Geisteswissenschaftliche Fakultät

Kapitel 11

He sat quietly for a while, stroking the hideous scar at the corner of his left eye, then stood up and left without looking back, carrying the lantern.

This is Pomeranian Market, the world's largest market, a market that sells the unbelievable. Welcome!

Chapter Fifteen: The Cursed Child

Name: Mingdu Gender: Male Age: Appears to be over sixty

Occupation: Owner and head chef of Baige Restaurant Address: No. 44, West Exit Street, Bomeiji

"That old fox Zhang Yinggui!" Sang Qianlin cursed under her breath as she strode down the steps. The hem of her chiffon green skirt swayed rhythmically with the graceful lines of her legs, attracting glances from passersby. Although she was well past thirty, her excellent maintenance made her look no more than twenty-five or twenty-six. In fact, compared to women in their thirties, Sang Qianlin possessed an added air of composed elegance. Even now, in her rage, her beautiful eyes, filled with resentment, still accentuated her ethereal beauty.

I knew that people's hearts were thinner than paper, but I never expected that this layer of paper would be seven parts thinner than a cicada's wing!

Ten years ago, when she was at the height of her fame, countless gentlemen and business tycoons would scramble to curry favor with her, showering her with money and gifts. She was never picky. Movies, TV dramas, commercials—where was Sang Qianlin not present? Who wouldn't be wary of her name? Even those self-proclaimed elites, with their seniority and social standing, would shower her with compliments, eagerly awaiting her favor and hoping for her hand in their sleeves. It's all my fault for being so foolish. I retired at a young age and married a businessman, thinking that marrying into wealth would bring me everything I needed. Who would have thought I'd marry a perfect husband? He indulged in all sorts of vices—drinking, gambling, whoring, and smoking—but he couldn't make any money. In just a few years after his father-in-law's death, the family fortune was almost entirely gone, yet he showed no remorse. He did nothing but fool around all day, relying on me to lend him eighty percent of his savings. If I hadn't left early, I fear I would have gone from phoenix to wild bird, becoming a laughingstock and dying of shame.

After the divorce and the division of assets, Sang Qianlin cashed out her valuables and discovered that her total assets amounted to only a little over 100,000 yuan. This amount would certainly be enough for an ordinary family to live on for a while; if they were frugal, they could simply deposit it in a bank and earn interest without engaging in any productive work. However, Sang Qianlin, having been a wealthy wife for ten years, was accustomed to spending money like water. Her expenses on food and drink alone easily exceeded ten thousand yuan. She wouldn't even look at anything less than the finest delicacies from Fu Rong Zhai. In her early years before her debut, Sang Qianlin had endured much hardship, waking up early and going to bed late, eating only two meals a day, even leftovers, which she ate with relish. But after becoming famous, she became a pampered darling, spoiled for so long, that she had developed a picky palate and could never go back to what she used to be. Therefore, after much deliberation, her only option was to return to the entertainment industry.

Although asking for favors inevitably involves being mindful of others' attitudes, Sang Qianlin had prepared for the worst—being met with a cold shoulder—the harsh reality left even her, a seasoned observer of fame and fortune, quite frustrated. All the people who used to call her "Sister Sang" back in her heyday had vanished. They wouldn't answer her phone, pretended not to be there when she visited, and those she finally managed to catch either seemed too busy to handle anything and were about to leave, or were distracted and inattentive, ultimately offering no real information.

The man she visited this morning, Zhang Yinggui, was the rising star of the entertainment industry, the CEO of Tianying Group. Now enjoying immense success, he had failed in business ten years ago, so poor he couldn't even afford a steamed bun. If it weren't for Sang Qianlin's pity and assistance, he would likely have starved to death on the streets, and would he not have achieved his current glory. Because of this connection, she was confident that this lead, while not foolproof, would at least be 70% successful. However, despite his polite demeanor on the phone, he repeatedly gave her empty promises, infuriating Sang Qianlin to the point of vowing never to speak to him again. But with her wallet dwindling and life still going on, she stubbornly and shamelessly waited outside his door. She did manage to meet him, but what was the result? The man raised an eyebrow and tossed her a movie script. The screenwriter and director were both currently popular big names, and the cinematographer and stylist were also somewhat prominent. However, the role he gave her was a minor supporting one, appearing only twice from beginning to end, with a total screen time of just over three minutes. She was playing a courtesan who died a violent death. To put it bluntly, it was just a bit part with a few more close-up shots than an extra. Sang Qianlin had never suffered such humiliation in her years in the entertainment industry. She was about to lash out when the man spoke first.

