Chapter 201: Wax Figure

Just as the Clown’s hand was about to unzip the bag, he suddenly grinned, his movements halting for a moment, making everyone’s heart involuntarily skip a beat.

“Don’t be nervous, it’s just a cake, a cake.”

The next second, the travel bag was opened, and inside was a squashed red velvet cake, with the cream already turned gray-black, making it look like sludge dredged from the river. 

Even through the screen, one could imagine the terrible smell.

But it was still better than the nauseating scent of blood, the kind of terrifying thing that human instinct rejects. 

Still, no one really relaxed, because the scene was still so bizarre, leaving no room for anger at having been fooled.

“I guess you all just breathed a sigh of relief? Hey, hey, did you really think this is just an ordinary cake? Come on, how could that be possible? After all the trouble I went through, you think I’d just show you a cake?”

Then, under everyone’s stunned gaze, Clown gently scraped away the sticky red cream. 

With his short, callused fingers wiping aside the messy cream, a delicate face gradually emerged, as if a drowned corpse was being pushed up to the surface by river waves.

But obviously, the cake wasn’t big enough to hold a whole person, so what was buried in the cake was all too clear.

A head, a genuine one, separated from its body, preserved so perfectly and lifelike that the strangeness and horror of it all was almost suffocating.

Just from the gentle outline of the face, you could tell it was a woman—well-proportioned features, exquisite makeup. 

Even after being ravaged together with the cream, it was completely undamaged, every trace on her face clearly visible, like a carefully sculpted statue, not a living person.

‘A statue? Wait, maybe…’

Su Mu suddenly recalled the wax figures she’d seen before—they looked almost exactly the same as this.

“Regrettably, let me introduce—this is my wife. She used to be, and still is. Only now, she finally knows how to listen. Come on, open your mouth, this is your favorite cake.”

As he spoke, Clown forced open that mouth, and fine cracks instantly appeared at the corners. 

The mouth was pried to an impossible angle, then Clown shoved handful after handful—almost reaching down her throat—stuffing the filthy cream inside.

She really was obedient now, but probably would never hear anyone speak again.

Su Mu’s pupils trembled slightly. 

No matter how you looked at it, this was heart-wrenching. 

But what confused her most was Clown’s expression: not the frenzied joy one might expect, but calm, like a machine completing a task, his actions and speed unchanged as he carried out this grisly work.

“You probably think I’m some depraved, cruel guy. Actually, I think so too. But first, let me tell you my side of the story. Don’t trouble yourselves to cut out a social tumor like me, I’ll end this myself very soon.”

With that, Clown rolled up his sleeve, pulling his arm free. 

The skin was rough as a concrete wall, almost bluish-white, looking as ghastly as a lifeless zombie.

But what really drew the eye was something else. 

Under the ridiculously baggy clown suit, there was a plastic bottle strapped to his arm, connected by an IV tube directly into his vein. 

He flicked a switch, and bright red blood started flowing down the tube, slowly filling the bottle.

“According to Mr. Justice, this bottle holds two liters. Once it’s full, a living person is supposed to shut up. What was the rate again, how many milliliters per minute?”

Clown hesitated, as if forgetting what to say, then shook his head and forced a smile.

“Doesn’t matter, anyway, it’s twenty minutes. I just need twenty minutes. Will you listen to me until I’m done?”

He raised the blood-filled bottle in his hand, and the blood inside sloshed around, making everyone’s heart pound with fear, worried it would spill everywhere. 

His blood pouring from the wound was like a leaking beer barrel, gushing the last of his life away.

Most of those who had been indignant or doubtful in the Live Broadcast Room fell silent after seeing this.

Who would risk their life against a madman? 

Even through the screen, this was enough to make any ordinary person’s heart skip a beat.

“Heh, I want to talk, but honestly, I don’t even know where to begin… Let’s just start with how I met her. That’s how they do it in the movies.”

The man pinched the wax figure’s face, wiped away the leftover cake at the corner of her mouth, and looked at her, his eyes gradually lighting up.

It wasn’t nostalgia, nor affection—it was ridicule.

Yes, ridicule, as if silently mocking the motionless wax figure.

“I’m alive, and you’re already dead. Now, whatever our story is, only my side of it will ever be heard. I wonder, would you like this ending?”

“I was already in my thirties back then. Now I’m over forty, so not that much time has passed. The month I met her, we got married—decisive, like sealing a business deal with those men in leather shoes. I paid, she became my wife, and that was that.”

“After all, I was getting old. If I didn’t find a woman soon, people would talk, saying I was unfilial for not having children. My old man’s dead now, but back then, I was still hoping he’d live to see a grandson.”

It didn’t sound like he was lying, but the more real it seemed, the more uneasy Su Mu felt.

The so-called “footnote to truth” from Justice might produce effects far beyond expectations. 

Reality between people is often more surreal than anything made up.

“I figured a rough guy like me wouldn’t find anyone easy, so I looked at older women, the ones nobody else wanted, with bad tempers like mine. But either their temper was worse or they were just crazy. In the end, I had to ask someone to set me up. I knew it was just paying for a wife—not reliable at all—but I was out of options.”

Just a few sentences, and Clown’s face had already turned ugly. 

Whether it was because of his feelings as he spoke, or the blood bottle now holding so much of his blood, it was hard to tell.

“I used to make wax molds at the Factory. Worked there ten years, saved some money, spent most of it on a house. I didn’t want to touch my old man’s savings, but right then, he got sick—couldn’t even get surgery, just lay in bed, refusing to go to the hospital or take any medicine, just to force me to find a wife.”

“That’s how his woman came, and how she ran, too. But I really had no other choice. I couldn’t—just couldn’t let him die staring at me, like my wife is staring at me now.”