The clown stared at the woman in front of him, his eyes almost on the person.

The woman with water sleeves came on the stage this time, but she just went through the motions and quickly walked off the stage.

Unbeknownst to her, the Joker was following her.

Two people, no, it should be two obsessions, turned around the stage, indicating that the woman had gone home.

The clown nodded, made a note of the woman's home, silently remembered the location in his heart, and went out for a few more walks.

In less than half a minute, the lights on the stage suddenly dimmed.

The dim light indicates that it is dark, and even if it means that it is dark, the stage only dims the light slightly.

After a few turns, the clown approached the watersleeve woman's room again.

The woman in the water sleeves still pretended not to know what the situation was, and continued to be busy with her own affairs, and there was a child beside her.

I couldn't help frowning, to be honest, it is generally unlikely that there will be children in Peking Opera.

And I look at the appearance of the clown, who belongs to the sinister and cunning category, and I guess that the child is in danger.

The lights on the stage gradually became darker and darker, and I don't know when, a bed appeared on the stage.

The clown came to the woman, and the dim light shone on his face with an eerie sneer.

The sleeping woman doesn't know yet, from the biggest nightmare of her life.

"The little lady really looks like Zhou Zheng, and her skin is not bad, why don't you let the uncle check your body and see if it's the same up and down?"

The clown slaps the woman's cheek with a white knife and doesn't care about showing a terrible and hideous smile at the woman.

I couldn't bear to keep watching, the woman had begun to be submissive, and the scene began to develop in another uncontrollable direction.

I don't know how to feel in my heart, I don't know whether to blame the clown, or the water-sleeved girl, or the man who goes out to fight.

The repertoire on the stage continues, and the dim lighting gives people a special sense of oppression, as if people can't breathe.

"Brush"

The blood flashed, and it was the water sleeve girl who shot.

The woman was completely different, and she killed her child with her own hands.

It felt as if I was being weighed down by a huge rock in my chest, and the heaviness made me feel like screaming.

The development of the play is a bit too unexpected, I thought it would be a clown who killed the child, but I didn't expect it to be a woman.

You have to know which child is her child, the tiger poison does not eat children, but she takes matters into her own hands and obliterates her own child.

The heart is vicious to a certain extent, which is beyond imagination.

Next, the clown buried the child with a grin, and the black and white knives on his waist were particularly dazzling.

The curtain fell, and only the small grave of a small child remained, sitting alone outside the curtain.

The lights became dazzling, and the light gathered on the stage.

"Click"

The small tomb suddenly cracked, and a small, dark hand covered in dirt came out of it.

The little black hand grabbed the dirt from the outside of the grave and pulled itself out of the grave.

With his head cut off, he staggered next to the grave he had crawled out of, covered in pitch-black dirt, and looked terrible.

Holding his head firmly with a pair of small hands, he scanned us with a cold gaze, as if he thought we were murderers.

The head, which looked wobbly and covered in mud, was held by a pair of small hands, and there was a strange feeling that it might fall off at any moment, and it hung on its shoulder.

"Twenty-two, I ask you, why was it me who was killed?"

I almost understand by now that there are many answers to all questions, and that we are not really answering questions.

There will be no answer to this kind of question, just like if a person asks you how many is one plus one, he has actually determined the answer in his heart, and the reason why he asked you is because he did it on purpose.

Deliberately trying to get you to answer incorrectly, and then kill you.

There's nothing wrong with the question itself, it's the answer that's wrong.

Whatever answer we give is different from what the other person has in mind, it is a failure.

One plus one equals two, something that children know, but we can't answer correctly.

Because in the other person's heart, in addition to two, there are countless numbers as answers.

"Because, because ......"

Twenty-two deliberately slowed down his speech, and after the first two answers, everyone else basically knew that the answer was not so easy to choose.

Deliberately slowing down the pace of speech and procrastinating for time?

I pinched my earlobe, really when the obsession on the stage is a fool?

Since they have made up their minds to kill us, there must be a few, or even a dozen, answers to the questions they ask.

It is useless to procrastinate time, and the obsession on the stage will never allow us to delay for too long.

"Twenty-two, answer."

The child holding his head appeared in front of the twenty-second in an instant.

Twenty-two was so frightened that his body trembled, and in a blink of an eye, he returned to his original appearance.

After all, we are veteran players, and we all know that panic and panic will not help us in the slightest in this kind of place.

The only thing that can help us is to calm down, to be completely calm, to escape from the terrible deadlock.

Then again, we're here to participate in the game, and it's impossible to get into a mortal game.

The Scarlet Round Table should not make us die for no reason, what we have to guess is not the question, nor the answer to be answered, but the obsession of asking the question.

Only by surprising what they have in their hearts can they have a certain chance of surviving.

Of course, we are the ones who stand on the sidelines and watch, and we know much more about the obsession of asking questions than the people in the game.

But it is precisely because of this that we all watch as spectators, not deeply involved, lacking the personal touch of obsession, but unable to guess what obsession is thinking.

If you can't guess what you're obsessed with, you can't guess the answer.

That's why the Scarlet Round Table specifically reminds us to watch the play carefully, and only by being careful and thoroughly immersing ourselves in it can we guess the answer.