"Ying Gui knows that this role is definitely beneath Sister Sang, but Ying Gui's family is small and poor, and we can't even film a big production every few years. If we were to put together a small-budget production for you, Sister Sang, it would be disrespectful. Well, we finally found a decent one, but the role was already cast six months ago. Changing course for you wouldn't be a big deal, but the problem is that the director has already taken a liking to the female lead. You know, we small business owners may seem glamorous on the surface, but we suffer in the end. Ying Gui is powerless to repay Sister Sang's kindness in nurturing us in our early years. Ying Gui... Ying Gui is truly ashamed!"

His words were spoken in a grand and dignified manner, punctuated by sighs and tears. In his enthusiasm, he almost seemed ready to beat his chest in sympathy, making Sang Qianlin wonder if Zhang Yinggui, hadn't gone into business, might already be a star with an Oscar. The outcome of the conversation, of course, was that Sang Qianlin reluctantly, yet with profuse thanks, accepted the role. Once a dazzling star, now reduced to this—a testament to the treacherous nature of the world!

Sang Qianlin let out a long sigh and stopped thinking. Only then did he remember to look around. It would have been better if he hadn't looked, because what he saw made him even more confused—he didn't know when he had wandered into a bustling market! In front of him was a narrow bluestone path, no more than a few meters wide, lined with shops on both sides, teeming with people. The buildings were all antique, with flying eaves and brackets, making it seem at first glance like he had stepped into the exterior of a martial arts movie set. Looking at the merchants, they were all dressed strangely and acted strangely. Even those dressed normally seemed to have something odd about them in their expressions. This market was truly bizarre!

Curiosity piqued, Sang Qianlin set aside her worries and began to stroll leisurely. The first shop on her left was a musical instrument store, its shelves overflowing with both Chinese and Western instruments. The owner, a refined gentleman, exuded an air of sophisticated elegance; his old-fashioned suit made him seem as if he had stepped back in time to the 1930s. To her right, a young woman of seventeen or eighteen, dressed in a dark blue robe, was weaving exquisite bracelets. The wooden tray held various simple yet striking ornaments, each a gem unlike anything Sang Qianlin had ever seen before. Further on was a small, enclosed courtyard. Behind the double wooden doors, a large patch of moonflowers bloomed, their snow-white petals unfurling under the warm sun—a rather strange sight…

Looking at the delicate flowers, Sang Qianlin suddenly had a thought. If, of course, just if, there were a medicine in this world that could restore youth, wouldn't her comeback be easier? Just as she was thinking this, the wind suddenly whistled past her ears, and the surrounding scenery seemed to blur for a moment. When she looked again, the courtyard was gone, and in its place was a pharmacy with a black and gold sign. Inside the brown, carved doors, a cute girl with pigtails was smiling and waving at her from behind a counter that was about half her height.

Sang Qianlin was momentarily stunned, so she smiled at the other person. A thought then flashed through her mind: beauty and youth are certainly essential for navigating the entertainment industry, but true success, besides personal talent, likely depends primarily on connections and shrewdness. In that split second, she heard a loud crash, and when she looked again, the pharmacy door was firmly shut, and the eleven or twelve-year-old girl had vanished without a trace. Sang Qianlin grew increasingly puzzled and became determined to investigate. She stepped forward, about to knock on the closed door, when she heard a deep, resonant voice behind her.

"Madam, please sit down and rest for a while. I can make what you need right away."

Sang Qianlin turned around and was immediately startled. She didn't know when the pastry shop behind her had transformed into a funeral supplies shop. Inside the dark shop, an elderly man wearing thick-rimmed glasses was intently working on a bamboo skewer stand under an oil lamp. He appeared to be a pageboy keeping vigil. Looking at the floor piled high with joss paper, gold foil, and wooden coffins, even though there was only a narrow passage, a chilling wind swept over her. Sang Qianlin shivered involuntarily, tightened her dress at the seams, and turned to leave.

"Madam, since you have placed an order, how can you go back on your word and do business with empty promises?" The old man did not even look up at her. He simply took out a piece of white paper and began to cover the skin. At the same time, he spread out the finest paint and placed a small brush, presumably intending to draw the facial features.

Sang Qianlin abruptly stopped in his tracks, saying with a mixture of doubt and anger, "When did I order anything from your store and then decide I don't want it anymore? Don't spout nonsense in broad daylight and bring bad luck to people."

