Chapter 9 Chapter Eight Flying Around

The night wind in the desert has chilled my whole body. The road in front of me was glowing strangely under the moonlight. I had gone through two ups and downs. Desert roads always have ups and downs like this, giving people the illusion that they can extend endlessly.In fact, I thought, with two or three more ups and downs, I might be able to see the tower. What a trouble, what should I do with Zhong Yi's body? Headache. Maybe it wasn't a concussion, but I had a cold? Uphill again. The blood was flowing, dark red, and almost gone.The murderer cut off the nose first, because the nose was so straight and sharp that it obstructed people's eyes.He was suffering from pain, and his eyes widened to see the murderer clearly, so his eyes were gouged out again.After all, I was not very skilled, so the left eyeball was punctured and could not be removed perfectly. The crystal was mixed with blood and stuck in the eye socket, but the right eye was much better.My novel "The Silent Writer" tells such a Lingchi story.

Fiction is, after all, different from reality. In the real situation, the first thing I cut off was the tire track.like.The piece on the neck, with hair.The reason is the same as in the novel, because it is too intrusive, not for a day or two, but for five years. After all, novels come from life. After one cut, blood gushed like a spring.No, like the sea. I walked to the top of the slope, and there was a slowly descending arc in front of me. At the other end of the arc, the tower was already in sight. Closer than I expected.I don't always get it right, just like what happened in a village where the Rob people live together.As long as you can make the right choice when things are imminent, you will be fine.

What was to be done with her body in a moment? I walked slowly down the road, and a night truck passed by with high beams on. I turned my face so that the driver could not see my face. How could I remember the events of that year? Scene after scene, a boomerang cuts into my mind like a boomerang, and something comes out again.Are you nervous? I haven't killed anyone in so many years.No, I’m writing those novels. Every time I write one, it’s a review and an exercise. Isn’t the military still using first-person perspective games to train pilots and gunners? I don't know how many times I have imagined cutting off that tire mark.That was just the first step, and the hairs on the tire tracks were all pulled out in pinches. They were bloody and slippery, so it was not easy to handle.

I also said a lot to him.Just like in my novel, the cruelest killer is not silent, but likes to chat with corpses.I have long wanted to pull out these hairs. I remember I said something similar. You see, when you pull out like this now, you won’t feel pain. This is what you taught me. A hammer on my little finger and I don't feel the pain in my stomach anymore.Later, my little finger grew again, and I couldn't be like you. Are you disappointed? How did he answer?He was very bear, naked and unable to speak.He must have been in great pain, so much blood, overwhelming. I hate you, I told him.

He seemed to be talking again, it was howling, I was a little annoyed, so I cut his upper lip and lower lip vertically, not deep and not cut through.Stop barking, I reminded him, or you'll tear your mouth apart.Yes, that's right, this situation is exactly the same as in one of my novels.Fiction comes from reality, right? Then I confide a lot to him, no way, I have to let him know why, right? Well, actually it has nothing to do with that, it's just that I want to babble.I said you are a man who walked into my life, it's hard to get you out.I picked out the second knuckle of his right index finger, which is the hardest part of his body, and it always hurts me.Well, this plot also exists in my other novel.And the following dialogue.

I said you are so dirty, I thought it would be black when you shave it off, but it turns out to be red, and it turns white when you shave deeply, but no matter what color it is, dirty is dirty.It doesn't matter if you beat me and scold me, it doesn't matter if you don't give me the money, it doesn't even matter if you don't allow me to be with her.Do you know what I care most about? When I asked him this, his mouth had split into a flower, and even if he still had the strength to mutter something, I couldn't hear him clearly. I care most about you being dirty, and I told him frankly, so I'm leaving you clean now.But my craft is not good, piecemeal, a little slow.

