Astrology Hall with Flesh and Blood

Chapter 49

As long as she stubbornly clings to her "dissatisfaction" for the rest of her life, the astrologer's contract will follow her for life, and she will enjoy happiness forever. As for those who exhaust themselves trying to please her, whether they live or die is none of her concern! Having made up her mind, Bai Feifei calmly smoothed a few strands of her messy hair and held her head higher than ever before.

The first thing she did upon returning to her hospital room was to carefully fold up Ah J's leather bag and hide it in the bottom layer of her backpack. The second thing she did was to search for new online friends in the "White Queen" group. From then on, she had no more scruples; if she was even slightly dissatisfied, whether with a close friend or a lover, she would kick them out without hesitation. In the group, she met countless online friends and experienced countless loves and hates; her friends treated her like royalty, her boyfriend showered her with attention, and everyone saw her as a queen, afraid of displeasing her—money, power, status, men—whatever she wanted, her online friends would provide it for her. However, she never relaxed for a moment because of everything she had gained; she had tasted the intense and frequent love more intense than the most promiscuous women in the world, yet she never experienced a moment of genuine joy. Because she knew better than anyone that everyone before her was merely a pawn in the astrologer's contract. Their emotions, all their words of admiration and expressions, were not from the heart, but rather born of the instinct for survival. Therefore, she never treated them as truly human. Even if her sweetest lover were to crumble into a pile of human skin before her, she wouldn't even blink. In this life-or-death game with the astrologer, only ruthlessness was her sole and invincible weapon.

"I'll ask you the thousand and first time. Are you satisfied now?" the astrologer asked her.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “You can’t defeat me, ever!”

"What a troublesome woman..." the astrologer chuckled wryly. Maya, meanwhile, curled her lip and said with a look of deep regret, "Sir, you've really lost out on this deal! No one can possibly grant her last wish!"

Immortality...

Bai Feifei parted her dark lips, letting out a chilling laugh from between her broken teeth. She pounded on the concrete railings of the bridge, making a loud "thump" sound that, to onlookers, was like the wailing of ghosts in the night.

"If you grant me my last wish, my life will be at your disposal...! Only then will I be 'satisfied'!" She stared at the astrologer in front of her from her dark, empty eye sockets, the burning desire in her eyes wanting to devour him.

Alas, human desires are like a bottomless abyss, never to be filled. This time, even the brilliant and powerful astrologer stumbled. A losing proposition? Maya was right. Faced with humanity's insatiable desires, what good are ten, a hundred, or even a million astrologers? Those humans are destined to be swallowed up by their own boundless desires, both in life and in death.

The astrologer waved goodbye. Although he had an infinite amount of time to wait, the other party in the contract was entirely different. Admittedly, he could swallow an old woman evolved from a young girl, but he would never stoop to the level of forcing himself to gnaw on a skeleton that had already rotted to dust.

Sixty-five years have passed since their first meeting. Bai Feifei passed away three years ago, yet bound by the astrologer's contract, she still wanders the mortal realm, desperately searching for that one word: "satisfaction." Her ghost most loves to linger on this renovated Yangtze River Bridge, emitting a metallic, piercing shriek as she faces the bustling traffic, just as she did in her heroic deeds years ago:

"Give me immortality! Or I'll jump!"

Unfortunately, most people were terrified before they even heard what she was shouting and ran away. The unluckiest among them were those who imitated her suicide pranks; how could they possibly have the courage to compete with a ghost for their place? Over time, no more suicides occurred on the bridge, and the passing drivers simply regarded the silent ghost as a decoration, an occasionally moving sculpture. With the suicides gone, traffic flowed smoothly, and the drivers secretly thanked the ghost, giving her the nickname "Suicide Watcher." They were so grateful they wanted to award her a "Good Traffic Cop" medal!

But Bai Feifei could never know any of this. She simply squatted on the bridge day after day, hoping that someone would grant her wish, at which point she would be willing to die—since she could live forever, what was the point of dying?

