The refrigerator door stood open.
The light inside was weak, flickering, humming like an insect trapped in glass.
Zhao Liren's world narrowed to that single rectangle of white.
Inside it...
A body.
Or what remained of one.
The skin had gone grayish-yellow, pulled tight over bone in places, sagging loose in others. The smell hit him a second later...sweet, metallic, decayed beyond denial. The corpse had been there a long time. Weeks. Months. Long enough for time itself to rot around it.
There were no hands.
Both arms ended abruptly at the wrists, flesh cut clean, bones gnawed smooth like something had worried them slowly, lovingly.
Zhao's knees buckled.
His breath tore out of him in a broken sound that never quite became a scream.
Before it could...
A hand clamped over his mouth.
Cold. Firm. Absolute.
Wen Jun stood behind him, close enough that Zhao could feel the calm rhythm of his breathing against his back. No panic. No shock. Only control.
Wen Jun leaned in, lips near Zhao's ear, voice barely louder than thought.
"Don't scream."
Zhao's tears spilled silently, blurring the corpse into a smear of pale horror.
"Don't react," Wen Jun continued, whisper-smooth. "And don't look again."
Zhao nodded frantically, chest heaving. He wiped his eyes with trembling fingers, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.
"I will get you out," Wen Jun said. Not a promise. A statement.
He reached forward and closed the refrigerator door.
The hum stopped.
The light vanished.
As if the body had never existed.
They stood there for one heartbeat longer...then Wen Jun guided Zhao back toward the living room, his hand firm on Zhao's wrist. Zhao forced his face into neutrality, forcing his muscles to obey like a badly rehearsed lie.
In the living room, nothing had changed.
That was the worst part.
Shen Lian was leaning back on the couch, laughing softly at something Lian Zhen had said. Qin Yuelin sat cross-legged on the rug, fiddling with his mask strap, listening with bright eyes.
"So you really live alone here?" Shen Lian asked casually, voice light.
Lian Zhen nodded, offering a small, shy smile. "Since my father passed. It's quiet, but I don't mind. Silence keeps me company."
Qin Yuelin tilted his head. "Doesn't it get lonely?"
Lian Zhen paused, knife-still eyes flickering toward the hallway for just a fraction of a second.
"I don't think I've ever been alone," he said softly.
Zhao felt his stomach twist.
Wen Jun stepped forward.
"Let's go," he said calmly. "My car has arrived."
The words sliced clean through the room.
Shen Lian looked up. "That fast?"
"Yes."
There was no argument in Wen Jun's voice. Only inevitability.
He didn't wait. He took Zhao's hand again...this time openly...and led him toward the door.
Shen Lian rose immediately, sensing the tension snap tight like a wire pulled too far.
Qin Yuelin stood as well.
But before leaving...
He turned back.
He looked at Lian Zhen.
And he smiled.
Not the soft, anxious smile Zhao knew.
Not the fragile one.
But something sharper. Knowing.
Lian Zhen met his gaze.
For a moment, something passed between them...silent, electric, unreadable.
Then Qin Yuelin turned and walked out.
The morning air outside felt unreal. Too fresh. Too clean. Birds chirped like nothing had ever screamed in this forest.
And parked just beyond the treeline...
A Bentley Bentayga EWB Mulliner.
Black. Polished. Monolithic. Luxury standing like a contradiction against the wild woods.
Shen Lian stared. "What the hell…"
Zhao didn't speak. His hands were shaking again.
A driver stood beside the car, impeccably dressed, face blank, eyes forward. He bowed slightly to Wen Jun.
"Sir."
Wen Jun nodded once. "Drive."
They got in.
The doors closed with a soft, final thud that sounded too much like sealing a coffin.
Wen Jun sat in the back beside Zhao. Shen Lian and Qin Yuelin took the opposite seats. The driver pulled away smoothly, tires whispering against gravel.
The house vanished between the trees.
For several minutes, no one spoke.
The forest slid past the windows...thick, endless, watching.
Zhao finally broke.
His voice cracked. "There was a body."
Shen Lian stiffened instantly. "What?"
"In the fridge," Zhao whispered. "No hands."
Shen Lian swore under his breath, face draining of color. He turned toward Wen Jun. "You knew."
Wen Jun didn't deny it.
"I suspected."
Qin Yuelin was silent. Too silent.
Shen noticed and frowned. "Yuelin?"
Qin looked up slowly, eyes reflecting the passing trees.
"Did you notice," he asked softly, "that he never locked his door?"
The question hung heavy.
Zhao's breath hitched again. "What are you saying?"
Qin smiled faintly. "Nothing."
Wen Jun's gaze snapped to him...sharp, assessing. "You recognized him."
Qin met his eyes calmly. "I recognized something."
The Bentley surged forward as the road curved deeper into shadow.
Shen Lian rubbed his arms. "That meat… it wasn't..."
"No," Wen Jun said flatly. "It wasn't animal."
Shen gagged.
Zhao pressed his forehead to the window, tears silently streaking down again.
Behind them, far back in the forest...
A figure stood on the porch of the small house.
Lian Zhen watched the black SUV disappear.
His smile faded.
He stepped back inside.
The house sighed.
And somewhere deep within it, something shifted… hungry again.
END OF THE CHAPTER.