Dinner ended, and after helping his wife wash the dishes, he played some family games with the children. After settling them down to sleep, he returned to his own room.

His wife was taking a shower in the bathroom inside the room, the sound of water gurgling, stirring one's heart.

He lay on the bed, hands behind his head, looking at the wedding photo hanging on the wall.

In the photo, he was still young, and his wife was in her prime.

Lying there,

he actually dozed off,

and fell asleep again.

He didn't know how long he slept, but when he woke up, it was all black around him. He groped in the darkness and turned on the light.

The bed was still the same bed, but he was the only one lying on it.

Silently,

he sat up from the bed,

curling his body.

A feeling of loneliness and coldness was washing over him,

and broken images began to flash in his mind.

Dark clouds,

lightning,

heavy rain,

living room,

sofa…

He felt increasingly short of breath, an emotion called "despair" engulfing him, and goosebumps began to rise all over his body.

He didn't dare to leave the bedroom,

didn't dare to open the door,

he was afraid of not hearing his children's voices,

afraid of not seeing his wife,

even more afraid of going downstairs,

to see the sofa in the living room…

"Huff... huff... huff…"

The heavy breathing only made his brain feel even more blank.

Struggling, he tiptoed to the door like a thief, opened it, covered his ears, and rushed into the study next door, following his memory.

"Bang!"

The moment he closed the study door,

he felt a weight lifted from his heart.

His turbid gaze fell on the pen lying quietly on the desk,

as if he had found his support.

He walked over,

picked up the pen,

opened a blank notebook,

and took out his wife's book, *The Two-Faced Man*, to continue copying.

He was lost in it,

he was immersed in it,

besides copying the words,

he had no other thoughts, nor dared to have any.

No one urged him, but he cherished the time all the more.

He wrote quickly, and his handwriting began to become scribbled, because he was impatient in his heart.

He didn't notice

that his skin had begun to wrinkle, like the bark of an elm tree that had lost its moisture, nor did he notice that his eye sockets were slowly sinking, and that even though he wasn't yet thirty, large patches of white hair had appeared on his head.

The ink in the pen,

still seemed to be inexhaustible,

always able to write,

without needing to be refilled.

He wrote and wrote,

writing until the sky turned white, writing until the sky turned dark again.

The doorbell rang, and he suddenly stood up and walked out of the room.

Standing on the second floor,

he saw his wife had already gone to open the door.

There was a guest visiting,

said to be one of his wife's die-hard female fans.

The children's laughter came again,

they were watching cartoons on the sofa in the living room.

Seeing this scene,

he grinned,

and smiled.

Even though he was extremely haggard,

his chapped lips seemed to be seeping blood.

Write,

write,

after copying one book, copy the next,

he couldn't stop at all,

nor was he willing to stop,

writing to the point of forgetting to eat and drink,

writing to the point of forgetting to sleep,

except for occasionally going out to see what was happening,

looking at his wife,

and looking at his children,

then returning to continue writing.

He was afraid that if he didn't write,

he wouldn't be able to see them anymore.

His wife's horror stories were all based on their family's villa, so the stories included this home, her, and the children.

Under the desk lamp in the study,

there was a figure bending over to copy a book,

the figure was very thin,

so thin that the light from the lamp seemed to be able to penetrate him.

More and more words were written, and more and more books were copied,

gradually,

the young man became thinner and thinner, and more and more haggard,

until one day,

when he had finished copying another book,

and put down the pen,

his legs were as thin as two chopsticks,

only a tight layer of skin remained on his face,

in the eye sockets, no pupils could be seen anymore, only two clusters of ghost-fire-like light were swirling and flickering…

He tremblingly opened the door,

and walked out.

He heard his wife's voice,

and he heard his children's voices.

All of this,

was so beautiful,

so melodious,

it was celestial music,

the persistence and hope for him to live on.

He didn't feel bitter, nor did he feel tired,

what was bitterness, what… was tiredness?

Holding onto the railing, he didn't dare to go down, he just watched silently, listened silently, enjoying his peaceful life.

At this moment,

he vaguely heard

his wife, crying.

His children, were also crying.

He was stunned for a moment,

why?

Why were they crying?

The family,

was together,

living happily,

why were they crying?

He was a little flustered, and a little confused. He grabbed the staircase railing with both hands and walked down step by step with great difficulty.

Going down the stairs,

was also a huge challenge for him at this moment.

He was afraid of falling,

if he fell,

he might turn into a cloud of dust.

He wasn't afraid of turning into dust,

but he was afraid that no one would copy anymore,

that no one would continue to pick up the pen to write.

But he still had to go down,

he wanted to ask his wife and children,

what had happened,

why were they crying?

Finally,

he reached the bottom of the stairs,

panting, hunching over, unable to straighten up, groping forward.

He came to the living room and saw the sofa in the center.

His wife was sitting in the middle,

the children on either side.

His wife was crying,

his son was crying,

his daughter was also crying,

on the ground,

the Alaskan Malamute was lying there, surrounded by many amusement park facilities, and many masks, cloaks, human faces, black shadows, all kinds of terrifying things were wandering and flickering.

In the darkness,

you could still hear countless souls wailing, crying, and roaring!

