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墨書 Inktalez
Chapter 440: Human Skin Puppet (Part Three)
After exchanging the ten lottery tickets, I turned back to look for the old man, but he had vanished around the corner, leaving no trace behind.
What a strange old man; he even bought a lottery ticket and gave me some change for my trouble.
The Fortune Teller had left without a word. I thought perhaps someone had reported him, or maybe he felt it was wrong to deceive people and was afraid I would confront him, so he slipped away. In any case, I wasn't particularly interested in the ten lottery tickets I had just bought, so I brushed it off and decided it was time to call a cab and head home.
The late autumn weather was brief; as I wandered the streets, a sense of gloom settled in, the grayness thickening like fog. Standing on the roadside, I walked toward the opposite platform, wondering when these days of rushing for transport would finally end.
A Harley Motorcycle—yes, that had been my lifelong dream. Unfortunately, such simple thoughts clashed with harsh realities. I estimated that I could scrape together a few tens of thousands, but when it came to over a hundred thousand, I was still far from it. If I were running Ma Wu Funeral Home, I would have made that money long ago.
Those wealthy folks should have been taken for all they were worth by now.
Bored during my wait for the cab, I decided to check my phone. Upon turning it on, I noticed several missed calls—four or five in total.
Who could be calling me? I didn't have many close female friends; it couldn't be a beauty. It was Gousi who had called three times, and Qin Jian once.
I first dialed Gousi's number. When he picked up, he sounded frantic and spoke in a rush amidst what seemed like a lot of background noise. He was clearly anxious, but I couldn't make out much of what he said—something about a female corpse and some situation that required my immediate attention before the call abruptly disconnected.
What was going on? I tried calling Gousi again, but this time the line was busy.
My eyelids began to twitch uncontrollably; I remembered that my eyelids had twitched like this when Mi got into trouble. A strong sense of unease gripped me, compelling me to contact Qin Jian immediately.
Qin Jian sounded overwhelmed by my news.
"Ma Qi, what female corpse? What about Gousi? And what's this Riverside in A City all about?"
A City didn't have a river; the name Riverside came from a flood that had occurred once upon a time. Although there was no river, there was a Branching Stream that ran through the city center. Along its banks were several tea shops and barbecue stalls. Despite its appearance of calmness on the surface, the Branching Stream held deep and unpredictable currents beneath; if someone fell into its two-meter-wide channel, they would struggle to resurface.
Long ago, there were rumors of an undiscovered ancient tomb beneath the city—a tomb believed to belong to a high-ranking official from the Ming Dynasty. Because it was buried secretly and lacked any obvious markers, this ancient tomb had never been found to this day.
There were rumors that the entrance to this ancient tomb was located somewhere along the Branching Stream that runs through the city.
Of course, how would Qin Jian know about these things? After all, he wasn't a local of City A, so it was only natural for him to be unaware.
It was unclear over the phone, so I decided to have Qin Jian come pick me up so we could check it out together.
Just as I was speaking, Qin Jian suddenly interrupted me, saying he had another call coming in. I told him to hold on a moment, but he hung up on me as if the other call was more urgent than mine. What a pain; I was feeling frustrated.
With my hands habitually stuffed in my pockets and my eyes wandering around, I realized I was craving a cigarette. Unable to wait for Qin Jian, I headed to a nearby Grocery store to buy a pack. The shop owner’s wife was bored and quickly flashed a bright smile when she saw me, asking what I wanted.
I asked for cigarettes.
She handed me the pack and then asked if I was waiting for a bus.
I nodded. While pulling out my money, I accidentally revealed the lottery tickets I had bought earlier. She glanced at them and smiled, asking if I enjoyed playing the lottery. I admitted it was just a whim; honestly, I didn’t have much hope of winning.
The shop owner’s wife rambled on about how it all depended on luck and then offered me a ride since she had a friend who ran Wild Boar.
I figured most people knew what that meant—running wild.
I checked all my pockets for cash, even feeling around in a fake decorative pocket, but all I found was twenty bucks left from buying the lottery tickets. Holding the cigarettes in my hand and realizing I had no money, I couldn’t help but grin at the shop owner’s wife and said, “Sorry, I forgot to bring money. Here are some lottery tickets; you can take them. Who knows? You might actually win something. If not, when my friend arrives, I'll pay you.”
Exchanging lottery tickets for cigarettes was just a joke; someone as clever as me wouldn’t expect her to agree. The part about waiting for my friend to pay was genuine, but unexpectedly, her expression darkened instantly. She grabbed the cigarettes from my hand with a mocking tone and said, “Look at you; you seem decent enough but want to smoke without any cash? And you think you can trade those tickets? You might as well take off your clothes…”
“Just kidding! My clothes aren’t worth much anyway; really, these tickets are valuable.”
The shop owner’s wife scoffed at my words, clearly not believing that those pieces of paper could be worth a pack of cigarettes. Fine, if she didn’t believe me, I wasn’t trying to cause trouble; it wasn’t like I meant to forget that I didn’t have much money after listening to some nonsense fortune teller and spending it all on lottery tickets.
Sigh! This society is too practical. Clutching the lottery tickets in my hand, I turned to leave when suddenly a disheveled man snatched the tickets from me and took off running. The whole thing happened so fast that Damn, I didn’t even have time to react; he was already far away. With so many cars on the road, there was no way I could chase after him.
The shop owner’s wife covered her mouth and laughed while adding insult to injury: “Oh no, five hundred thousand gone.”
I, Monet, sighed and prepared to turn back with my hands stuffed in my empty pockets. A sharp screech of brakes came from the direction where that madman had run off, followed by the sound of someone else running. I joined in the sprint, while the shopkeeper stretched her neck to see, helplessly bound to her post at the grocery store, unable to join the commotion.
I ran quickly to the scene of the incident and gasped as I took in the sight before me. The man who had just stolen my lottery ticket was curled up on the ground, his fingers clutching a few crumpled pieces of paper, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth—he was dead. The driver stood nearby, sweating profusely and frantically explaining to passersby and the traffic police, pointing at the surveillance footage that showed the madman darting into the street. It was clearly a green light; it was his turn to go when suddenly this lunatic dashed out and collided head-on with his car.
In truth, there was no need for the driver to elaborate; many witnesses had seen what happened. The sidewalk had been empty, and vehicles were moving freely during the green light when this madman suddenly burst onto the scene, leading to the accident.
The driver, still shaken, insisted he was an Old Driver with decades of experience and had never been in an accident before. He claimed he must have hit a ghost this time, tragically ending up killing a madman.
Some people speculated that perhaps the madman had stolen something and was fleeing in panic when he met his end.
I found this whole situation quite suspicious.
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