Era of Magic and Martial Arts-Chapter 239 - 223: The Script Is Wrong?

"Feng Mu, I’m here..."

As soon as the door opened, a hoarse and anxious cry rushed through, and then Wang Cong stumbled into Feng Mu’s embrace.

Wang Cong abruptly lifted his head, his body instinctively recoiling, breaking free from the warm embrace.

His facial expression management lost control, the muscles of his features instantly froze, and the tears at the corners of his eyes could no longer be held back, pouring out like a flood:

"Feng Mu, you you you, you’re not..."

His words got stuck in his throat, unable to continue, and he just stared at Feng Mu with a bewildered ghostly expression.

Feng Mu didn’t seem to notice Wang Cong’s strangeness, maintaining his gentle smile, his voice calm and strong: "Hmm, I’m not dead, so why are you crying?"

Wang Cong guiltily avoided Feng Mu’s gaze, his eyes falling elsewhere.

The crematorium that came into view seemed as if it had been chaotically scribbled on with a black and red brush. The ceiling, walls, and floor were all splattered with horrific colors.

These colors seemed to have been imbued with life, creating a series of motionless yet warm images. They were presented in various bizarre and twisted postures: some lying prone, some lying flat, some leaning at angles, and each image silently expressed horror.

The foremost warm image was a corpse lying supine on the floor, its neck twisted, yet its face vividly frozen in an expression of terror.

"Chen Ya, the head of cell 211."

A name surfaced in Wang Cong’s mind, and his gaze shifted away, silently counting the headless and headless remains.

"One, two, three, ...eight, nine, a total of nine bodies, all dead."

Wang Cong’s gaze roamed among the bodies on the ground, his pupils suddenly constricted, his sight, like attracted by a magnet, abruptly focused on the corpse whose right arm and even face were burned and charred.

Subsequently, his gaze involuntarily slid to the side of that corpse, where an exploded and broken electric baton lay in two pieces.

Feng Mu seemed to sense Wang Cong’s unease, he gently stepped forward, bending down to pick up the broken electric baton.

His movements were gentle and unhurried. Then, he turned to Wang Cong, his face carrying a gentle smile, explaining slowly:

"This electric baton exploded during use, luckily this prisoner seized it in time, otherwise..."

Feng Mu didn’t continue to depict the potential horrific outcome but gently patted Wang Cong’s stiff shoulder, his tone carrying a hint of gratitude and sentimentality:

"Really lucky, felt like the gods were watching over me, don’t you think?"

Wang Cong’s throat moved, swallowing hard. His reaction seemed somewhat slow, only managing to vaguely utter a single "Yes".

His mind was in chaos, confused both by the fact Feng Mu didn’t die, and why he didn’t die?

The electric baton not blowing off his arm could be chalked up to luck.

But why the hallucinogen in the thermos flask also failed to work? The reason behind this couldn’t also be attributed to luck, could it?

Exactly at what step did things go wrong? Was my plan not meticulous enough, was the drug expired, or was Feng Mu’s constitution unique, not absorbing it? Or did he push through the "hallucinations" and slaughtered all these prisoners?

Or perhaps he didn’t eat the food in the thermos flask at all, though I clearly saw it was empty. This reason behind this, thinking it over is terrifying.

These incomprehensible uncertainties made Wang Cong’s heart churn, his brain simmering like porridge.

"So, does Feng Mu actually know that I drugged his meal, that I swapped the baton?"

"Is he truly clueless, or has he already seen through everything and is just playing along?"

Wang Cong was a bundle of nerves, his gaze landing again on the gory scene before him, feeling frantic enough to die.

The temperature in the crematorium was already unbearably high, and now his clothes were soaked with sweat, sticking messily to his skin.

"Wipe your sweat."

Feng Mu took out a pack of tissues from his pocket and generously handed it to Wang Cong.

The latter had sweated so much that a pack of tissues was not enough to wipe it off.

Wang Cong instinctively took the tissues, looking up to meet Feng Mu’s clean face, untouched by a drop of blood, their eyes meeting, and Feng Mu’s eyes remained calm and gentle.

Just like yesterday, the day before, and when they first met.

Yet, Wang Cong’s inner world underwent an upheaval, feeling no warmth from Feng Mu; instead, the gentler that face appeared, the more eerie it felt.

Though the surrounding air was heated enough to possibly cook a person, chilling currents shot up through Wang Cong’s soles, like a cold corpse slowly climbing up his pant leg with icy hands, creeping past his thigh, gliding over his spine, finally touching his skull.

"Th-thank you!" Wang Cong’s body involuntarily shivered, and he hastily drew out a tissue, furiously wiping away the sweat on his forehead. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Oddly, the more Wang Cong wiped, the more sweat trickled down his forehead, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t clean it away.

The prison guards who gradually stepped in looked around the incinerator room, despite being seasoned with blood and guts, still flinched slightly.

No wonder—Feng Mu’s clothes and face were too clean, his expression too calm and gentle. It could easily be mistaken that he had just walked in from outside with them.

But in actuality, this bloody painting before them was all his doing.

The guards’ gazes towards Feng Mu changed, now mixed with surprise, doubt, and even a thread of discernible awe.

Feng Mu lightly raised an eyebrow, sensing the change in gazes, then offered everyone his characteristic gentle smile.

"Please watch your step, don’t damage the bodies. After Forensic Doctor Qin performs autopsies, could you kindly help carry them into the furnace for a complete burn?"

Feng Mu surveyed everyone present, slightly bowing, showcasing exemplary manners and politeness,

"I’m sorry for causing trouble for everyone."

The prison guards nodded with varied expressions then exchanged subtle glances, as if silently questioning who spread the rumor, slandering the new guard as a meek and polite pushover?

Well, indeed, he was polite but far from soft!

After finishing his bow, Feng Mu approached the gaping Qin Liang, warmly stating:

"Sorry for adding to your workload, Forensic Doctor Qin. I genuinely feel bad but still hope you can provide them with a nice report. Once out of prison, I owe you a meal to express my gratitude."

Qin Liang’s mouth slightly agape, memories of two fragmented scenes flashed through his mind: the earnest instructions of Qian Huan in the director’s office and his first warning to Feng Mu.

"Prison Director Qian reminded me to make the act as convincing as possible, and yes, I’ve prepared how to act, but Feng Mu didn’t die at all. The script from the prison director is totally wrong; how should I act then?"

"Plus, what did I warn Feng Mu about? Right, I recalled, I warned him there’s no good person in Second Prison, no one to trust, and promised if he died I’d give him a beautiful report?"

Qin Liang realized his words would be unfulfilled, and twice at that, looking at Feng Mu with a helpless desire to cry.

"Spent a lifetime looking at corpses in prison, yet can’t even see living people clearly. Seems I should truly retire."

Now glancing at Feng Mu, Qin Liang felt as if the other was a butcher standing in a bloody slaughterhouse, only that other butchers were blood-soaked whereas Feng Mu stood pristine in the corner, someone who’d unwittingly ignore the boning knife hidden in his sleeve.

"Alright, no problem, performing autopsies is my duty, but the meal won’t be necessary."

Qin Liang slyly wiped the cold sweat on his bald head, grinned showing a row of blackened teeth, refusing Feng Mu’s kindness, which Feng Mu acknowledged with a slight chuckle.

....