Chapter 42 Every time I write about snacks, I feel weird thinking about the three-dimensional snacks still alive (no malice



Chapter 42 Every time I write about snacks, I feel weird thinking about the three-dimensional snacks still alive (no malice

【

Lilith said no more.

I didn't ask any more questions.

Even if wrapped in love, it cannot conceal the essence of pain.

Pain cannot be told as a story.

My cold fingers touched cold skin as I dressed her. The black skirt rose up over her torso like mud, hiding her scars.

"It's too cold. You should wear more clothes."

I said.

She blinked in confusion, then burst out laughing.

Even with this smile, she was still terrifyingly beautiful, elegant and exquisite, like a breathtakingly beautiful painting.

"I like you more and more, stay with me forever, okay?"

I didn't speak for a long time. Perhaps she sensed my resistance and rejection. She continued:

"Okay, okay, I get it. We don't understand each other yet, and we don't fall in love yet. Tell me your story. Once I understand you, you will fall in love with me."

Looking up with some doubt, I asked her:

"How can this be true?"

She said:

"But isn't that how it is for everyone? As long as the timing is right, as long as we understand each other, and as long as we agree on the price, we can fall in love and have children."

Somewhat confused, she bit her lip:

"Now what is this simplest love relationship called? Ah, I can't remember it clearly. But now we have moved on to the next stage, come and tell me your story?"

How can this be true?

I was silent for a moment, deciding not to follow her logic.

I forgot a lot of things, like where I was, why I was here, why I was communicating with her, where I came from.

But some things are remembered very clearly.

They were all trivial and unimportant things, but I guess these are the only stories I have to tell.

"I'm an army doctor," I said.

She looked at me, her bright red eyes becoming even brighter, as if they were about to emit a halo, emitting the color of her anticipation and joy.

I sighed resignedly and sorted out those old things from the past.

What follows is my story:

**

I am an army doctor.

The scalpel is my weapon and indifference is my armor. Under the sharp cold light, I removed the broken limbs of hundreds of soldiers.

To me, cutting up a human body is no different from cutting up an animal.

Apart from the fact that fat is yellow, in my eyes humans and livestock are the same thing.

When the war is over, I need to dissect the bodies of soldiers who died of non-war reasons to study their causes of death and avoid the silent invasion of the enemy's biological and chemical weapons and the occurrence of mass internal incidents.

For example, mass suicide, mass poisoning, or large-scale cannibalism due to mental problems.

I'm good at this.

The corpses were all in their twenties or thirties, both men and women. But there are also cases that are very young or very old. I have handled cases as young as a six-year-old boy and as old as a sixty-year-old man.

The environment at the military medical base is very good, but the environment for dissecting corpses is generally very poor. No one asks me to be precise about what ingredients each person is taking, as long as it looks okay.

The better autopsy room was a dilapidated shed, and the blue and swollen corpses looked like balloons that would burst with a poke. If it took too long, the rancid tissue fluid would splash everywhere when the scalpel was used, spraying me in the face.

The closest thing is to being buried in a pile of corpses.

I was performing an autopsy and observation here, and there were dozens of complete or incomplete pieces of meat piled up over there. The dissecting table was a broken wooden board, and the lighting source was the cheapest, most dazzling cold light. Without water to clean the tissues, blood, tissue fluid, and dirty bile were everywhere. Over time, my white coat was stained and turned into a dark yellow color.

Only my scalpel, always sharp, coldly and ruthlessly cuts through layer after layer of bluish-white texture.

The cause of death for each person was different. Some took drugs, some choked to death, some had infected wounds, some committed suicide by swallowing poison, and some were tortured to death by soldiers. There were both male and female genders, and some were so damaged that it was impossible to tell whether they were male or female.

This is not uncommon in the military, and no one cares even if it is reported.

"It has nothing to do with me." I thought.

One year after I joined the job, I was transferred from being the lead surgeon for soldiers to being the exclusive military surgeon for officers. Commanders rarely go to the battlefield, so I suddenly had some free time. To be honest, I was quite uncomfortable when I found out that I only had to cut the skin for those big shots.

Because I always wanted to cut it off in one piece, like the soldier I once amputated.

A man's third leg is also a leg. I am really an expert in amputation. I am quite famous for this in the army.

"If you cut it off, you can install a metal one. If you don't, you can only wait to be killed."

Whenever I said this, they would obediently accept their fate with tears in their eyes and full of joy.

The officer who transferred me was a well-known evil man in the army who was indiscriminate with men and women. Many people reminded me to be careful, as he must have other intentions.

I don't care, it has nothing to do with me.

Until one day he suddenly called me over, said a lot of inexplicable things, and before leaving, he touched my butt.

He's finished.

I wasn't angry, I was just suddenly distracted.