The old man seemed to smile, and with a brush dipped in a color as bright as peach blossoms, he carefully painted the lips and teeth of the paper figure: "If Madam did not have something to ask of me, why would she have come here? Besides, the shop across the street had already set its sights on Madam. If I hadn't been ordered by Madam to start making this, I'm afraid my business would have been snatched away for nothing."

Sang Qianlin was even more bewildered upon hearing this. While feeling uneasy, he also became somewhat interested. He carefully descended the steps of the pharmacy and approached the entrance of the funerary object shop, peering inside. He saw a silver plaque with the words "White Pavilion" written on it, and Kongming lanterns hung high on either side. The bright white paper cores of the lanterns contrasted sharply with the dimness inside, leaving him puzzled.

"Madam, have you ever heard of the word 'curse binding'?" the old man asked unhurriedly. With a flick of his wrist, a pair of ebony eyes appeared on the paper figure's face, bright as stars, as if they were alive.

Sang Qianlin was startled and honestly replied, "I have heard some nonsense about using curses to control people, but since I suspected it was just something circulating in the streets, I never took it seriously. What you mean, sir..."

After finishing the last stroke, the old man put down what he was holding, looked up, and unexpectedly revealed a pair of clear eyes.

"The incantation is expressed through the mouth and aided by a vessel. When infused with chanting, it becomes a secret language. Although its power cannot change the world or alter history, it can certainly influence the future and change fate to a great extent. I suppose that is what you intended, so your chanting arrived before you did. That's why I took the materials to make this item that you requested. Now that it is complete, please keep it safe, madam."

As the old man spoke, he handed the paper figure, no bigger than half a palm, to Sang Qianlin, then turned to gather his pen and paper. Sang Qianlin felt the warm, smooth texture of the white paper, looked down at the paper figure, and was immediately horrified. At first glance, the features seemed perfectly normal, but upon closer inspection, they were strikingly similar to his own. Looking at them a few more times, it was as if he were comparing them to a portrait of himself; even the demeanor and spirit were identical, incredibly lifelike.

"From now on, if the lady has any wishes, she can speak to this spell boy. When the words are spoken, the meaning will be conveyed, and when the thought is uttered, the matter will be changed. All wishes that can be fulfilled according to one's destiny will be granted. In the future, one's wishes will surely be fulfilled, and one will be successful in everything one does." As the old man spoke, he reached out to move the mahogany door panel, as if to close the shop.

"May all your wishes come true... and may you be successful in everything you do..." Sang Qianlin stared blankly at the paper puppet in his hand, and a surge of joy welled up in his heart. His previous fear had long since vanished.

“Indeed,” the old man stopped and said in a deep voice, “However, this puppet can only grant the wishes that the lady is willing to accept and bear, and it cannot exceed them. For each wish granted, it will take one or two of the lady’s life, and her eyebrows and eyes will fade a little, and so on; if the lady makes a great wish, then seven or eight of her life will be gone, and when her eyebrows and eyes fade and her facial features are completely lost, that will be the end of the lady’s life. Therefore, I hope that the lady will think twice before acting, and never rely on this cursed boy for everything, so as not to die needlessly. I have said all I have to say, lady.”

Before Sang Qianlin could say goodbye, he felt the wind rushing past his ears. When he looked again, he was already at the station near his home. He felt a chill run down his spine and his belief in the paper figure in his hand grew even stronger. So he wrapped the silk scarf around his neck, held it like a precious treasure, and took it home. From then on, his career was smooth sailing, truly astonishing.

First, the lead actress in the film she was starring in inexplicably fell ill. Then, all the replacement actresses were also inexplicably injured. The director, initially reluctant to end the project, gave Sang Qianlin an audition at her request. Unexpectedly, she was captivated by her performance. Sang Qianlin's appearance and acting skills perfectly embodied the strong-willed and capable woman from a brothel background. The director immediately decided to cast her as the lead actress at the age of thirty-three, portraying her from her fifteen or sixteenth year until her murder in her eighties. Sang Qianlin's performance was incredibly nuanced and compelling, earning high praise from both the screenwriter and director. After filming wrapped, the film garnered numerous awards and propelled Sang Qianlin back to the peak of her acting career, bringing her back into the spotlight with unparalleled glory.