According to modern medicine, he should have died soon.But the body is always more active than the brain. When the knife is pounded in and out, the flesh will always tremble. She seemed to be right next to me when I was doing this, how did she escape later? My head hurts. I'm on my way to the tower.Anyway, this time she couldn't escape. She is really courageous, after going through such a thing, she dared to stand in front of me again.If she didn't show up, I wouldn't bother with her anymore, I'd forget about her... I mean, I thought she was dead. Over the years, I have become more and more convinced that she is dead, otherwise, why has she been silent, why didn't she come to take revenge, or why didn't she call the police?It has been more than ten years, so it can be seen that she is really dead, killed by me, she did not escape, did not survive, no!

I thought I could only find traces of her in my own novels.She, him, and myself. Many people have died in my novels over the years. They have their heads cut off, their noses plucked out and their eyes gouged out, sometimes accompanied by rape in weird poses, such as smashing their teeth and fixing their limbs into flying apsaras in "The Mill". Ah Zhi looks good.I don't write people who die normally.Naturally, there are murderers who have killed these many people. Some of them are full of hatred, some are full of lust, and some... just want to see death. I have always understood that what I write is myself.

Treasure in itself is what I learned after that night twelve years ago.My writing is treasure-digging. Every story is the presentation of that year, of course it is only a part. I divide myself into pieces and put them on the chopping board to look over and over again.I, what is it like, until today, I have not figured it out. Every time I finish writing a novel, I feel that I have not cut myself finely enough, deep enough, or cruel enough, but people who read my book already feel that it is vivid brutality. I say that only the murderer understands the murderer. I lied, I don't know me well.

Maybe she knows better?The carcass that escaped my knife. I'm really not sure what happened that year, it's not that I forgot, it's just that there was too much in my head.Those overlapping pictures are different from each other in one way or another, and even conflict with each other, as if the world is branching after the sea of ​​blood. I think I recall too much and write too many novels.Those novels that are somewhat similar to memories are gradually soaked into the real past, like oil paintings, painted on the canvas over and over again, the color of the first stroke is no longer found.