Volume 3: Valentine's Day for the Female Death Row Inmate on Hell's Record (Part 1)

Business has been getting increasingly slow lately. The astrologer stood outside the viewing window, scrutinizing the woman's face through the thick bulletproof glass. The file stated she was in her early thirties, but to the astrologer, she looked a good thirty-five or thirty-six. Wrinkles lined her eyes, her forehead etched with the marks of hardship, and her once thick black hair was now streaked with gray. There are only a few reasons why a woman ages so rapidly, and hers was the most natural one.

Repentance for the past; the punishment and torment of conscience; and the deepest fear of death. Any one of these reasons would be enough to plunge a young woman in the prime of her life into an abyss of despair, causing the years to erode her beauty more quickly and swiftly. How much more so when she suffers from all three, and how much more so when she has already spent three years in this prison.

The astrologer mentally reviewed the information of this unusual client. Her name was Feng Zhenzhen, thirty-one years old, and for the first twenty-seven years of her life she had played various insignificant roles, until four years ago when she suddenly became famous. Her stunning beauty had made headlines in major news outlets for a time, making her the talk of the town. Beneath her angelic smile, a line of bold black lettering read:

"Fan killer?! The great tragedy of idol worship in the new era!"

The story begins with a man, an unknown writer, who rose to fame overnight. From a nobody buried in his writing to today's most popular romance novelist, Yi Ping is nothing short of a miracle in the literary world. The love stories of the lovesick men and women in his novels are poignant and heart-wrenching, earning him the reputation of being "heavily wound tearjerkers." Idol dramas adapted from his novels have been box office hits, reclaiming half of the market share lost to Korean dramas. Even more compelling is that he not only writes brilliantly, but he himself is also handsome, elegant, and charming, with a witty and knowledgeable manner—undoubtedly, he himself is even more captivating than his novels, especially to his female fans.

Feng Zhenzhen was one of his most ardent fans. She was captivated by Yiping's books, but even more so by him. She would often find herself projecting herself into his stories, imagining the two lovers in those tales as Yiping and herself. She quit her job, dumped her fiancé, and embarked on a journey with her parents' hard-earned money, all to follow in Yiping's footsteps. Wherever he went for book signings, she would follow him, even fighting with others to secure the first spot in the line; she even rented a small room near his home, spending day and night with binoculars to spy on his family.

The tragedy occurred shortly after, on Valentine's Day. Ippei's wife was found lying in their living room, her skull smashed to pieces, brain matter and blood splattered everywhere. When the police arrived, Bong Jin-seo was calmly sitting on the sofa watching television, holding the murder weapon—a hammer—without even wiping the blood from her hands and face. Even as the police arrested her, her eyes remained fixed on the television screen, where Ippei's elegant smile appeared vividly and realistically.

The case progressed with unusually smooth steps. She admitted she couldn't tolerate such a vulgar woman surrounding Ippei, so after careful preparation, she rang Ippei's doorbell. Ippei's wife, unsuspecting of this seemingly delicate young woman, simply opened the door a crack and asked, "Who are you looking for?"

"You!" With that, Feng Zhenzhen forcefully raised the hammer hidden behind her back and smashed it down on her head.

The first blow missed a vital spot; perhaps Feng Zhenzhen's hand trembled, or perhaps it was simply because she wasn't yet skilled enough. However, she was immediately given the opportunity to practice, and more than once. The unfortunate woman screamed, clutching her bleeding head as she fled, with the female assassin wielding the hammer close behind. Feng Zhenzhen later admitted that she couldn't remember exactly how many times she struck the victim, but it must have been a dozen or even dozens; the forensic doctor, however, determined that the victim's skull was concave and deformed, clearly indicating a powerful and sustained blow.

"This woman is insane." Judging from her frenzied killing and her calm and collected demeanor afterward, public opinion, and even many criminal experts, reached this conclusion. If she weren't mentally unstable, who could imagine that such a pretty and charming girl could so coldly wield a hammer against another woman, simply because she felt the woman was unworthy of her husband?