Some tabloids did raise questions about Sang Qianlin's comeback and her seemingly invincible success. For example, they mentioned the injuries or illnesses of actresses vying for roles with her, the unexplained car accident involving paparazzi following her, and the bizarre drowning of her ex-husband who came to demand money after learning of her renewed wealth. A Taoist priest analyzed the situation and claimed that Sang Qianlin had used heretical magic to remove obstacles, accusing her of malicious intent. However, all these were merely rumors, lacking evidence and testimony. People dismissed them as baseless accusations born of jealousy, and laughed them off. Instead, a large number of people rallied in support of Sang Qianlin, claiming she was divinely blessed and destined for wealth and fortune—their pronouncements so mystical that even the most captivating novel couldn't match them.

That evening, Sang Qianlin was on her way to a film awards ceremony. After getting ready, she couldn't help but glance at the white paper doll on her bedside table. Half a year ago, the doll's features had become faint and indistinguishable, and three months ago it suddenly disappeared, frightening her so much that she dared not leave the house for half a month, thinking her life was about to end. However, in the past three months, she had not only shown no signs of illness or misfortune, but her career continued to flourish. The CEO of a multinational corporation had even expressed his affection for her, spreading rumors that he would marry no one but her. Everything seemed to indicate wealth and prosperity, with no sign of the disaster predicted by the old man. In addition, she had consulted a fortune teller who specialized in divination for people in the entertainment industry, who said that Sang Qianlin's ancestors had accumulated good karma, and she was destined for great fortune and wealth. She had already survived the previous calamity, and from then on, her life would be smooth sailing, allowing her to live peacefully to the age of ninety-nine and enjoy a lifetime of happiness. Only then did she feel at ease. However, whenever she saw that paper-mache white doll, its flat, featureless face staring at her, a chill ran down her spine. Thinking of it, she couldn't help but hastily stuff the cursed child that had been with her for years into the bottom of a box, then weigh it down with other things before she felt at ease. Having done all that, just as the driver and car were ready, Sang Qianlin straightened her clothes and stepped out elegantly.

Sang Qianlin's death was sensationalized in newspapers and magazines the following day. Every publication featured extensive photos of the accident scene, accompanied by bizarre reports totaling nearly ten thousand words. It was said that Sang Qianlin had arrived half an hour early the previous night for a party an hour's drive from her mansion. However, nearly three-quarters of the night had passed and she still hadn't arrived. The organizers initially assumed she was just putting on airs and didn't think much of it. But when she still hadn't appeared halfway through the party, they became furious and called her repeatedly. However, no matter how many times they called, Sang Qianlin's phone went unanswered. They then called the mansion, where servants said that the lady had already left long ago. This alarmed them, and they called the police to search for her. After a night of searching, at dawn, her overturned luxury car was finally found near a slope not far from her home. The driver and two assistants sustained only minor injuries, but Sang Qianlin died at the scene. Further investigation revealed even more doubts. The slope was located in a secluded area away from the venue, a place Sang Qianlin shouldn't have been in. Furthermore, the surveillance cameras didn't capture any vehicles other than Sang Qianlin's that night. Even more remarkably, the police found no signs of a collision on the road. As for Sang Qianlin's driver, this man had driven for wealthy people for decades, possessing not only excellent skills but also a stellar reputation. He didn't test positive for alcohol afterward, and the vehicle was in top-of-the-line safety condition. In short, everything seemed like a prank, a supernatural tale that sparked a massive debate involving thousands of people.

Mingdu got up, tossed the newspaper into a basket to the side, and went to remove the wooden planks from the doorway. It was almost evening, time to open for business.

Do you have a wish that you want to fulfill? Come to Pomeranian Market, the world's largest market, a magical market that sells the unbelievable. If you can imagine it, no wish is impossible—any wish can be granted…

Chapter Sixteen: The Demon's Painting

Name: Danzhu Gender: Male Age: Unknown

Occupation: Owner of Moxianzhai (墨香斋) Address: No. 14, Beixu Lane, Bomeiji

"Ah, Mr. Noya, you're back." I stopped sweeping and greeted the neighbor who was hurrying past. The neighbor probably didn't hear my greeting, but just lowered his head and went straight to his house, slamming the door shut.

"Oh dear, Mrs. Tachibana, why are you greeting that kind of person?" The voice that followed was both ingratiating and reproachful. Mrs. Maruzo, the owner of the corner store, carrying a basket full of fruits and vegetables, rushed up to me at a speed disproportionate to her plump figure, and said mysteriously, "Don't you know about that matter?"

"That matter refers to...?" I followed her gaze and saw Mr. Noya's figure, with his hat brim pulled low, flash by the window before the heavy brown curtains blocked our view.