Actually, I don’t hate it. Even if you humiliate me, I won’t feel any pain. During the many years of surgery, my body was injured and infected several times without my knowledge, and I didn't notice it until I was drowsy due to a high fever.

I am not afraid of pain and I cannot feel pain.

But I feel dangerous.

He wants to hurt me.

I make this judgment.

He challenged me, and it is the instinct of every animal to accept the challenge and determine the winner.

He's finished.

He shouldn't have messed with a military doctor who had an excellent reputation and superb skills in the army.

The military doctor's only weapon is a scalpel, but this scalpel has seen more corpses than he has killed.

I looked at him steadily and smiled. He was flattered and was at a loss for a moment.

He didn't see my look.

In my eyes, he was no different from a corpse.

…

…

Pain and Love - Six Excerpts

】

Ayatsuji Yukito picked up a little black cat.

It was a very small one, with a thin and lean body and not very big claws.

On the day he brought the cat back, Ayatsuji Yukito pinched the nape of the little black cat's neck with two fingers in disgust and carried the cat up the mountain even as it cried innocently. Originally, Qian Jianmu thought that he would at least mention that he wanted to get a pet and then buy some things for the cat together. Unexpectedly, he directly carried the kitten to the bathroom, filled a basin with warm water, and gave the kitten a bath with a cold and disgusted look.

I don’t know what to say.

The mood is quite complicated.

The blond 18-year-old boy pinched the kitten's neck, his expression as cold as if he wanted to drown the cat on the spot, but his technique was frighteningly gentle, and very quick and efficient. He washed the cat and wrapped it in a towel in no time, and the cat didn't even have time to react before it was over.

This is in stark contrast to his usual lazy state of not working if he can avoid it.

What's even more outrageous is that he wrapped the cat into a ball of sushi and placed it on the table. Then, his hands, which were usually dry and cold and were wearing black gloves, took out a bag of cat strips from his pocket as if performing magic.

His dexterous hands, which were usually used to crack mechanisms, played a big role at this time. He tore open the food at an extremely fast speed before the kitten could cry and put it directly into the kitten's mouth. The kitten had eaten it before it could react.

His methods are smooth and flowing, and he is more professional than the staff in a pet shop.

Qianjianmu opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but after thinking it over, he felt that he might be scolded, so he quietly retreated and asked someone to run errands to buy a set of daily necessities for the kitten.

There were no noiseless hair dryers in the shrine, so Ayatsuji Yukito turned on the electric heater and rubbed the cat's head roughly with a towel next to it. The cat enjoyed this method, which was not gentle at all, and even started to snore.

By the time its fur was 80% dry, the cat had already fallen asleep, and was sleeping soundly. Ayatsuji Yukito picked up the cat and placed it on the table in front of Sengenmaku.

The cat opened his eyes hazily, felt the table was hard, and was about to run towards Ayatsuji Yukito's position. Ayatsuji Yukito pushed the cat towards Senmamu's position. Perhaps he thought it would be nice to be in Senmamu's arms. The little black cat snuggled into Senmamu's arms and fell asleep like an upside-down scallion.

Sengenmaku, who was suddenly favored by the cat, looked at Ayatsuji Yukito blankly.

"I'll keep it with you." Ayatsuji Yukito rolled up his slightly wet sleeves, revealing his pale and thin arms, took out the slender pipe and exhaled a puff of white smoke.

"I thought you were going to keep it."

Ayatsuji Yukito frowned in disgust:

"It will bite the doll and shed hair. I don't want it."

That’s not how you show your proficiency and thoughtfulness in caring for it.

The setting of saying one thing but doing another is too outdated. Tsundere has become obsolete! (No)

"I can't take care of a little creature like this. It's too small."

Qian Jianmu really had no experience with small animals, especially their baby forms. After the cat was in his arms, he just sat there without moving at all.

His manners are very good, and one can tell at a glance that he has received a strict education. Although he is very casual most of the time, he will sleep by the window and run in the rain. But the straight back and the curvature of the body measured by a ruler seemed to be welded to him, and it was a habit that he could not change.

Now with a small black gadget in his arms, he made a slightly awkward posture, but his expression was still calm, his back was straight and his movements were elegant, with an inexplicably funny competitiveness and stubbornness.

Ayatsuji Yukito stared at him for a few seconds, and from his clear and innocent expression he was sure that he was really being controlled by this little cat. He exhaled a puff of smoke helplessly. For some reason, in that wordless silence, Chigenmaku managed to read out the word "useless".

...It's too much!

The reliable underage detective reached the hand that was not holding the pipe into his arms, pulled out the black cat that was sleeping soundly with its head down and its butt up, and then placed it on his arm very smoothly. The whole process went smoothly, and the cat only woke up slightly, and then continued to sleep with its head buried in his arms, looking unconcerned and confused.