All of this,

were characters, scenes, and props that had appeared in his wife's horror novels.

He didn't think anything was strange, nor did he think anything was a big deal.

He opened his mouth, wanting to ask his wife, wanting to ask his children,

you,

what are you crying about?

We are still alive, we can still be together,

it's beautiful,

isn't it?

But he could only make a hoarse sound, like a mosquito, unable to speak at all.

His wife's eyes began to shed blood,

the same was true for his children's eyes,

this scene,

frightened him.

His wife and children climbed off the sofa together,

crawling towards him.

He saw his wife's hands grabbing his legs, begging, praying, and crying,

he saw his two children were the same.

"Honey, let me go, let me go, I can't stand it anymore, I can't stand this torment, I really can't stand it, let me go, please, honey, let me go, let me go…"

"Daddy, please let us go… this place is too scary, every day is so painful, Nannan is so scared…"

"Daddy, please let us go, my sister and I can't stand it anymore, we really can't stand it…"

Looking down at his feet,

at the faces of his wife and children contorted in pain,

a series of thunderclaps echoed in his mind,

he staggered back,

shaking his head,

full of disbelief.

Why,

why,

how could this be,

no,

impossible,

impossible!

The originally cold reality,

after being covered with a beautiful veil, gave people a beautiful illusion.

Illusion, after all, is an illusion.

He fell to the ground,

holding his head in his hands.

All these days, he had been copying and writing in the study, and had never left the house at all.

But in the outside world,

he still appeared in front of people every day, directing and dispatching workers in the factory to complete orders, and even after the last housekeeper had a problem, he hired a new housekeeper.

All of this,

was done by him,

but he didn't know,

nor did he realize it.

He only knew,

that when his wife and children begged him to let them go in front of him,

he collapsed,

falling into a state of confusion.

His vision also became blurred,

and in this blurred vision,

he saw the new housekeeper screaming when she came to the door and saw the corpses of his wife and children on the sofa. There was also a "suicide note" left by his wife on the coffee table, which were the words his wife said when she begged him to let her go. He wrote it down according to an instinct, as if he was copying his wife's published book, wrote it down in black and white.

And this, coupled with the bruises on his wife and children's bodies from a long time ago, became the evidence for his conviction for domestic violence and abuse.

The entanglement of reality and virtuality,

collapsed in his mind again and again, and was rebuilt again and again. In prison, he had a lot of time to think and reorganize his thoughts.

So,

he was very grateful

to the prison environment.

It was a heartfelt gratitude.

…

The gaze of memory slowly disappeared,

and a smile gradually appeared on the corner of his mouth.

He tried to regain his life, but he discovered a shocking reality.

He existed,

but he didn't exist,

the people around him could see him, could talk to him, the prison leaders also praised him, and his writings could be published and win awards.

But,

did he really exist?

He felt that he had become a true ghost,

not the kind of ghost,

but that everyone knew you,

but you,

didn't exist,

it was a paradox and a torture.

He spent more than four years in prison figuring these things out.

Looking at the extremely frightened woman in front of him,

he opened his mouth

and made a "shh" gesture with his lips,

then,

slowly said:

"Perhaps, I know what the method of using this pen is."

"What… is it…"

The woman from the Naihe Bridge looked at the man in front of her with a sincere fear. (Naihe Bridge is a bridge in Chinese mythology that souls must cross after death.)

"That is to make yourself a character in the story you write, instead of… a living person."

The prisoner took a deep breath,

and leaned back in his chair,

"So, why things are going so smoothly, you came out of hell, and you were able to find me right away,

so smoothly,

like a pre-arranged plot segment,

right?"

The woman nodded,

yes,

it was too smooth.

"Heh…"

The prisoner smiled,

"I'm sorry to tell you, I don't have the ability to keep this story going, it's already collapsed…

I'm sorry,

I've implicated you,

let's,

disappear together."

…

In the bedroom on the second floor of the bookstore,

Attorney An, who had just helped the old Taoist untie his restraints, sat on the edge of the bed. The old Taoist had run downstairs to rub safflower oil, and Zhang Yanfeng had fallen back into a coma after being stopped by Attorney An.

But his breathing was already stable, and his heartbeat had returned. After a sleep, he would probably wake up completely. Everything was developing in a good direction.

Attorney An felt that this was a bit magical, that a newly deceased ordinary soul could be brought back to life in another person's body.

While drying her hair with a towel, she picked up the *Prison Storm* magazine.

She flipped through it casually.

The first half of the magazine was about speeches by prison leaders and publicity about their deeds,

and the second half was about the prisoners' feelings and experiences of reform,

which was quite interesting to read.

As she read,

she flipped to the last page,

hmm?

Attorney An was stunned for a moment.

It was already the last page,

but it seemed like something was missing,

like there should have been an article here, and she seemed to have read it before,

but it was gone.

Am I,

misremembering?

----------------

This is the chapter for the extra two thousand monthly votes,

but the embarrassing thing is that we only have 1800 monthly votes.

Brothers, please give it your all!

Salty Fish Dragon's extra chapters have run ahead of the monthly votes! (咸鱼龙 is the author’s nickname)

Wuwuwu!