At the defense's request, a forensic psychiatric evaluation was conducted on Feng Zhenzhen. After a lengthy three-year process involving repeated questioning, evaluation, trial, and appeals, it was ultimately determined that Feng Zhenzhen had no mental illness and was fully criminally responsible. Thus, the infamous "fan murder case" ended with a death sentence.

This was also the reason for the astrologer's distress. The woman he was doing business with, though somewhat attractive, was a death row inmate—wasn't that a losing proposition for him? He wanted to shake his head and refuse, but Bong Jin-jin's deathly gray eyes seemed to have captured his entire attention. He felt a shiver slowly spreading from his spine.

“This is my only chance,” even through the cold glass, the faint light in Bong Jin-jin’s eyes could not be hidden, “Please tell the teacher.”

She always addressed Ippei respectfully as "Teacher," which was probably a good habit of a fan. Her eyes were fixed on the astrologer's icy green eyes, as if branding him.

"No matter where I go, whether it's heaven or hell; no matter what my teacher does, I will always support her!" She took a deep breath and said, word by word, "Forever and ever!"

After saying this, her body suddenly slumped backward, as if all her strength had been drained away. The astrologer pulled his hat down, deliberately covering his face. At this moment, his time was running out—Fong Jin-jin would be taken to the execution ground and shot first thing tomorrow morning.

In other words, he must find Ippin and get a satisfactory answer from him before sunrise tomorrow—although the astrologer himself does not expect this.

However, no matter how well he handled this "business," he was destined not to receive the reward he wanted. He couldn't sneak into the execution cell to feast, nor did he want to collect a bullet-riddled corpse—a loss, a huge loss on clearing out his inventory! At this moment, he hated the person who had brought him this business.

Volume 3: Valentine's Day for the Female Death Row Inmate on Hell's Record (Part 2)

“I have a deep impression of that case.” Old Li cast his gaze into the distance, the tragedy from three years ago seemed vivid in his mind. “Believe me, that’s something no woman could do.”

"Do you mean that Bong Jin-jin lacks the physical strength required to be a murderer?" Knowing that Old Li had something else in mind, the astrologer still said this on purpose.

"You're completely wrong!" Old Li shook his head repeatedly, his sharp, hawk-like eyes fixed on him, speaking with absolute certainty, "She doesn't lack physical strength, she lacks cruelty! The cruelty to smash someone's skull to pieces! Such a quiet and pretty girl..." He searched his mind for her image, then sighed, "She's not crazy!"

Old Li's strong suspicions weren't just about the method of murder, but more so about the motive. He had seen photos of the deceased—Yiping's wife—from years ago, and it was impossible to reconcile her with the dashing and charismatic bestselling author. She looked more like an ordinary middle-aged working woman, with an excessively heavy waist and a stout figure, a classic "yellow-faced woman." When she stood hunched over, wearing wrinkled cotton clothes, behind her husband in his gold-rimmed glasses and suit, the incongruity was particularly striking. In his subsequent investigation, Old Li gradually learned that the differences between the couple weren't just physical. Compared to Yiping's Master of Arts degree, his wife only had a junior high school education and had been a housewife since their marriage. Anyone who saw this vastly different couple would assume the woman silently cleaning was Yiping's maid. In every aspect, the couple was clearly estranged; if it weren't for their son as a bond, they might have divorced long ago.

However, marriages based solely on blood ties are often more fragile. Based on his years of experience in criminal investigation, Old Li sensed something amiss from the start. A bestselling romance novelist, handsome and wealthy, with an unhappy marriage—this was fertile ground for an extramarital affair. From the moment he received the report, Old Li never believed Feng Zhenzhen's testimony. He stubbornly believed that Yiping had personally or orchestrated the elimination of his detestable wife in order to find a new lover.

“Even if it’s murder, women often use milder methods, such as poisoning or gas poisoning, rather than violent and bloody methods…” Old Li insisted on his point of view. “The scene was horrific, with brain matter, tissue fluid, and blood splattered everywhere, covering the entire room and floor. It’s hard to imagine that this was a crime committed by a weak woman.”