"You haven't been here long, so you don't know. Actually, you can't blame Mr. Noya. You know, these days, it's not easy for anyone to make a living, like my family..."

"Um... what exactly are you referring to?" I managed to get a word in during Mrs. Maruzo's brief pause in her tirade, and asked, puzzled, "What direct connection do the bubble economy, layoffs, and declining moral standards have with the long articles in the newspapers and the inability to greet Mr. Noya?"

"Ah, you really don't know?" Mrs. Maruzo asked cautiously, pressing her thick lips to her short, stubby fingers as if surprised. Before I could nod, she looked around, waved for me to lean closer, and said clearly in a voice barely audible, "Isn't it just—murdering one's wife?"

Wife murder?! I looked in horror at my neighbor next door, where there was a tall paulownia tree: "Oh, Mrs. Maruzo, you must be joking, right? How could Mr. Noya be that kind of person? You've scared me... Hehe... Is it... true?"

Mrs. Maruzo put on the air of a police officer in an eight o'clock detective drama, shaking her finger at me: "You don't believe me, do you? I didn't believe it at first either, but now the more I look at it, the more it seems to be true! Not to mention, Mrs. Noya hasn't shown her face in public for a month or so."

That's certainly true. Mrs. Noya, who is petite, is very beautiful and kind. We had some interaction when my family first moved here. About two months ago, Mrs. Noya, whom I used to see every day when I was cleaning the yard, started to appear less often, and now I haven't seen her for a while.

"Perhaps Mrs. Nogaya went on a trip?" I tried to find a reasonable explanation. In any case, it would be too arbitrary to accuse Mr. Nogaya of murdering his wife just because he hadn't seen her for a month.

"Has anyone seen Mrs. Noya leave with her luggage?" Mrs. Maruzo gestured dismissively. "Can't the trip even last a month?"

"Well... perhaps Mrs. Nogaya went back to her parents' home for some business?"

"You really didn't know!" Upon hearing this, Mrs. Maruzo covered her mouth with her hand again, and said in surprise, "Who around here doesn't know that Mr. Noya and Mrs. Noya got married in secret? I heard it was..." She deliberately lowered her voice and said in a hoarse falsetto, "An illicit love affair!"

"Huh? So you're saying you eloped?" I never imagined my next-door neighbor had so many secrets, and I reflexively raised my voice.

"Keep your voice down." Mrs. Maruzuki nervously grabbed my hand and whispered, "That person might be peeking at us from behind the curtain..."

I glanced furtively at my neighbor's window, and whether it was my imagination or not, I did feel the curtain move slightly, and a figure quickly retreated from there.

"Mrs. Tachibana, you'd better watch out. That kind of person lives next door to you..." Mrs. Maruzo smacked her lips meaningfully, the smacking sound giving me goosebumps.

"Then...then why didn't you call the police?"

"Well, there's no evidence, so who would want to get involved in that mess? Besides, no one has seen Mr. Noya carrying any large items out in the past month..."

"You mean..." I felt a cold wind blow behind my ear, and the setting sun took away the warmth of the daytime. A few crows flew by in the air, and everything around me suddenly became desolate.

"The body is probably still in that house."

Mrs. Maruzo's conclusion was like a bolt from the blue; my hands trembled so much I could barely hold the broom.

"Then...then I definitely have to report it to the police!" It took me a while to find my voice. I dropped the broom and hurriedly went inside to make a phone call.

"Aren't you just asking for trouble?" Mrs. Maruzo grabbed my hand tightly, speaking in a tone of a senior lecturing a junior. "You don't have any concrete evidence. If you anger the other party, won't that bring disaster to your family?"

"Then what should we do?"

"Just pretend you don't know," Mrs. Maruzo whispered in my ear, sharing her experience. "You absolutely must not show the slightest suspicion in front of the other party, unless, of course, you have solid evidence."

"evidence?"

"I heard that Mr. Noya has been keeping the lights on all night these past few days and is doing something."

"Why?"

Seeing my bewildered expression, Mrs. Maruzou chuckled smugly and continued in her hoarse voice, "One night, Mrs. Yamaguchi from across the street stayed out late playing cards at her friend's house. On her way back, she passed by Mr. Noya's house and saw that his house was brightly lit, so she went to take a look out of curiosity. Who would have thought..." Mrs. Maruzou suddenly raised her voice, which startled me.

"What...what...what did she see?" I stammered, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

"Mr. Noya is painting the wall!"

