The voice came again.

Not the whispers of angels, but a noisy movement bordering on madness, chaos, unspeakable.

These notes, through the eardrum, pierce the optic nerve, drawing a dazzling picture in the mind, deep and blurry...

Sang Ziqing was sweating profusely, tossing and turning tormented by that indescribable nightmare.

Finally, the exaggerated "Time Magician" let out a piercing bell, which dragged him back from his boundless fear.

Sang Ziqing walked into the bedroom, rinsed his lower face with clean water, and sorted out his messy hair.

The man in the mirror was even more withered and emaciated than he had imagined.

There are still more than twenty minutes before the time of the hall assembly.

Sang Ziqing opened the window and took out a delicate short knife from inside.

The scabbard has flame streaks, the handle is tied with gold string, and the blade is delicate and bright, with dragon carvings, which looks like the periphery of a work, but it has not yet been bladed.

Sang Ziqing picked up the short knife and polished it on the edge of the balcony window.

The colorful glass makes people dizzy, and when you look closely, you can't see anything outside the window.

It's a strange construction, like a deliberate attempt to make this manor an impermeable iron prison.

The sound of sharpening knives and grinding teeth sounded together, Sang Ziqing wiped the sweat on his forehead, and watched the thick and blunt blade finally have a sharp cold light.

He swiped lightly on his arm, his skin curled up with flesh.

It's not as good as it could be, but it's enough to cause substantial damage.

Sang Ziqing pinned the knife to the belt around the waist of his trousers, dragged away the cupboard and the bed full of girl's hearts, left room 9, and walked in the direction of the hall.

There were five minutes left before the rally began.

There were only two women standing in the empty hall.

They looked horrified, their backs pressed against the closed door, and their eyes widened at the relief of the Holy Maiden on the wall.

"She's alive! She's alive! The white-haired girl with ice crystal pupils shouted anxiously.

Most of the plaster of the relief has fallen off, the white bones are exposed, the flesh is blurred, and the gray dust and blood are mixed into mud, which looks like a mural with a bad taste.

There was only blood at the corners of the eyes, and the lacrimal glands had long been drained.

"We have to save her..."

"We can't do anything." Another woman said.

She looked like she was thirty years old, with curly blond hair and a pale face, but she yawned lazily and acted like she didn't care about herself.

Sang Ziqing didn't say anything, and found a corner next to the gate to stand.

The woman who didn't seem to be awake was right, we couldn't do anything.

The man in the wall was still praying pitifully, and his bulging eyeballs were like dried rotten oranges.

How long can you live? An hour, half an hour, five minutes, or just die in the next second?

He didn't know.

After a while, people leaned out of the inconspicuous narrow hole.

"One, two... Five. Sang Ziqing counted silently in his heart.

As a result, there were only five people who came out, and with the two women outside, there were only seven people.

At the head of the procession was a gray-haired priest, dressed in dark black, holding a Bible and a gleaming silver cross hanging from his chest.

In addition to Litchell and Zuo Ye Lixia, the group was followed by a young man with a delicate face and a woman with a tired expression.

The eyes of the five people were instantly drawn to the human relief on the fireplace.

"Damn, that's disgusting fun!" Leacher swallowed.

"May God redeem this poor soul!" The priest held aloft the cross on his chest and closed his eyes in prayer.

The disheveled Li Xia pretended to be frightened, she did not get into Lichel's arms, but screamed and hugged the fair-faced young man tightly, and kept rubbing the young man's face with the two "killer weapons" that she was proud of.

The young man's face was flushed, and he pushed Li Xia away in a panic, and said something inarticulately.

The delicate woman was very satisfied with this reaction, and paid no attention to the gritted and tearing eyes of Litchell next to her.

The boy walked up to the relief, his eyes showing a kind of powerless sadness, he clenched his fists, and left his head aside with a sad face.

"Looks like we've got new friends again." The priest glanced at Sang Ziqing, "Come forward, kid, this is an important meeting, and this is an existential game." ”

"Child, what is your name, where did you come from, and which room did you stay in?"

The priest's old face seeped with a warm sun-like kindness, and he asked amiably.

"Sang Ziqing in room nine, I don't remember where I came from, and I don't remember..."

"Poor child, the past is a heavy chain, and sometimes forgetting is a relief."

He stepped forward and gently stroked Sang Ziqing's head, with rough calluses on his heavy palms.

"Introduce us to this poor child, we have new friends."

At the priest's call, the crowd gathered around the broken sofa.

Sang Ziqing tried his best to engrave the image of everyone in his mind.

The handsome young man in Room No. 1, Yang Zijie, still looked distressed at this time, looking back at the human relief behind him from time to time.

Room 3, the priest, was a kind old man with an unshakable faith in the Lord.

Room No. 4, Xie Xuehan, a silver-haired girl with a sweet appearance and a soft personality.

Room 6, a hollow-eyed, lifeless woman, seems to be indifferent to everything, obviously just finished her lunch break, and she didn't start introducing herself, so she went back to sleep.

The woman in room ten, Louis Jie, looks like a down-and-out medieval aristocrat.

"Plus Lixia on the fifth and Litchell on the eighth, there should be five more people, excuse me, what about the others? I saw twelve rooms. ”

The priest's brow furrowed, and he kept rubbing the cross necklace in his hand.

A meeting was held at 3 p.m. every day to discuss the division of the stockpiles and the arrangements for the follow-up. These things are all arranged and deployed by themselves, and some people are inexplicably absent without saying hello, which is simply a challenge to their credibility.

He cleaned up his voice and tried to cover up his worries with a hoarse voice: "The gentleman in room seven is an angry guy, he is often blown up because of a trivial matter, he and the gentleman in room 11 are a bit of a holiday, I guess I don't want to see each other today." ”

All eyes turned to the priest with a look of disbelief on his face.

Only Leachell looked elated and happy:

"Hey! Rage and Scrooge, that's a good show! But this time I'm going to be on the side of the rage, that greedy guy is disgusting, not only money, but even food is trying to take more, it's insatiable! ”

Sang Ziqing continued to ask: "What about the others?" ”

"No, kid, Twelfth is an empty room. As for the lady in room two, I'm afraid..."

The priest stopped talking, looking back at the relief above the fireplace in grief.

Sang Ziqing followed the priest's gaze, and the bare skeleton on the relief looked like it was indeed a woman, and it seemed that these people had already guessed the identity of the person in the wall some time after the rally began.

"Well, in short, welcome, child of Nine."

Sang Ziqing bowed deeply, and buried his head in the fists he picked up.

It wasn't that he had respect for the kindness and elegance and easy-going manner shown by the old man, but that when he heard the words "Room Nine", his heart suddenly missed a section.

Listening to these people, they know each other well, so why didn't everyone mention the fact that the fat man died?

The method of hiding the corpse is not clever, and it can even be said to be sloppy, so it seems that everyone has acquiesced to the death of the fat man.