However, no matter how vehemently he argued, the irrefutable evidence—physical evidence at the scene and the perpetrator's confession—still landed Feng Zhenzhen on trial. Three years passed in a flash, and Old Li retired from the front lines of investigation, spending his days at home enjoying his grandchildren, living a peaceful but somewhat boring retirement. Today, he happened to meet someone inquiring about the situation, and Old Li was very happy to share his experiences from back then.

"By the way, if my head isn't spinning," Old Li glanced at the calendar on the wall, "Feng Zhenzhen will be going to the execution ground in a few days, right?"

“It’s tomorrow,” the astrologer gently corrected the old man. “So I must hurry.”

Old Li then remembered to take a closer look at the man in black in front of him—he was quite handsome, but his complexion was terrible, deathly pale as if he hadn't seen the sun in decades. He asked curiously, "Are you Feng Zhenzhen's lawyer?"

“I was the only person she could entrust her life to before she died.” The astrologer stood up and politely took his leave. As he stepped out of the courtyard, Old Li opened the screen door, stuck his head out, and shouted loudly:

"That writer is definitely up to something! I have a gut feeling about it!"

The astrologer's next stop was Ippei, but despite trying every method, Maya could only find out the address of Ippei's son. The nineteen-year-old boy who had suffered such a misfortune was now at home, and when the astrologer rang the doorbell, he clearly showed an impatient expression of being disturbed.

He first let out a long sigh of relief, "Finally, she's going to be executed!" He couldn't hide the relief in his eyes, "For so many years, I've tossed and turned every night, afraid that woman would get a lenient sentence! Thank God, justice has finally been served!"

"Do you hate her?" the astrologer asked softly.

He clenched his teeth, making a grinding sound. "I want to skin her alive and eat her flesh! I hate her! She killed my mother! And she made her die such a horrible death!"

So, what about your father? Does he hate her too?

"That old man?" The boy snorted from deep within his nostrils. "Of course that's what he said! Although it was mostly guilt towards my mother..."

The son was sensible from a young age, understanding that his parents' relationship was strained. He rarely saw his father come home, but saw him more often on television—his father, dressed smartly and speaking eloquently. At these times, he couldn't help but glance back at his mother, who was always engrossed in cleaning the floor, never even looking at his father. However, his mother also had her moments of strength. Whenever his father mentioned divorce, she would immediately pick up her son and stand on the balcony. At those times, the son wasn't afraid at all, only watching with envy as his mother deflated his father's spirit. His mother was truly formidable then.

As he grew older, he vaguely felt that his father was also quite pitiful—his father loved him but not his mother; sometimes his father would secretly pick him up and coax him to take him to a new place, and at that moment his mother would jump out at just the right time, sit on the ground, and start berating his father with snot and tears streaming down her face—at this point, his mother could no longer hold her son and pretend to commit suicide. Thus, the son's complete family was barely maintained under these turbulent undercurrents.

Then that day came—he remembered his father telling him this: His parents were arguing again at home, making a huge mess. His mother grabbed a kitchen knife and held it to her own neck, yelling that she would kill herself to show his father. His father was injured in the struggle to grab the knife. He clutched his bleeding wound and cursed bitterly, "So be it!"

"You heartless bastard!" Mom jumped up as if her bottom was on fire. "You dare say it, I dare do it!"

"I said!" Dad snapped, speaking slowly and loudly, enunciating each word clearly, "You—go—to—die—!"

Dad said he would regret that sentence for the rest of his life.

Volume 3: Valentine's Day for the Female Death Row Inmate on Hell's Record (Part 2)

The door was flung open, and a dark figure rushed in like a whirlwind. "Go to hell!" the figure yelled, swinging a huge object at the mother's head. "Go to hell! Go ...