I thought she was dead.in a certain frame. It turned out that she would die later. The town is very small, so small that there is only one road.This road is the desert road that I have been driving all the way.On one side of the road is the desert, and on the other side is the town. On the side of the road several hundred meters away, there are gas stations, small supermarkets, game halls, karaoke rooms, and many massage rooms that can be used for temporary sex.Basically, all the needs of dusty drivers can be met here. Of course, there is another hotel, I stayed in, when she was quite new more than ten years ago. It is one twenty in the morning.I walked along the side of the desert, and the warm light from the massage parlor couldn't reach me. If the woman with fireworks inside was looking at the opposite side, I could only see a blurry moving black shadow. The door of the inn was open, and there was a dim light inside.I detoured into the backyard from the driveway on the side of the hotel, and the back door in my memory was still there and open. It was a doorway about 1.4 meters high, and I bent down to get in. Behind the door was the stairs, and the front desk was empty without anyone guarding it. I went up the stairs, there was the sound of the TV on the second floor, but the third floor was quite quiet. I don't know what room she lives in.But since it was the last one reserved, it should be on the top floor.It is always worse to leave behind, a hostel without an elevator, naturally the higher the floor, the more unpopular it is. That is on the third floor. Upstairs, the right hand side is being repaired, and some cement bags and wooden boards are piled up in the aisle, so I turn left. The fluorescent lights were buzzing and flickering. I glanced, and there was no camera, very good. There is no carpet on the aisle, bare concrete floor, seven doors on each side, fourteen rooms.Where does she live? I got down on my stomach, on my knees, like a dog.He lowered his head, brought his nose to the ground, and began to sniff. Smell blood. When I got out of the car to pick up the luggage earlier, I tore the blood clotted wound on my forehead again, and stained the wheels of her suitcase with blood.She dragged the box into the hotel, carried it up to the third floor, and dragged it into the room, naturally leaving blood on the ground.The blood was covered in dust, so subtle that ordinary people can't detect it, and now it has been an hour or two, dogs can still smell it, but what about people?The structure of a dog's nose is different from that of a human being. It is a hundred times more sensitive and can smell a hundred times more than a human being.I am not as good as a dog, I am only sensitive to one smell - blood. I climbed around and finally stood up in front of a door. I patted the ashes on the glove lightly, unloaded the backpack, opened the zipper, and took out a knife, a section of alloy thin wire twisted by three alloy thin wires, slightly thicker than ordinary iron wire but much more flexible, and a small piece of wire.I put the bag down against the wall, inserted the knife and sheath into the belt behind my waist, wound the thin alloy wire around my left arm a few times, pinched one end in the palm of my hand, and then bent the wire into the desired shape. After finishing this, I took off the silk glove on my right hand, held the wire with my bare hands, and poked it into the keyhole of the door of Room 315. I hate touching unclean things with my hands.But I never let this disgust override reason.Anxiety came in waves because of the real contact between the skin and the world, and I tried to convince myself that it was a pleasure. With the silk gloves off, I could hold the wire tighter, my senses sharper, and my movements quicker and quieter. It's done. I turned the handle and pushed the door open a little bit. There was a creak, and I stopped in time.The decibels of this sound are undoubtedly extremely low, but it is as clear as a drum in my ears.The door opened a finger-wide gap, and it was dark inside, and the light from the corridor swam a little in. I put the wire in my pocket and put my gloves back on.After doing this, there was still no sound in the door. I twisted the alloy cable in my left hand and started pushing the door again. The second squeak came later than expected, when the door had already been pushed open a foot and a half. There was still no obvious movement inside, so I stuck my head in and listened carefully. I want to hear that familiar breathing sound, but the damn buzzing sound in my head is coming out again, this sound seems to have never left, and hell, my head is going to hurt again. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Then I walked in. The light in the corridor covered one third of the bed, I frowned, closed the door behind my back, and turned on the light. The bed was empty. I glanced around and immediately judged that it was an empty house, unoccupied. Am I mistaken?The smell of blood was indeed so light that it could hardly be smelled, it was confusing, she didn't live in this room. Which room does she live in?I couldn't make other marks, and it's not convenient to wake up the waiter to ask. wait a minute. The last vacant room was reserved for her.Where did this empty room come from? I looked at the room again, the mattress was flat, I hadn't slept in it, the table was clean, the tea cups were neatly arranged, it looked like no one had lived in it after cleaning it up. I go into the bathroom.The toothbrush has not been removed, the toilet lid is closed, and in the trash can next to the toilet... a replaced sanitary napkin. she ran away! Life is really like a novel, a less clumsy one, such as the one I wrote. All things will not be done quickly. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for a while, then went out and dragged my backpack in.I put the knife, alloy rope and wire back, and found a small leather bag under the bag, and took out some odds and ends from inside. Wigs, fake beards, big black-rimmed glasses, and a tube of cream that darkens skin.After changing my appearance, I poured out all the contents of the backpack and turned the backpack over. The original black backpack became a white shoulder bag. Over the years, I have never forgotten where I came from.I'm always ready to be beaten back to my original shape. There are many cars parked near the gas station. Since the hotel rooms are so tight, there are naturally many drivers who sleep in their cars overnight. When the driver of a black Santana was quarreled by me from the back seat, his face was full of displeasure.But when he looked out with a flashlight and found that the window was crackling, it was a stack of money, his attitude changed a little. After carefully weighing the danger of me being a late-night hitchhiker, he decided to earn the four thousand dollars.Because I was going in the same direction as him, but we just set off a few hours earlier. I prepared a reason why my family needed to catch an early flight because of an emergency, but he didn't ask, and started the car and hurried towards Luntai.At first, he also casually said a few gossips, such as that there are a lot of people taking the night train tonight.I thought he was talking about Zhong Yi, but I didn't talk to him, and I didn't ask what kind of car Zhong Yi took to go to Minfeng or Luntai.I told him I was going to sleep for a while, so he stopped talking and just drove. Zhong Yi's direction is easy to judge. The nearest airport in the direction of Minfeng is Hetian, which is about 300 kilometers away from Korla Airport in the direction of Luntai. As a woman who fled overnight, would she still seek further distance?Taking a step back, even if she doesn't plan to take a plane, the transportation in northern Xinjiang is more convenient than that in southern Xinjiang. After crossing the Taklimakan Desert to Minfeng, it is completely northern Xinjiang. The border is slightly higher, and all kinds of reasons come together to support me to judge her whereabouts. And the car she took... I was walking along the road earlier, and there was only a big truck passing by.At the current speed of this car, it may be able to catch up in less than a wheel platform. I dozed off in the back row, half-opened my eyes, looking at the dark desert outside, but what I saw was her appearance.That appearance was different from Zhong Yi's, much younger. In fact, I couldn't see her face clearly, but I felt that I saw her for real, not vaguely. I saw her rubbing against the old man's shoulder, her jade-like skin touching the birthmark with black hair.She is so pure that it is not like ordinary people, gentle as beautiful jade, and she is not dusty, and the wind and sand can't stay on her body. Every moment, she exudes a faint brilliance of the morning sun.Every time I see her touch that filthy, muddy old man, I get a huge sense of unreality, and there's nothing more absurd in the world.Whenever such a picture appears, I feel nauseous and want to vomit.Whenever he touches her, I feel like a dog is gnawing at my face and my heart. The dog has his face, and uses his broken yellow-spotted teeth and wet, fishy tongue. I have endured this kind of torture for five years, and all of this was found by myself. Because of the relationship between my father and grandfather, I always wanted to be like them and become a legendary jade hunter, even if I suffered the same bad luck as them, a young man who died suddenly.I just want to go far away from home, as the song says.In that scorching summer, I bragged about my ability to explore jade to the old man who was looking for jade for the first time, and even cited the achievements of my father and grandfather as evidence.When he finally agreed to take me away, I jumped up, as if I felt a strange wind in my lower back, trying to blow me on a turbulent journey, only knowing that life is so extraordinary. What's more, he still has her by his side.That is the goddess of dawn, the spirit of the world.When I faced her, all kinds of troubles in the world, like the first snow under the morning sun, melted silently. Later, I traveled to many places, and found that the story of my father and grandfather was not only known to the neighbors in my hometown, but also to all jade pickers of a certain age.Only then did I realize that the old man knew it back then, otherwise, how could he be persuaded by a young man to take an extra stranger to the end of the world.He believed in my luck, or in the luck of men of my line.My grandfather picked up a piece of thirteen kilograms of white jade seed material, and my father picked up a piece of top quality topaz material of six kilograms. As long as I have half of their luck, his business will be worth it. He was right. On the contrary, I didn't see his viciousness and filthiness at the first glance. He was filthy enough to perish the purest things, including her. Salvation must come before perdition. I think I will catch up with her before the dawn of this morning. Missing made me want to talk to her again, so I touched my phone.Suddenly realized that he was not wearing gloves.In retrospect, I removed it when I was wearing a wig and beard in the hostel, rolled it up and put it in the bag, and forgot to replace it with a clean one.That's a rare miss indeed. While writing fiction over