Era of Magic and Martial Arts-Chapter 238 - 222: Madness

The heavy iron door rattled loudly, but the fine needle inserted into the lock remained unmoved. Wang Jiao stared goggle-eyed at the stark contrast in the scene before him.

"Prison guard, what are you doing?" Wang Jiao’s mind seemed to crash; his fear was burned away by the overloaded CPU in his head.

Chen Ya stood beside him, answering earnestly, "I’m locking the door!"

Wang Jiao pointed to the horrific bloodshed on the floor, his throat dry and hoarse, "They’re dead, dead! And you’re still locking the door?"

Chen Ya’s expression was serious and earnest, "Yes, according to the planned division of labor, I’m responsible for guarding the door, preventing him from leaving, while you all are supposed to kill him."

Wang Jiao stuttered, "But, but can’t you see, they’re all dead? We’ve failed!"

Chen Ya frowned and spoke with a resonant voice, like the way he used to inspire everyone’s morale, "You’re still alive, aren’t you?"

Wang Jiao: "What?"

Chen Ya spoke profoundly and philosophically:

"As long as, in the process of mission, there’s even one person alive, you must never say there’s no hope of completing the mission. You have to believe in yourself, launch one last attack for your own destiny, till death without rest, instead of giving up or fleeing."

Wang Jiao: "..."

As Wang Jiao watched the prison guard’s serious explanation, suddenly, he felt a strange illusion as if Chen Ya’s face blended silently with another gentle smiling face.

Though one face always overflowed with smiles and the other was always serious, their undeniable insistence when explaining reasoning was exactly the same...

Wang Jiao’s shoulders shook involuntarily, his body spasming as if struck by an electric current, as though his soul was completely consumed by fear, becoming senseless and confused.

He pointed alternately at Chen Ya and Feng Mu.

He let out a terrifying laugh from his throat, clutching his stomach, laughing until he couldn’t catch his breath, tearful at the corners:

"Hahaha, you’re insane, you’re insane, you both are the same, just me left as the sane one, hahahaha—"

Wang Jiao was unaware that at this moment, he inadvertently uttered the underlying label of destiny—[Madness]!

[Madness]: The formal members of destiny are all extreme maniacs, desperate for their goals, stopping at nothing, sacrificing life and death without rest.

Empathy reduced by 50%, acceptance of death strengthened by 300%.

Chen Ya woodenly looked at Wang Jiao, slightly raised his eyebrows, and sighed sadly toward Feng Mu, "He seems to have gone mad."

Feng Mu seriously scrutinized Wang Jiao, nodding somewhat in agreement, regretfully said, "Yes, he’s mad, it’s hard to reason with a madman, fortunately he still has a face, so you’ll handle it."

Wang Jiao instantly laughed more frenetically, his face contorting from the laughter, appearing to mock the two of them, or perhaps laughing to himself:

"Two maniacs, are in cahoots, hahaha, they’re saying I’m mad, hahahahaha—"

The laughter abruptly stopped.

A fine needle had pierced into Wang Jiao’s cheek, puncturing his flesh, deeply embedding into the bone.

Subsequently, one needle after another rained onto his cheeks, each bringing agonizing pain.

Laughter turned into painful cries, but those cries didn’t last long either, as Chen Ya found him too noisy, and stuck a needle into his throat.

"Don’t move, it’ll be over soon, though I could kill you first, but in my experience, when a person is alive, the muscle is more elastic, making the cosmetic result more realistic."

"Anesthesia is not allowed either, because facial expressions become too stiff under anesthesia, affecting the final outcome."

Chen Ya seemed like an experienced doctor, patiently calming his surgical patient, while thoughtfully pulling out a mirror from his sleeve.

This mirror was not an ordinary glass product, but intricately arranged with fine silver needles, each needle seemed like a pixel in the mirror.

Though its surface was not smooth, under dim light it could still vaguely reflect a human face outline.

Wang Jiao’s eyes widened, staring at this mirror, yet saw the face in the mirror was not his own, but one that was gradually transforming bizarrely.

With each precise stitch and needle withdrawal, the face in the mirror gradually left its original features, increasingly resembling Chen Ya’s visage, this progressive change made Wang Jiao shiver.

"Done, surgery completed successfully!" Chen Ya announced with a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

Chen Ya deftly withdrew the final needle and thread, letting Wang Jiao’s gaze linger on the renewed face in the mirror.

Then, he reached over and slit "Chen Ya’s" throat, ending his postoperative pain.

"Chen Ya" fell backward, his residual glimpse catching the scattered incomplete corpses on the ground in his last moments of life.

Some had lost their heads, others lacked chests, some had no arms, and some had no legs. They were meticulously arranged in a line by Feng Mu’s almost obsessive compulsion.

On the edge of consciousness, a puzzling thought flashed: "Strange, why does it feel like there’s an extra corpse?"

With this perplexing enigma, "Chen Ya" unresignedly closed his eyes in death.

Question:

How do you arrange eight portions of flesh into nine corpses?

This question owes its solution to the enlightenment from the past life of "Young Bao Qingtian," Feng Mu drew this answer from that ground of incomplete corpses.

He didn’t have a peculiar habit of crushing others’ heads, tearing apart shoulders, or shattering leg bones for cruelty; he performed these brutal acts for one hidden purpose — to let someone naturally "die" in the prison.

Or rather, let him truly become a ghost that doesn’t exist in the Second Prison!

Of course, the corpse arrangement was incomplete, and may not completely escape the sharp eyes of the forensic doctor.

Luckily, he had standing next to him a skilled tailor.

There is no major technical difference between sewing clothes and stitching corpses.

In this regard, Chen Ya provided the best proof through his practice and experience; he was the artist who stitched life into flesh with needle and thread.

"It’s yours." Feng Mu gently tapped Chen Ya on the shoulder, smiling as he entrusted the task.

"Don’t worry." Chen Ya’s response was filled with confidence, he bent down and began the final treatment of the already pieced-together corpses.

His movements were adept and smooth, as if he was handling not flesh but soft fabric, merely re-stitching fabric into clothes, as simple as breathing.

"Tailoring is art indeed!" Feng Mu sincerely praised in his heart.

This all, though long in words, actually took just a few minutes. Once Chen Ya completed his tailoring work, once Chen Ya finished his tailoring work carefully moving each corpse back to its original position, Feng Mu nodded at him.

Then, he approached the iron door, gently lifted the needle from the lock core.

And behind him, there were no signs of the living, only the crematorium door slightly swayed.

Feng Mu turned his head, gently pulling the iron door from inside. Subsequently, the iron door suddenly swung open under external impact, a figure lost its balance, staggered, and fell straight into his embrace...