentle and refined, which was very suitable for the author's identity. When I approached him suddenly, I could smell the faint scent of cologne on his collar, which would make most people feel ashamed.
Sui Yuesheng subconsciously looked up when he heard this, and was stunned for a moment. Then he reacted, lowered his head in panic, shook his head to refuse Meng Zhoushan's help, and seemed a little lonely.
Veins bulged on his thin, pale arms as he tried desperately to climb back into the wheelchair, but the more panicked he became, the more confused he became, and his face flushed red but to no avail.
Seeing this, Meng Zhoushan stepped on the shaking wheelchair, suddenly bent down, picked him up without saying a word, and put him back on the wheelchair. He just felt that this boy was much thinner than his peers.
"I'll help." Meng Zhoushan said.
Sui Yuesheng suddenly fell silent upon hearing this, as if he didn't know what to say. He was young, but still looked a bit young and elegant, with transparent and pale skin, and a sense of fragmentation. Like a broken glass vessel, stuck together with rough tape, it was about to fall apart.
"Thanks… "
Sui Yuesheng moved her lips, her voice so soft that it was almost inaudible.
"It's okay," Meng Zhoushan held the elevator door, "I just moved in, and we'll be neighbors from now on."
This elevator was really old and had fallen into disrepair. There was a spot that was not very flat when entering the door. Sui Yuesheng put his hands on the wheelchair and was about to push the rollers in, but Meng Zhoushan walked behind him and gently pushed it in.
Meng Zhoushan guessed that he went downstairs to buy groceries, but he still asked, "First floor?"
Sui Yuesheng nodded and saw Meng Zhoushan reached out and pressed the old and faded elevator button.
The mirror in the elevator reflected their appearance, one calm, the other silent.
Meng Zhoushan straightened his sleeves and looked down at Sui Yuesheng, but he only saw the boy's dark hair and thin back. He asked, "Kid, how old are you?"
Sui Yuesheng lowered his head and said, "Nineteen."
Only nineteen? You should be in school.
Meng Zhoushan said: "I am ten years older, you can call me uncle."
His eyes fell on the gray footprint on the boy's knee and he asked, "Is it serious?"
Sui Yuesheng patted the dust on it silently: "It's okay, I didn't feel it."
With a ding, the elevator door opened.
Sui Yuesheng didn't move, as if she wanted to wait for Meng Zhoushan to go out, but the man didn't leave. He pushed her out of the elevator and then slowly let go.
Sui Yuesheng looked back at him, his emotions were hard to tell, and he didn't know what he was thinking: "... Thank you."
This time it's much clearer.
Meng Zhoushan smiled and said it was okay. To avoid arousing suspicion, he turned and walked towards the street on the right. There were many vendors selling goods on the roadside. They spread plastic film on the ground, put the goods on display, and started selling.
An old man is selling flowers.
Meng Zhoushan saw a familiar blue flower pot and slowly stopped. The old man tried to sell it in half-baked Mandarin: "This sunflower seed, ten yuan a pot, fifteen yuan three pots, forty-five yuan five pots..."
Meng Zhoushan handed her ten yuan and took away the pot of sunflowers that had not yet sprouted.