Yiping was completely terrified; every blow Feng Zhenzhen swung down felt like a blow to his heart; his wife only had time to let out two groans before her brains and blood flew through the air with Feng Zhenzhen's movements, drawing extremely horrific and bloody lines. According to Yiping afterward, he had never seen such beautiful yet cruel arcs in his entire life.

"You, no, your father, mean that Feng Zhenzhen, who was spying near your house, took your father's unintentional words as a decree and went berserk? All of this stemmed from Feng Zhenzhen's fanatical behavior and a series of misunderstandings?"

"Who cares what she did it for!" The boy viciously made a decapitation gesture. "She'll be shot right now! Justice will prevail! My mother's soul can finally rest in peace!"

"Does your father think the same way you do?" the astrologer asked.

"You didn't know?" The boy frowned, looking completely matter-of-fact, as if the man's ignorance deeply wounded his pride. "My dad's in the hospital!"

It's said that he suddenly fell ill last night and nearly fainted; he's still in critical condition. This news has already spread through major news outlets, and fans from all over flocked to the hospital where Ippei is staying to express their condolences. Unfortunately, the astrologer, being male, has never been interested in public figures (males!), and thus missed this important information, earning a disdainful look from Ippei's son. The astrologer quickly thanked him and headed to the hospital.

He remembered the letter Feng Zhenzhen had secretly slipped to him, which was now lying peacefully in his coat pocket. The touch through his gloves felt somewhat unreal, but he was already used to it, so he took out the letter.

To be precise, it's a diary-like account of her inner journey. Feng Zhenzhen doesn't know when she recorded the truth of the tragedy that occurred three years ago.

The truth as she sees it -

month - day.

...When I woke up in the morning, I saw the teacher's house... (Some descriptions of Yiping's family situation are omitted as they are unrelated to the event)...They started arguing, a scene I was already used to. "That" woman yelled at the teacher, like an angry sow, not at all like a teacher's wife! The teacher couldn't help but say a few words to her, and "that" woman let her hair down and rammed her head into the teacher's stomach! How dare she hit the teacher! No, I can't take it anymore! Even if the teacher scolds me, I have to stand up for him!

Before I even reached the door, I heard a loud bang, and then the noisy woman suddenly fell silent. "Teacher?" I gently knocked on the door; I couldn't see anything outside the window.

It felt like an eternity before the teacher cautiously opened the door a crack, revealing only a pair of weary eyes. Ah, even in exhaustion, the teacher's eyes still shone with wisdom, so clear and bright. "...It's you...?" The teacher clearly hesitated.

I smiled. Of course, there was no reason for the teacher to recognize me. As one of the millions of ordinary fans, how could a teacher so high up in the clouds possibly remember me? But what surprised me was what happened next: the teacher actually called out my name! He called me Zhenzhen!

Impossible! My heart was pounding with excitement at this unexpected stroke of luck! I could hardly believe my ears. I, an ordinary fan, had actually left a faint trace in the teacher's mind!

The teacher invited me into the room and said, "That's only right. It's my honor to have such a loyal reader as Miss Feng."

I am very shy; I usually feel embarrassed when praised, especially by a teacher I have long admired. But just then, I inadvertently looked down and was startled by a scene of things lying flat before my eyes.

"That" woman! She lay on the ground, blood streaming from her forehead, staining the carpet red.

At that moment, the teacher noticed my unusual behavior. He suddenly stood up and let out a scream:

"Oh my god!" The teacher's voice was trembling with heartbreaking sobs. "Hong! How did you fall down?"

As I watched my teacher's grief-stricken figure, my mind was preoccupied with something else. He said he had just gotten home and I was the first to discover the woman had fallen. He asked me to be his witness, but honestly, only a fool would believe such nonsense.

So I confessed to him. "She (thank God, I really don't want the word 'teacher's wife' to come out of my mouth) doesn't look like she died in an accident at all. Someone must have killed her."

The teacher's eyes narrowed unconsciously into slits, giving him an air of devilish charm in addition to his refined demeanor, making him even more alluring. "Who?" His voice trembled slightly. "Who harmed her?"