the years, I have also read a lot of books on psychology.Why I compulsively made myself wear gloves after that, I did my own analysis.This sudden cleanliness behavior in adulthood is inseparable from my deep abhorrence of the old man's filth, so that until now, it has expanded to make me feel that everything in the world is unclean.Even she, after so many years, is she still clean? But I'm not wearing gloves now. And after discovering this, I didn't feel any strong discomfort.That's great, healed without medicine. I took out my phone and texted her. Are you asleep? What room do you live in? I want to come over and talk to you again. What will she do, I wait with great interest.Let this be entertainment on the way to catch up. The phone suddenly went dark and ran out of power.I don't even know if this text message was sent successfully. I haven't bothered to charge it today. Smartphones use up power very fast these days, and today it's especially fast. The whole world fell silent. Uighur pop songs were playing in the car, the sound of the engine was also roaring, and the buzzing sound of the whole car vibrating while driving at high speed, all these sounds were there.But I just feel that the whole world is quiet at this moment. I think this is an illusion. It should be corrected, it is not quiet, it is quiet. I was stunned for a while, and suddenly realized that the voice had disappeared. That faint sound that only I could hear, like the grinding teeth of an invisible man lying next to my ear, disappeared.It has tortured me for nearly ten hours since I stepped into the village of the Rob people in the afternoon.And at the last moment, it was gone. I am like a person who walks with a sandbag tied, and I get used to it after a long time, but once I take it off, I feel as light as a feather, and will float up when the wind blows.This voice is a sandbag tied in my head, and now that it is gone, I realize how muddy and chaotic my mind was before. I look at my phone that has lost power. is it. That haunting voice came from my phone. It must be some kind of high-frequency sound, which is near the limit of the frequency that can be heard by the human ear, so it feels vague and uncomfortable. Since that hacker could easily hack into my computer, it would not be difficult to hack into my mobile phone, not to mention that she is by my side, spending time with me day and night.In the village this afternoon, everything started when this voice suddenly sounded.This is the sharpest weapon, better than the series of tricky tricks and fascinated marijuana. I was dizzy and seriously distracted by the sound, so I fell into her scheme step by step and almost suffered disaster. I realized immediately, in the cellar that afternoon, why my counterattack had not been successful.Behind the clip wall is just a speaker device, and there must be a sound receiver device to transmit my voice.Now that my mobile phone has been hacked, what other sound receiver is more sensitive and suitable than my own mobile phone.All my movements were transmitted through the mobile phone. When I thought I was crawling quietly on the ground and wanted her to think that I had hit the wall and fainted, the mobile phone had already leaked my actions. This mobile phone really hurt me today. It has several jobs, so it ran out of battery so quickly. At this moment, I recalled what I did today, including the conversation with her at night, and I broke out in cold sweat. Those conversations, those actions, were made while the mind was disturbed without knowing it.Now that I think about it, I was wrong, wrong, wrong... My current mind is the clearest since I set foot on the Silk Road. It seems that a lighthouse rises in my mind, and a light from the top of the tower shines on the dark sea. It turns slowly, allowing me to see how the waves rise and fall. . The first thing to see clearly is that she is not alone. She left with Fan Sicong when the car was being repaired, and she was with Fan Sicong in the haunted house.In the previous stage, she needed to prepare for the whole operation, such as buying girls' clothes and putting the sound equipment behind the cellar wall.In the latter stage, she needs to talk to me trapped in the cellar.Before, I just thought that in order to gain space for independent activities, she needed a good reason to drive Fan Sicong away. After two consecutive times, Fan Sicong probably already had suspicions, but because of his admiration for her, he kept it in his heart for the time being. However, the overclocking noise made me make a big mistake. If she was the only one behind the scenes, then she would have to dismiss Fan Sicong three times, not twice! I forgot about that pile of marijuana! The marijuana had been on fire for a while when I entered the haunted house.When did she light the marijuana? When we first entered the village, Chen Ailing and I walked in front, and she and Fan Sicong trailed behind. Soon the two of them walked through the side road to the depths of the village, and came back by another trail after a while.It's the marijuana that started during this time! One separation can make up a perfect lie, two separations will definitely make Fan Sicong suspicious, and three separations... unless Fan Sicong is hypnotized, it will never be possible! Fan Sicong is with her! Then how could she escape alone? Wait, it's not just Fan Sicong! After I received that laughing text message, I once heard a strange laugh behind me. She and Fan Sicong were in collusion, of course she said she didn't hear it, but Chen Ailing also said she didn't hear it! "Did you hear any sound just now? It was a bit uncomfortable, but it's gone now." I suddenly