[Filming Reshoot Completed]
[You Have Returned to the Correct Timeline]
Zong Qi felt a moment of disorientation.
After a brief daze, he quickly regained his composure.
In front of him was the familiar interrogation room, with its glass window, iron bars, and cold fluorescent light.
However, ten minutes ago he was behind the glass window; now he was outside it.
Zong Qi looked down at his wrist.
It was empty, without the heavy handcuffs or the red marks from his desperate struggle.
The impromptu filming timer displayed 14 hours and 10 minutes left, deducting only the ten minutes spent altering the past.
According to the system, he had returned to the correct timeline.
Since he wasn’t identified as a suspect upon his return, he must have succeeded, right?
Zong Qi pondered this, only to be interrupted by Gao Mu entering the room.
“Hello.”
This female officer was as businesslike as Zong Qi remembered, as if their previous conversation in the interrogation room had been a mere illusion.
Zong Qi observed her closely and concluded: Reshooting could change the past within a certain timeframe. But after the changes, no one except Zong Qi retained memories of the original timeline.
“The suspect wants to see you. He says he’ll only reveal the details of his crime if he sees you.”
Detective Captain Gao Mu was the main person in charge of this case.
The case was particularly heinous, but the suspect had been incapacitated by the informant before the police arrived, leading to a swift resolution. Although it attracted some public attention, unsolved cases always garner more interest than solved ones, and the situation remained under control.
For some reason, even though the case’s review made logical and chronological sense, Gao Mu felt something was missing. To be sure, she decided to confirm it one last time.
The problem lay with the suspect.
He admitted to his crimes but refused to provide any details about the process or his motives, hindering the case review.
“Usually, we don’t allow suspects to meet informants privately.”
Gao Mu paused, clearly aware that Zong Qi had not only met the suspect but had also struck him on the back of the head, earning praise for his bravery.
“You can refuse the suspect’s unreasonable request without worrying about any negative impact on our investigation.”
Unexpectedly, the dark-haired young man readily agreed, “Sure, I’ll meet him. The evidence is solid, and he’s facing a death sentence anyway. I’d be happy to help you.”
Puzzled by his cooperative attitude, Gao Mu said no more, nodding to signal the officer to bring the suspect in.
Chen Hongyi, handcuffed, was escorted in by two heavily armed officers.
With thick bandages around his head and a bruised face, he looked extremely pitiful.
No one commented on his injuries, and the officers even glanced approvingly at Zong Qi.
For some reason, Chen Hongyi’s fingerprints weren’t in the database, but once apprehended, they matched several unsolved cases from the past two years.
No one expected to catch a serial killer who had repeatedly escaped capture.
Even in a high-crime area, serial killers were rare, making Chen Hongyi’s arrest significant.
“You all leave. I want to talk to him alone. I’ll answer any questions you have afterward.”
Since entering, Chen Hongyi’s sinister gaze had been fixed on the dark-haired youth behind the glass, unmoving.
With the suspect securely handcuffed and behind bars, Gao Mu agreed and left with the officers.
“Bang—”
The interrogation room door closed.
Zong Qi stretched lazily, “So, what do you want?”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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Surprisingly, Chen Hongyi wasn’t provoked by his taunts.
With a creepy smile, he said, “You won’t have a good end.”
Though Chen Hongyi spoke vaguely, both understood the underlying threat.
“Really?”
Zong Qi responded coldly, “You think you can find a scapegoat and expect them to be willing? If you come after me, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Chen Hongyi sneered, grabbing the bars and speaking hoarsely, “Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts. For a greater cause, my sacrifice is worth it. Soon, you’ll be wishing for death.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
The dark-haired youth pressed the call button, ignoring him.
Chen Hongyi was taken away, his maniacal laughter echoing through the police station.
Undeniably, his words deeply affected Zong Qi.
No one knew better than him how powerful the organization behind Chen Hongyi was.
He had likely only seen the tip of the iceberg.
Though puzzled why the organization didn’t protect the killer after the reshoot, Zong Qi knew they wouldn’t let him off, especially after Chen Hongyi’s taunts.
He had to prepare.
Seeing Zong Qi exit, Gao Mu nodded, asking nothing.
Zong Qi knew the police had ways to monitor his conversation with the suspect, so he remained silent.
But he had questions for Gao Mu.
His enemies were hidden, dangerous, and deadly. He couldn’t wait for them to strike; he had to be proactive.
After expressing his thanks, Gao Mu was about to leave when Zong Qi stopped her.