I chuckled softly. In my memory, I probably hadn't looked as beautiful as I did back then. "Me," I said.

So I swung the hammer, aiming the first blow at the scar on "that" woman's forehead. I needed to cover it up, and the best way to hide a leaf is to create a forest. The first blow was too light, and the second was too forceful, almost hitting my own foot. I'm always so clumsy! Just then, the teacher hugged me from behind, his long, slender hands gently yet firmly enveloping mine.

The third time, we worked together as one. The fourth time, we were even more in tune. The teacher melted me with his warm presence, like a feather gently lifting me up to the boundless blue sky, a feeling of blissful tranquility. In those monotonous thumping sounds, without physical contact or any tedious words, the teacher and I had become one, from heart to body, a tacit understanding, a supreme spiritual union. From that moment on, nothing could separate us…

The astrologer tried to imagine the scene: amidst the carnage, a bewildered yet beautiful woman nestled coquettishly in the arms of her idol, a smile radiant in her eyes. Her hands, however, were brutally smashing the victim's body into a pulp to protect her idol, who had committed murder—she was even willing to face the guillotine to protect him. Perhaps Bong Jin-jin had truly gone mad; perhaps she suffered from a madness called "idol worship"—but as long as it was all her heartfelt choice, what could outsiders say? Wasn't that the message she had the astrologer deliver?

"No matter what the teacher does, I will support the teacher!"

Indeed, she had long been aware of this, and perhaps in her heart, she was even overjoyed to be able to help her teacher. She never regretted anything she had done, only fearing that she would be forgotten by the "teacher" she admired. The astrologer tightened his white gloves, a sinister smile creeping onto his lips: at this moment, how eagerly he must have longed to see Ippei in person and hear Ippei's own explanation of the case!

However, he was too late. When he arrived at the hospital, the overwhelming media crowd outside dealt him a heavy blow. Ippei died despite all efforts to save him, at the age of fifty-three. Perhaps the astrologer's unfinished mission to deliver a message will have to be carried to the underworld to satisfy his client?

No, let Bong Jin-jin tell him herself. When the gunshots of justice ring out tomorrow morning, and Bong Jin-jin's soul departs for the underworld, what will she say to Ip-pyeong, who has arrived a step earlier? "I will always support you"?

In short, that will be a story from another world. For living, breathing humans, the truth is no longer important. As Ippei said, what matters most is that justice is finally served—and how it is served, whether through human law or some mysterious supernatural force, is beyond human consideration.

Volume Three: The Ugly Girl's Search for Relatives (Hell Record)

I know perfectly well that I'm not a beauty in the conventional sense. I often scrutinize myself in the mirror and have finally discovered the problem: I'm overweight. These days, the most popular face shapes are oval and heart-shaped, but unfortunately, I was born with a round face—what people call a "pancake face." Too much soft, flabby skin clings to my face, making it look like a perfectly round lump of dough, which is quite unappetizing. My figure is also somewhat rounded. While not to the point of being obese, the lack of exercise and the presence of soft, flabby muscles all over my body make me look like a woman in her thirties or forties, even at this prime of my life, with my entire figure sagging and out of shape.

The only thing I can be proud of is my fair skin. No matter how much others envy me, my skin never tans; even the scorching sun won't change it at all. I think this unique advantage must be a gift from my parents.

Speaking of my parents, I don't have many memories of them, only some vague fragments. I think that's probably why that astrologer took a liking to me. The man, whose skin was as pale as mine, had such a handsome face that I almost dared not look him in the eye. His beauty made me feel even more inferior, and I subconsciously pulled myself away and hid in the hole in the ground.

Then the man smiled and, with impeccable gentlemanly manners, extended a hand to me. Under the gaze of his icy green eyes, my entire body felt as if it were on fire, my blood surging through my veins. He gently embraced me, promising to grant my wish.

So I told myself honestly that I wanted to find my parents.

So he took me wandering around, drifting through every city like a homeless ghost. Then my intuition grabbed me, and I stopped, as if I could smell that familiar scent.