Wen Yiqian felt like a complete fool.
To be so effortlessly taken hostage by a woman—never mind her delicate appearance—and to lack even the courage to resist, meekly allowing himself to be led into her home like a lamb to slaughter, was beyond humiliating.
The air inside the apartment was thick with an overpowering scent of perfume, no doubt meant to mask the reek of blood and decay.
Under Xu Xuanmei's blade, Wen Yiqian obediently sat down at the dining table. His eyes flicked toward the large refrigerator in the kitchen, and a chill ran down his spine.
If his memory served him right, that was where the corpses of her husband and his mistress were currently stored.
"So, it seems you know everything," came Xu Xuanmei's cold, knowing laugh as she caught the subtle tilt of his head.
Wen Yiqian opened his mouth but no words came.
"Cat got your tongue?" she purred, smiling sweetly as she pressed the fruit knife against his throat.
Feeling the icy bite of the blade, he broke into a cold sweat, gulping instinctively. He didn't doubt for a second that this madwoman could sl*t his throat without hesitation.
In his own narrative, he had made her extreme—deranged beyond redemption. She was not the type to experience a change of heart.
Only now did Wen Yiqian understand what it truly meant to be hoisted by one's own petard.
Had he written her with even a hint of mercy or ambiguity, he might have had the chance to beg and elicit her sympathy. But now?
"Think, d*mn it! To die within an hour of transmigrating—and at the hands of a minor character no less—is beyond disgraceful!"
Panic gripped his heart, yet he refused to cry or plead. He knew all too well what that would mean to a sadist like her.
To beg was to excite. To show weakness was to invite slow, deliberate cruelty.
Psychopaths were not the same as murderers. The latter killed for purpose, swiftly and without flourish. But the former? They craved ritual. The ecstasy of the process itself.
If she intended to kill him, she could've done so already.
Wen Yiqian wasn't a psychopath himself, but after years of crafting twisted minds in his novels, he knew how they ticked.
This was his world—his creation—and if he could think like his characters, he might just find a way to survive.
"You're scared," Xu Xuanmei observed softly, watching his trembling figure.
He tried to still his body, but the more he resisted, the harder he shook. Instinct had seized control.
A predator could smell fear. And when the prey trembled, the fangs drew closer.
If this continued, he would die. She would cut him open without hesitation.
"I don't want to die..."
"I don't want to die!"
"There has to be a way…"
"Think! What would the protagonist do in a situation like this?"
"Don't be afraid, little brother," she whispered, her eyes as cold as winter steel. "It'll be over soon…"
She lifted his chin with one hand, the knife poised in the other, ready to tear his throat wide open.
And then—Wen Yiqian lowered his head and began to laugh.
"What are you laughing at?" she asked, startled.
"I'm laughing… because you actually think I'm afraid." He raised his trembling right hand with effort. "Haven't you realized? I'm shaking from excitement."
"What…?"
She frowned, just as he lunged.
His hand closed around the blade at his throat—blood gushed—but he rose like a thunderclap.
Startled, Xu Xuanmei stumbled backward and tripped over a stool, crashing to the ground.
"May 27th," Wen Yiqian said, blood dripping from his hand, a grotesque smile curling his lips. "You came home early from work, feeling unwell, only to discover your husband in bed with another woman."
"You argued, you pushed, and in the heat of the moment, you killed him. Then, figuring you'd already crossed the line, you killed her too."
His recounting was unnervingly precise—like he'd witnessed it firsthand.
Even Xu Xuanmei, sprawled on the floor, gasped in shock. "How… how do you know that?"
No mere guesswork could have deduced the accidental nature of the first kill and the cold resolve behind the second.
"No, no," Wen Yiqian shook his head, stepping forward with the blood-soaked knife. "The real question you should be asking is: why, if I've known all this, haven't I turned you in?"
Xu Xuanmei's breath caught. Indeed, he had known.
And last night—his sudden visit—was it just a warning?
"Last night," Wen Yiqian said, squatting before her, still wearing that eerie, artificial smile, "I came to give you a gentle nudge. To keep a cute little thing like you out of prison."
He stroked her face, his voice tender as a lover's.
"But you didn't appreciate my kindness. Today, you try to silence me."
His eyes narrowed, a gleam of madness within. "But that only makes me like you more."
"Shall we play a more exciting game?"
"What do you mean?" she whispered, pulse racing, a strange anticipation coloring her voice.
"I'm going to tie you up now," he murmured darkly, his handsome face twisted into something almost seductive. "Then, I'll flip a coin."
"One side: I call the police and hand you in."
"The other: I'll do what every man fantasizes about… right in front of your husband's corpse."
He grinned, revealing teeth too white, too sharp.
"Sounds thrilling, doesn't it?"
Xu Xuanmei shivered—not from fear, but from the overwhelming thrill. Her breath quickened, and a fevered blush crept across her cheeks.
Images of betrayal, murder, and revenge danced through her mind. She was trembling with chaotic longing.
"There's rope in the drawer," she murmured, breathless with desire.
"Good girl."
Wen Yiqian patted her head.
He bound her tightly and blindfolded her with a rag.
Then, without hesitation, he fled, racing back to his own apartment and slamming the door shut behind him.
Collapsing to the floor, he clutched his chest, gasping for air as his heart pounded like a war drum.
"Holy sh*t… that scared the life out of me!"