“Captain Gao, I have a question.”
She looked puzzled as he asked, “If a case has solid evidence but the logic and timeline don’t add up, how would you handle it?”
Her sharp gaze pierced from under her cap, turning cold and assessing him.
“Sorry, that’s classified.”
Zong Qi waved his hands, “No offense.”
Knowing Gao Mu was his only lead, he continued, “The suspect mentioned a secret organization.”
“He said the organization wouldn’t let me go for putting him in jail.”
“Secret organization?”
Gao Mu couldn’t recall anything relevant, her fingers tapping unconsciously.
Chen Hongyi claimed to be innocent, merely ridding society of scum for a “greater cause.” The professional interrogators suspected guidance from behind the scenes, aligning with Zong Qi’s story.
“Yes.”
Zong Qi recalled the suspect’s phone call in the restroom, “I overheard him talking to the organization. They seem to have a serpent-eating-its-tail symbol.”
Gao Mu’s expression remained controlled, but her pupils shrank at the mention of the symbol, turning her face grim.
For the second time, Zong Qi saw such a reaction from her.
Before he could continue, Gao Mu interrupted him.
“This is not something you should be involved in.”
Seeing her firm stance, Zong Qi sighed. He’d have to investigate on his own.
After bidding her goodbye, Gao Mu unexpectedly called him back.
“Take this.”
She handed him a small card, “It has my private number. If you encounter danger again, call me directly.”
“Thank you for your information. These are valuable clues.”
She saluted, her tone softening.
“Knowing too much can be harmful. You’re a student; you shouldn’t be involved in this.”
She added, “If you see anyone with a serpent-eating-its-tail tattoo, stay away and inform me immediately. That’s a personal request.”
Tattoo?
Zong Qi clearly remembered that during their fight, apart from the mark left at the crime scene, Chen Hongyi didn’t have such a tattoo.
Of course, all these were just fleeting thoughts. After a moment, he took the business card.
Zong Qi didn’t expect that, even after reliving everything, this business card would still end up in his hands.
He said, “Thank you. If I come across anything, I will.”
Gao Mu gave a barely noticeable smile, “You’re welcome. We should be the ones thanking you. If there are any follow-up questions, I will contact you through the police network.”
According to the facts, it should indeed be the police thanking Zong Qi, a righteous young man who not only helped catch the criminal but also provided crucial clues.
Only Zong Qi knew in his heart that his gratitude was not just for the business card, but sincerely for the policewoman who stood up for him when everyone else believed he was guilty, swearing by her badge to find the real culprit.
He thanked her for her selflessness, perseverance, and kindness.
These are the most precious and rare qualities.
As he walked out of the police station, the distant sunset was descending, painting the sky with a large cluster of fiery red clouds.
Zong Qi stopped in his tracks and couldn’t help but feel a sense of surrealism as he gazed into the distance.
In less than a day, he had experienced being falsely accused of a murder, having no way to defend himself, traveling through time, changing the predetermined past, fighting a life-and-death battle with a psychopathic serial killer and successfully knocking him out, only to return to the correct timeline and learn from the killer that a terrifying secret organization had set its sights on him.
These past few hours were more eventful than Zong Qi’s entire 22 years of life.
Just yesterday, he was merely a small paranormal livestreamer wandering around Jiangzhou with a phone stand, worrying about his livelihood every day. Today, he was bound to a powerful horror film system, and even though he hadn’t graduated, he had inadvertently stumbled onto the unreturnable path of a director.
Zong Qi dazed at the police station entrance for a moment, then shook his head and boarded the bus home.
“Welcome to Jiangzhou Bus Company’s Route 44. This bus goes from Xiayuan to Lijia Village. Please watch your step as the doors close, and remember to carry all your belongings when getting off.”
“The bus is starting, please hold on tight. Next stop: Guan Zi Garden. Passengers getting off, please prepare to disembark.”
When he boarded, the bus was nearly empty.
Zong Qi chose a window seat, listening to an old man in the front chatting sporadically with the driver, feeling somewhat drowsy.
“Oh, driver buddy. This bus has been around for quite a while, hasn’t it?”
The old man patted his knees, “Since I moved from the countryside to Jiangzhou, I’ve taken this route to the hospital every day, four times round trip. This bus only charges one yuan; it’s my first time seeing this in two years. So considerate!”
The driver laughed, “You have a keen eye, sir. This bus is indeed old, at least ten years old.”
