He's dead!

Although Lumian was mentally prepared, he still couldn't accept it.

When he left the clinic, Ruhl had already recovered and escaped the fortune of death, how could he suddenly die?

Lumian slowly stepped into room 307 and set his eyes on the bed.

Ruhl lay there, his skin covered with rotten wounds dripping with yellow water, his face was sallow and pale, there was no movement, his eyes were wide open, and there was a little vomit on his lips.

After a few seconds of staring into the blank, painful, and unwilling eyes, Lumian asked in a deep voice, "When did he die?"

Michelle's pale hair seemed to have lost its luster, and she shook her head slowly, "I was so sleepy that I fell asleep, and when I woke up, he was dead."

"Did he go back to 302 before he went to bed?" Lumien asked.

"No, he just went to the bathroom near 302, and I went too." Michelle's voice was obviously very low, but it gave Lumian a very erratic feeling, as if a part of her soul was already out of her body.

All of them have been to that bathroom, one has a "strange disease" and one has nothing to do. Lumian frowned, intending to check out the bathroom. If there is nothing wrong there, then the odds of Mrs. Michelle being abnormal are quite high.

When Lumian left room 307 and walked down the unlit hallway towards the target's bathroom, Michelle was still kneeling in front of his bed, sobbing incessantly, oblivious to what the others were doing. Because of the regular cleaning lady, the bathroom on the third floor is no longer as dirty as before, although after a day of use, there will inevitably be stains and garbage, but at least civilized people can find a place to stay.

Lumian looked out the window, the crimson moonlight, the toilet and the sink, the rusty water pipes, and the mirror that reflected his silhouette. He looked closely for a while, and found a white silk handkerchief on the pipe in the hidden place in the corner.

Just by the naked eye, Lumien thinks that it does not belong to most of the current tenants of the Golden Rooster Hotel, because it is made of excellent materials, embroidered elegantly, and the price is certainly expensive.

Got outsiders? Lumien's first instinct was to pick up the silk handkerchief for a more detailed examination, but immediately remembered the image of Mr. Ruhl's whole body festering when he suddenly fell ill, and forcibly controlled himself.

In a flash, he left the bathroom, walked back to room 307, and asked Mrs. Michelle, who was still sobbing: "Do you know whose handkerchief belongs to the bathroom?"

Confused and grieved, Michelle replied purely instinctively: "It's Ruhr's."

Mr. Ruhl's? Lumian was both surprised and had the feeling that this was indeed the case, and he asked, "Where did it come from?"

Mrs. Michelle looked at the hideous Ruhr and said dreamily, "I don't know which gentleman or lady threw it from the garbage I picked up tonight." It was wrapped in a mouthful of phlegm and undamaged, and Ruhl washed it and put it on his body, intending to sell it as second-hand merchandise, not as garbage.

"After you said there might be something dirty in that pile of garbage, Ruhl took it out and hid it in the bathroom, and he didn't dare go back to 302."

Phlegm...... Lumian felt like he had found the source of the problem.

He exhaled slowly, "Did Mr. Ruhl touch that handkerchief again?" Have you touched it? ”

"I don't know." Mrs. Michelle shook her head slowly, "I haven't touched the bathroom he went to."

Really...... Lumian took out his gloves and put them on, went to the bathroom again, picked up the white handkerchief made of silk with "depraved mercury", put it in the white paper he carried with him, and folded them.

During the whole process, he was careful not to touch the handkerchief directly.

After doing this, Lumian wiped the blade of the "Fallen Mercury" with another piece of white paper, threw the paper ball into the toilet, and waited for it to soften due to the soaking before flushing it away. As soon as he stepped out of the bathroom, he saw Mrs. Michelle standing quietly in the door of room 307, like a ghost wandering back in the darkness.

Seeing Lumian close to himself, this

The gray-haired old lady had a pleading expression: "It's almost dawn, Mr. Charles, can you help me carry Ruhl back to 302?" Her voice was still like a dream.

Lumian was stunned for a moment, and was silent for five or six seconds before he said, "Okay."

He then entered room 307, wrapped Mr. Ruhr in the sheets of the bed, carried him behind him, a few steps away, and placed the body on the bed in room 302.

Mrs. Michelle, who had squeezed through the garbage heap, thanked her, and then sleepwalked to the wooden table and opened the curtains. It was close to six o'clock in the morning, and a touch of morning light lit up in the sky, making the crimson moonlight melt a lot. Michel listened to the hawkers' cries from the other side of the hotel and gazed deeply at Ruhr. Lumien exited Room 302 and returned to the hallway, where the light was still out of reach, and stood silently with his back against the wall. It didn't spoil the quiet picture.