said to the driver. "Are you awake? It seems to be there. If you don't tell me, I thought it was an illusion. I can't tell what the sound is. Now it is indeed gone. Weird." I also asked Chen Ailing if she heard this uncomfortable noise. At that time, she was no farther away from me than the driver, and the environment was quieter than now, but she replied that I did not. But Chen Ailing is the representative of the manufacturer, how could she get involved with her? Oh. Chen Ailing is the representative of the manufacturer, Zhong Yi is the planner of the advertising company, and Fan Sicong is the cameraman of the advertising company. She invited me to participate in a commercial event that re-travels the Silk Road—all this is what she told me, and I have not verified it.Nobody checks on things like this, and I've taken over a dozen similar business deals before and it never occurred to me to check. What about Yuan Ye?Maybe, maybe not.Just like this driver, if I didn't ask, he wouldn't say it, thinking it was his own illusion. It turned out that the mastermind behind the scenes was not one person, nor two people, but everyone in the group.This is indeed something I hadn't thought of before. The next thing I figured out was that she wasn't her. Revenge is only suitable for single-handedly doing things, because hatred is one person's hatred, and other people can't feel the pain, and most of them have secrets that are inconvenient to reveal.If Zhong Yi was her back then, then why did Chen Ailing and Fan Sicong help her? How could a normal person be so determined to go to the criminals himself to find trouble, and just tell the police not to do it. What happened in the cellar in the afternoon is just proof of this. At that time, I had already felt it, but I didn't think about it deeply.The guy pretending to be the ghost of the little girl first pretended to be the ghost of the little girl. Of course, this was to scare me and make me lose my mind. Of course, it has nothing to do with the little girl, so why did they appear together? For such a serious matter as apparition, it should be done from the beginning.Thinking about it this way, the little girl's apparition seemed blunt and unnecessary, because if it was going to frighten me, she alone would suffice. How could the layout guy make such an obvious logical error?There is only one answer, that is, she can't.She can only scare me with the little girl, because she doesn't know what happened back then. She is not her. Zhong Yi is Zhong Yi, maybe she doesn't have this name, but she is not her.She has strange facial features, a strange body, and a strange smell. It's not that she has undergone perfect plastic surgery, but because they are not the same person at all. I'm paralyzed. She... should be dead, killed by my own hands. I closed my eyes, and quickly ran through what she said in the pit in my mind. That's telling me what to say! The female voice who spoke didn't know anything at all.She's telling me something, why did Zhong Yi and the others go to great lengths to create such a situation to tell me something? I thought of Zhong Yi's pale face when he left last night.What was the last thing she said to me, she asked me, if I was the one who wrote the novel to set up this situation, at what point in this journey would it be activated.How did I answer at the time, I seemed to say, I have to think about it. Hell, what an idiot I am! I reacted in such a way that she immediately understood that this was an important valid question for me.That means I really believe someone is going against me, which in turn means I've done horrible things!This also shows that I have hidden a lot of things and did not say it, otherwise I would not be able to make a judgment on this issue no matter how hard I think about it.Zhong Yi thought clearly at that moment, I really think there is an Avenger, and I know why the Avenger came. So she freaked out. She pretended to be the Avenger in the cellar, trying to get my secret out! Since Zhong Yi is not her, since she may be dead, and since no one except me knew what happened back then, the encrypted novels that appeared on my computer are not the meaning I imagined at all—— A death ritual, using plausible cases to attract my attention, awaken my memory, and lead me to the end of Kashgar one by one, for the final judgment and cruel revenge. I took out the laptop from my backpack, turned it on, plugged in the USB flash drive, and clicked on the two documents whose passwords I hadn’t tried—"In Hotan" and "In Kashgar". I tried a few numbers and got it right this time. The password of "In Hotan" is the year, month, and day when I woke up under the locust tree, and the password of "In Kashgar" is the number of days when I lost my memory.Waking up under the locust tree was originally invented by me, and I have never lost my memory. I have tried the date number on the day of the murder and the total number of days wandering in the wilderness, but I forgot to try those two false numbers.I always thought it was a great revenge against my past crimes. How could I try those meaningless and false numbers? How could I have thought that the people who wrote these four articles didn’t know anything at all. I skimmed through these two novels. Like the previous two, they are two unsolved cases that have nothing to do with me. I can't help but smile wryly. I still don't know why Zhong Yi, Fan Sicong and Chen Ailing set up this situation.But what I do know is that they didn't know anything.And now because of my stupidity, I know a lot. Is there any point in chasing Zhong Yi and killing her now? I sighed and said to the driver, "Brother, please turn around."