Jiangzhou’s buses had been updated several times in recent years. First, every bus was equipped with air conditioning, then they switched to electric power. This bus, without air conditioning and still running on diesel with severe internal wear, was definitely an antique.
“The electric bus I usually drive had some issues and was sent back to the factory for repairs, so they gave me this retired bus to drive. Thankfully, its performance is still good, with no major issues.”
The driver turned the steering wheel, “I’ll be driving this antique for the next few months! But it’s strange, even though this bus doesn’t have air conditioning, it always feels chilly inside, especially on the late shifts. It’s cooler than having air conditioning.”
The old man marveled, “Yes, even in the middle of summer, I felt a bit cold when I got on. The temperature is just right.”
[The short script “Last Bus of Route 44” has been unlocked, activation conditions not met]
Zong Qi was stunned on the spot, a shiver ran down his spine, and his drowsiness vanished.
Sure enough, a second poster lit up in the movie script section.
The poster depicted an obviously aged bus, with “Route 44” painted in red at the front.
The dim light from a nearby streetlamp cast a glow through the dusty windows, revealing a few sparse silhouettes inside the bus.
[Short script, Last Bus of Route 44, has been unlocked]
Zong Qi: “…”
A chill ran down his spine.
He had previously studied the horror film director system’s script section. It stated that unlocked major scripts would notify the director in advance to schedule actors, while minor scripts could start at any time.
Fortunately, though this bus was problematic, the script had just been unlocked.
The most important thing was that his impromptu filming hadn’t ended yet. The system rules stated that during the filming period, Zong Qi wouldn’t be attacked by ghosts.
Thinking about it, he could use future impromptu filming opportunities to earn some points.
“Sigh.”
He wasn’t sure whether to consider himself lucky or unlucky. Since obtaining this horror film director system, it had constantly reshaped his worldview and upgraded his accident-prone nature to a supernatural level.
The young man with black hair put his phone back in his pocket and looked sympathetically at the unsuspecting driver.
Soon, the bus arrived at the next stop.
Zong Qi quickly got off the bus, resigned to spending an extra yuan to catch the next one.
Although he had prepared to accept the existence of ghosts upon receiving the second director’s authority, he had no intention of experiencing it firsthand.
“Squeak, squeak.”
A bicycle tire squeaked as it turned, heading into the old district in the south of Jiangzhou.
Jiangzhou’s new district was filled with high-rise buildings and modern commercial vibes, bustling with activity. The old district, on the other hand, was synonymous with dirt and disorder, filled with blackened soil and stagnant water.
Zong Qi turned his bike into a deep alley, heading towards the heart of the old district.
He was temporarily staying in a tube-shaped rental building at the far end of the alley.
In recent years, Jiangzhou had developed rapidly, attracting many young people with dreams from all over the country. The tube-shaped buildings in the old district became their best choice.
The location wasn’t too remote, with a subway station just outside the alley. The rent was very cheap, and although the environment was poor, a single room was sufficient.
Zong Qi, however, was a local without big dreams, a native of Jiangzhou. He had sold his house to pay for his grandmother’s medical bills and now lived in such a short-term rental.
The young man parked his bike downstairs and walked up the familiar stairs.
The tube-shaped building’s stairs climbed like a centipede, twisted and exposed, along with decades of accumulated grime, leading up to the higher floors.
The hallway was draped with clothes hanging from various households, fluttering like flags, adding a splash of color to the dim, old building with large areas of peeling walls.
Today was destined to be a troublesome day.
As soon as he reached the second floor, Zong Qi saw several garbage bags thrown outside his room.
On closer inspection, the bags contained his belongings.
Zong Qi didn’t have many things. They were packed in black plastic bags, looking like garbage.
“Bang, bang, bang.”
The rental door was tightly shut, and the lock had been changed. Zong Qi’s key couldn’t open it, and knocking elicited no response.
A neighbor who was out fetching water explained the situation.
“Someone came to see the room today and paid the rent on the spot. There were no spare rooms in the building, so the landlady’s daughter-in-law brought them to your room. She said if you came back, I should tell you that the landlady went to the countryside to recuperate. Don’t think about getting a bargain and leave quickly.”
But what truly saddened Zong Qi wasn’t these words.
It was the sudden realization that there was now an Ouroboros symbol on the bottom of the door.
Oooohh this is imterestingg
Thnx ya for the chappiiee~
oooooh, the organization came to his rental.. 😲😥
thanks for the chapter 😁💗🩷