"Paint the walls?" I repeated those three words unconsciously, my thoughts unable to function properly.

"Isn't that what they always do in TV dramas? They paint the walls to cover up bloodstains or something. But those tricks won't fool my eyes, Maruzo Hanae! Alright, alright, I should go back and cook now. Don't tell anyone what I told you today." Mrs. Maruzo said, waving her hand and disappearing from my sight as quickly as she had come, leaving me alone, both shocked and frightened.

"Ichihiko, um, Mrs. Maruzo from the general store just said that Mr. Noya next door killed his wife, and that the body is still in that room. It's really scary!" I said to him while ironing clothes.

"You really can't judge a book by its cover, Mr. Noya... Kazuhiko? What's wrong? Are you still not feeling well? You haven't even touched your food. Is it because my cooking doesn't suit your taste?"

"Okay, go to sleep. I'll cook your favorite fish and rice porridge tomorrow." I packed my clothes, turned off the light, closed the door, and left.

Mrs. Maruzo's words were probably unsure of their credibility, as evidenced by her daily energetic walks of up to three blocks to a supermarket where cabbages were only thirty yen cheaper, and her radiant smile as she greeted people. In contrast, I was constantly troubled by Mr. Noya's affair, to the point that I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and had become quite haggard.

"Oh my, Mrs. Tachibana, you've lost so much weight lately!" The one who came running from afar, shouting excitedly, was none other than Mrs. Maruzo.

"Thank you for your concern. I've been a bit..." I couldn't very well say that it was because I was frightened by the rumors about Mr. Noya that I ended up like this, "My husband hasn't been feeling well lately, and I'm probably worrying too much."

"Is that so? I was worried that what I said last time might have made you overthink things. But it was just some gossip, so please don't take it too seriously. Hehe, you certainly won't mind, will you?"

"Yes, yes, of course." I hurriedly replied, cutting her off before she could bring up any more sensational things. "Mrs. Maruzo, please come and visit sometime. I won't keep you any longer."

"Ah, oh..." Mrs. Maruzou stopped talking, somewhat dissatisfied but helpless, and left reluctantly.

I patted my chest with a sigh of relief, but my eyes inadvertently caught a glimpse of a figure flashing past the next window. It was Mr. Noya spying on us! Could it be that he discovered something?

I hadn't initially planned to go to my neighbor's house. Perhaps Mrs. Maruzo's words had made me a little dazed, or perhaps I was just too preoccupied with what happened that afternoon. When I came to my senses, I was already standing at the Noya's door, and I rang the doorbell.

What should I do now? Run away? Before I could make a decision, the door unexpectedly opened, and standing there was Mr. Noya.

"Is there something you need?" Mr. Noya asked indifferently, his voice flat and showing no sign of panic.

"Um... I'm Tachibana from next door. I was just thinking of coming over for a visit." I made up a random excuse, but my eyes fell on a few bright marks on Mr. Noya's gray sweater. Were they... oil paint?

I thought I would definitely be rejected, but after a moment of silence, Mr. Noya calmly said "Please come in" and stepped aside.

Now I was stuck. A room with a corpse! A room with a corpse! Horror scenes from movies kept replaying in my mind. My legs felt like lead, and I could barely move an inch. Had he discovered our conversation and wanted to kill us to cover it up? Thinking this, I became even more afraid to go any further.

"Mrs. Tachibana".

"Wha...what is it?"

"This way, please."

"Okay..." I reluctantly agreed, forcing myself to follow him into the living room.

The terrifying scene I had imagined didn't materialize. Although the Noya family's living room was piled high with bento boxes, yesterday's newspapers, and other trash, there was no trace of a murder scene. Only a huge curtain hung on the wall opposite the window, obscuring what lay behind it. Mr. Noya gestured for me to sit, then pushed aside a pile of empty paint boxes and sat down. Various paintbrushes and a palette sat on the table; the paints were still wet.

"You've heard some rumors, haven't you?" Mr. Noya slowly lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled.

"Oh?"

“Saying I murdered my wife or something.” He took off his glasses, revealing a pair of surprisingly clear yet weary eyes. This was the first time I had seen Mr. Noya’s face up close. He had a full beard and obvious wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Although he looked disheveled and wretched, one could still vaguely see the refined elegance he once possessed in his youth. Come to think of it, Mr. Noya seemed to be involved in the arts. Could he be… a painter?

"That's fake." He dropped the bombshell before I could even reply.