It's not too much to say that a beauty is a little bit stronger

His eyes subconsciously fell on the sickle in Lu Yuanshi's hand. It was shining with a cold light and was obviously not used for decoration.

Many of them are scammers.

That is, many of them have secrets.

Who is the biggest liar?

Faces flashed through Zhao Yihe's mind: the patient Chen Wangya, the collector Zheng Wenshan, the arsonist Qi Can, and the unpredictable novelist.

novelist.

If we were to ask who has the most to hide, it would probably be novelists.

There are so many strange things about him. His words seem careless, yet he seems to know a lot. It was he who set fire to the painter's body, and it was he who came up with the answer to the time-limited task.

So who is he? What is his true identity?

In addition to the novelist, Qi Can is also a great possibility. At the beginning, he seemed very timid and fearful, but the longer you get along with him, the more you discover his hypocrisy.

Zhao Yihe took a deep breath cautiously and seemed to have made some decision in his heart.

"Maybe... maybe... a novelist." He finally whispered carefully, as if he was afraid of being heard by the one-eyed man in the church, but seemed to want to declare the answer out loud.

Lu Yuanshi heard Zhao Yihe's answer and his eyes finally fell on him.

He looked at Zhao Yihe with deep and cold eyes, staring at Zhao Yihe with horror.

But Zhao Yihe heard Lu Yuanshi and casually said: "Okay, there's nothing to do here, you can leave."

Zhao Yihe breathed a sigh of relief, and the pressure in his chest eased a little.

He turned around and prepared to leave, but at this moment, Lu Yuanshi's voice came again, like a cold thorn piercing his back:

"You can't trust a liar's words. If you think he's a liar, it's better to stay away from him."

With some meaningful hint, Zhao Yihe's back instantly tensed up.

He was silent for a while, nodded, and said nothing more.

At the same time, Xiao Huai on the other side of the manor suddenly sneezed.

He rubbed his nose and looked around. It wasn't cold around him, but rather a dull, damp feeling permeated the air.

Is someone talking about him?

He didn't think any more and came to the door of the studio.

The door of the studio was covered with mottled marks. When the heavy wooden door was pushed open, the air was filled with a mixed smell of paint and dust. The light came in through the gaps in the window, illuminating the tracks of the dust clearly.

What comes into view is a mountain of paintings.

The paintings were placed randomly in various corners, and some were even scattered on the ground, looking messy.

Xiao Huai walked into the studio with light steps, his eyes lingering on the paintings.

There is no complete painting, or rather, the original complete painting has been destroyed.

Many of the paintings depict scenes with two people.

They stood side by side, enjoying the warmth of the sunset, or stood on the vast grassland watching the wind blow through every leaf.

The tones of the paintings were once warm and harmonious, full of warmth and beauty.

However, the image of one person in these paintings has been completely obliterated by thick black paint, leaving the other person standing alone in the painting.

The dark paint was like a shadow, completely destroying these originally beautiful paintings, as if someone was trying hard to erase the memory of that person.

The painted-out face was like a scar, leaving a glaring mark.

He walked slowly to a single portrait.

The painting is almost completely black, with the black paint covering the entire canvas, as if declaring some unspeakable hatred or determination.

He stretched out his hand and lightly touched the painting with his fingertips. The paint on the canvas was rough and cold.

As they got closer, suddenly, he noticed some tiny words.

The words were so light that they almost blended into the color of the paint. If Xiao Huai hadn't gotten so close, he wouldn't have been able to detect them at all.

The symbols were twisted and strange, like some ancient language, or like the graffiti of a madman, messy and disorganized.

Xiao Huai frowned slightly, and gently stroked the almost invisible marks with his fingertips.

Text.

The silence in the studio seemed to stop time, with only the occasional sound of wind outside the window breaking the tranquility.

The story in the painting penetrates the frame and is endowed with an emotional soul.

Full of the painter's emotions.

Love and hate.

Love and betrayal.

It was too depressing, so depressing that Xiao Huai felt a little uncomfortable.

He did not linger any longer, turned around gently, pushed open the door of the studio, and walked towards the greenhouse next door.

However, as he walked along the corridor towards the greenhouse, he suddenly stopped and tilted his ears slightly.

He heard a strange sound.

It sounded like digging, accompanied by heavy breathing.

Xiao Huai raised his eyebrows slightly, a hint of doubt and alertness flashed in his eyes. He approached the door of the greenhouse quietly, gently pushed it open a crack, and then suddenly pushed the door open completely.

The scene that came into view made Xiao Huai stunned.

The greenhouse was filled with the smell of soil. The neatly arranged flower beds and potted plants were overturned, and the soil was scattered all over the floor.

In the center of the greenhouse, Zheng Wenshan was kneeling on the ground, digging the ground with his hands.

His hair was messy and sweat was dripping down his cheeks. He looked like he had just crawled out of the mud, sweating profusely and with a pale face.

The wound on his abdomen was still bleeding, and the blood had soaked through his clothes. The blood mixed with the mud was shocking.

But Zheng Wenshan seemed to feel no pain at all. His eyes were empty, as if driven by some force, and he only knew how to mechanically repeat the action of digging the soil.

Xiao Huai stood at the door, watching all this with cold eyes.

He didn't say anything, nor did he move closer, but just watched Zheng Wenshan's actions quietly.

Zheng Wenshan's movements became more and more impatient, his hands digging frantically in the soil, his breathing became heavier and more rapid, his fingers had been worn bloody by the soil and stones, and the blood on his fingertips was mixed with mud.

But he continued to repeat the monotonous and crazy movements.

Xiao Huai narrowed his eyes slightly and did not act rashly.

He did not intend to act rashly, nor did he have the slightest intention of helping the other party.

What is Zheng Wenshan looking for?

He didn't even notice there were people around him.

and many more……

This is not Zheng Wenshan's reaction, but the collector's reaction.

This is the collector's reaction in search of what he desires.

Xiao Huai began to sort out his judgment of Zheng Wenshan in his heart.

All this seems absurd, but it is perfectly consistent with the state of a collector lost in his own desires.

Zheng Wenshan's appearance at this moment reminded him of some people.

Those who are obsessed with collecting and possessing certain items.

Xiao Huai understood that Zheng Wenshan was not simply digging, but searching.

This obsession made him ignore everything around him, even ignoring his own wounds and pain.