A few minutes passed, and Mrs. Michelle suddenly moved.

She rummaged through the room for more bills and coins, then rushed out of the room and down the stairs.

Lumian didn't follow, but raised his right foot and stepped back against the wall, leaning against the wall that was sleeping in the darkness.

As the minutes ticked by, Mrs. Michelle returned with a large amount of things.

There was red wine in a bottle, a grilled fish, bacon, meatloaf, refried beans, hot sauce, and apples.

Mrs. Michelle didn't look at Lumien, and walked into room 302 and sat down on the floor beside the bed, placing all the food beside the festering corpse.

She thought about it, got up again, and lit the calcium carbide lamp on the wooden table, filling the room with light. Mrs. Michel sat down again, picked up the patty, put it to Ruhl's mouth, and said with a smile: "Don't you really want to eat meatloaf lately? Today I buy it for you. ”

After staining the corpse's lips with oil, Mrs. Michelle also took a bite of the meatloaf, closed her eyes and said, "It's delicious, how long have we not eaten?" Two weeks, right? ”

After a few bites of the patty, Mrs. Michelle took the bottle of red wine in her hand and took a sip. She said, "Old man, our vines have borne fruit and made red wine, and we don't have to worry about what to do in the future."

She chattered about Ruhl's corpse as she gulped down wine and ate all kinds of food.

Outside the door, Lumien stood in the darkness, with his back to the wall, quietly watching inside, not leaving or entering.

Soon, Mrs. Michelle's drunkenness grew stronger, and she sang loudly, "Trier covered with gold;" a dance party until dawn;

"Fat roast chicken;" Like a castle cake;

"Waiters in bow ties weave between the guests;" stepping on cheerful dance steps;

"O my beloved, in the midst of them;" right in the midst of them;

"This is the City of Joy, this is the eternal Trier."

At this point, Mrs. Michelle stood up, staggered to the wooden table, and brought the pile of bills to the calcium carbide lamp.

In an instant, all the cash was set on fire.

It fell on the table, emitting a bright yellowish fire.

Mrs. Michelle opened her arms and cried out: "This is the City of Joy, this is the eternal Trier."

She then took the rope that bound the sack, climbed up to the wooden table, tied the rope to the window frame, and tied it in a dead knot.

In the firelight, Mrs. Michelle turned to face Ruhl on the bed, put her neck in the knot, and bent her legs.

The knot sank so heavily that Mrs. Michelle's eyes bulged out a little.

Outside the window, it was a little brighter, and a third of the corridor was tinted with a faint light, and Lumian leaned against the wall still shrouded in darkness, with his hands in his pockets and his right foot propped back, staring expressionlessly at Mrs. Michelle hanging from the window frame, watching her mouth gradually open, watching her expression change

In pain, watching her bent legs not let go until she died.

The corpse swayed gently in the morning light.

6:35 a.m. in apartment 601, 3 White Coat Street.

Franca, who was woken up by a knock on the door, rubbed her flaxen-colored hair in pain: "I've only slept for three hours, three hours."

"You can help me see if there is anything wrong with this." As if he hadn't heard Franca's accusation, Lumian took out the handkerchief wrapped in white paper. Be careful, it can be contagious. "Disease?" Franka came to her senses and returned to her room, donning a pair of translucent yellow gloves made of rubber.

Very carefully, she unwrapped the outer layer of paper, took out the silk handkerchief inside, and placed it on the glass-based coffee table.

After tapping her teeth a few times and observing them carefully for a while, Franka said with a solemn expression: "There is a problem, there are many small but active spirits left on it, belonging to the same species.

"I suspect it's a pathogen, spread through skin-to-skin contact or even blood exchange, and according to your description, it's not very contagious."

Lumian didn't understand what a pathogen was, but he could probably figure out what Franca was trying to mean.

He was silent for a moment and said, "Can you find out who the owner of this handkerchief is?"

"No problem, there's a powerful medium here. As long as he doesn't do anti-divination, or the level of anti-divination is not high enough, I can find out. As she spoke, a black flame erupted from Franca's rubber gloves.

After "cleaning", she took off her gloves, took out a vanity mirror, pressed her left palm on top of the handkerchief, and gently stroked the mirror with her right hand.

She whispered a few incantations, and her eyes deepened.

She began to repeat the divination phrase: "The owner of this handkerchief, the owner of this handkerchief."

After a few times, the mirror glowed with water, and a figure was reflected in the darkness. It was a young man with a thin build, a pale face, and a little unhealthy.