Chapter 696: Camera Phobia

“…When I cut open that body, the stench of animal innards filled the air. The woman had smelled sweet and clean, like a crystal ornament freshly wiped with silk. It was hard to believe how filthy and foul she was inside. Humans are strange creatures. Killing someone and dismembering them gave me a twisted sense of ownership, as if she became my possession, to command as I pleased. This tiny bathroom was filled with joy, even the stench seemed fragrant. Seeing those red chunks of flesh, I oddly thought of premium beef. I wondered how it would taste if cooked. As a child, I had a pet rabbit I fed the best carrots every day. One day it died, and the taste of its meat was unforgettable. Humans, who consume the finest foods all their lives, must have exquisite meat too. I have a strong urge to try. No wonder some psychopathic killers leave certain body parts missing, especially the leg and abdomen meat…”

Reading a random passage from the notebook sent chills down Chen Shi and Lin Dongxue’s spines. The content was sickeningly graphic, yet the writing was disturbingly good—far better than Xin Bai’s web novels.

The entire notebook was filled with such grotesque and explicit thoughts, documenting the mind of a killer. Lin Dongxue remarked, “Reading this will give me nightmares. Can we use this to convict him?”

“Are these real? He’s a writer, after all. Writers make a living by creating fiction,” Chen Shi said, skeptical.

“In a way, writers are the best at lying and acting. They portray different characters in their works. You’ve said that a profession can change a person. Writing this kind of content for a long time could mess with someone’s mind. These skills could extend to real life, making lying second nature. That’s why some writers have chaotic private lives.”

“Haha, that’s a bit of a stretch. Writing doesn’t make someone bad. By that logic, authors of fantasy novels would end up levitating. People turn bad for personal reasons, not because of their profession,” Chen Shi said, looking at the notebook. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions about this being evidence of a crime.”

“Alright, let’s head back.”

As they left, Chen Shi glanced around. Lin Dongxue asked what he was looking for, and he replied, “Where are the cameras? Xin Bai showed a strong aversion to them. It wasn’t an act. His living space should have cameras.”

“You’re kidding. Who installs cameras at home unless they’re being held captive?”

“Held captive!?” Chen Shi considered Xin Bai’s strange behavior, the cries for help in his work, his injuries, and mentions of a ‘master.’ Could he have been imprisoned by someone?

Back at the station, the interrogation continued with little progress. Through the observation window, Chen Shi and Lin Dongxue saw Xin Bai gesticulating wildly, his eyes bright and manic. Lin Qiupu and Old Zhang looked exhausted, struggling to keep up with his erratic behavior.

The interrogation ended for the night. Xin Bai was taken to a holding cell, and the rest of the team went home to rest.

The next day, Lin Qiupu held a brief case discussion, assigning tasks to visit the victim’s family, review surveillance footage to trace Xin Bai’s car, and verify the contents of the disturbing notebook.

After the meeting, Chen Shi and Lin Dongxue visited Xin Bai in the holding cell. He was curled up on the bed, shivering under a blanket as if cold.

“Hey, are you sick?” Chen Shi asked.

“Don’t let it point at me!” Xin Bai trembled.

“What?”

“That, that…” Xin Bai pointed shakily.

Chen Shi turned and saw a camera on the wall. “Should I cover it?” he asked.

“Thank you, thank you!”

“That’s against the rules,” Lin Dongxue whispered.

“I’m not a cop. Look at him, his camera phobia is serious. We won’t get anywhere if he’s scared.”

“All he’ll do is spout nonsense.”

Chen Shi found a piece of paper, folded it, and covered the camera. Xin Bai peeked out from under the blanket and finally stood up, looking a bit better. Last night, Peng Siyue had given him dexamethasone and a sedative. After a night of rest, the effects of the banned substance had worn off.

Chen Shi said, “Your readers are really ‘worried’ about you. You haven’t updated since last night, and they’re guessing you were in a car accident, kidnapped, or worse.”

“Heh, let them worry. Those naggers are always demanding more updates. When my dad died, they didn’t let me take a break, accusing me of lying. I mean, my dad will die someday, so how is that a lie?” Xin Bai actually seemed pleased with himself.

“That’s not going to win you any fans,” Chen Shi pointed out.

“Who cares? I have ten thousand fans. The ones who truly love me won’t mind.” His expression changed as if he remembered something.

Sensing an opportunity, Chen Shi said, “The victim in your car was an UP master who critiqued your novel. He was also a fan. He deciphered your cries for help in the chapters. I had a thought: maybe he came to find you, stumbled upon your secret, and was killed to silence him.”

Chen Shi’s words were deliberately vague, leaving room for Xin Bai to fill in the details.

Xin Bai’s face contorted in confusion. “His name was Old B. He did come to see me, but I didn’t kill him. I just… just dismembered him.”

“Dismembered him? Then who killed him?”

“It was… it was the master!”

Lin Dongxue was stunned. She rushed to get her brother.

“Wait!” Chen Shi activated his phone’s recording feature, fearing Xin Bai would clam up once Lin Qiupu arrived. Xin Bai seemed more open with him.

“Who’s this master? The one imprisoning you?”

“Imprisoning? Imprisoning!” Xin Bai crouched, covering his face, and started sobbing. “He hits me, burns me with cigarettes, insults me, forces me to write… Ah, master, I’m sorry, I didn’t say anything bad about you!”

Suddenly, he retreated under the blanket, trembling. Chen Shi and Lin Dongxue exchanged shocked glances. They turned and saw that a breeze had blown the paper off the camera, exposing Xin Bai to its lens.

His demeanor instantly changed, retreating back into his paranoia under the camera’s watchful eye.