Are you really going to say you don't like cats?

"Why are you looking at me? I'm not interested in cats." Ayatsuji Yukito said in a cold tone.

“…Okay.” Qian Jianmu chose not to be serious about it.

Although he was shocked by Ayatsuji Yukito's sinister double-standard behavior, after calming down a little, Chimamaku roughly understood what Ayatsuji Yukito was thinking.

Maybe he thought that a cat (a person with special abilities) would come, so he wanted to provide some cover and put a patch on him. It was a bit like covering up the identity of the calico cat, but it was also partly a reason to protect him.

Actually, there is no need.

Not everyone can reach the rooms behind the shrine. Most tourists are confined to the part in front of the main hall, and the back is tightly blocked.

If someone is lurking, it would easily trigger the alarm device. Besides, they redesigned the security facilities a few days ago. Maybe most people have no idea about these security facilities. Well... they installed a machine gun on the roof.

It was Dazai who started it, and he enthusiastically turned the house into a Takatake Shrine, ready to crush anyone who invaded with malicious intent. Because he was too cheerful, there were not only machine guns on the roof, but also hand grenades with safety rings pulled by mechanisms...

Well... the tradition of our shrine is, that is... using artillery fire to convert sentient beings and using force to save the souls of the dead...

Later, they were discovered by Ranpo who came to visit. Ranpo enthusiastically adjusted the positions of these weapons and carried out the overall cleanup. With Ranpo's ability, he can decipher and naturally create more puzzles. The final result is that this shrine, which looked fine on the outside, was no problem to enter, and was no problem to live in for ten days or half a month, has turned into a fortress with extremely high combat power (the crispy version).

This decoration is so hidden and tests one's IQ so much that there is no need to study it normally. Over time, everyone has ignored this matter. Maybe when Ayatsuji Yukito came, everyone's attitude was too natural, and he has not yet realized the seriousness of the problem.

Besides the security facilities of the shrine itself, no one would believe that Yukito Ayatsuji could bring back a cat that had nothing in common with the calico cat, except that they were both cats, in terms of color and size. He said that he had no XP of his own to cause trouble.

Good intentions exist, but not much. Just like Ayatsuji Yukito's gentleness, it is there, but it seems not much.

Although he has lived here for some time, Ayatsuji Yukito has not started writing yet. But no one urged him to do this. Writing cannot be rushed. Sometimes he could write 10,000 words a day, and sometimes he could not even write 3,000. Several people in the family understood this deeply and felt that inspiration was something that had to be cultivated slowly, so they just let him live a leisurely life.

So Ayatsuji Yukito often sat in a rocking chair holding his doll and smoking in the shade, and at the age of 18 he lived the life of an 80-year-old.

Just in the month when Sengenmaku decided to integrate and publish all the previous books and delay the publication of "Pain and Love" until next year, Ayatsuji Yukito suddenly bought a large amount of black tape one day. He drove the black cat, which he particularly disliked and often stuffed into a cage, out of the rocking chair in the room (how could it sit on your precious rocking chair if you hated it so much), and then forced it to stay in the room for three days and three nights. No one knew what happened during these three days. On the third day, Mao Mao couldn't stand it anymore and took Qian Jianmu's trouser leg to the door. Qian Jianmu knocked on the door. It was quiet inside. After a long time, a faint voice came:

"Wait a minute."

When I opened the door, the room was filled with smoke and looked like heaven at first glance.

Looking more closely, all the doors and windows were sealed with black tape, and the entire window was sealed with black tape, leaving only a thin gap through which light could pass. The room was as dark as hell. What I thought was white smoke from heaven now looked more like the terrifying sight of smoking magma in hell.

Ayatsuji Yukito was neatly dressed, his face was pale, his eyes looked even more world-weary due to fatigue, and he was leaning on a rocking chair, swaying half-dead.

He doesn't like snacks, so there is no food in the room. He hasn't eaten anything in the past three days, and even drank very little water. But fortunately, the room had a small bathroom, leaving him some room for his moral integrity.

The black cat couldn't wait to rush in, but had to brake suddenly and sneezed just after entering. Its little paws hesitated for a moment, but in the end, its concern for the owner of the garbage overcame its fear of being suffocated, and it rubbed against Ayatsuji's feet and snored.

Ayatsuji Yukito kicked the cat gently but failed to move it away. The cat became more and more aggressive, crawling along his legs and into his arms, then buried itself in the gap between his coat and vest, snoring without coming out.

“You are…”

So scary, I almost thought that Dazai Osamu had some mysterious inherited attribute, suicide contagion or something...

Ayatsuji Yukito pointed at the table with his pipe and lay on his back in the rocking chair, stroking the cat from time to time with his empty hand.

Chigenmaku: ...I don't really want to go in.

The whole room was like hell. There was only one straight light-transmitting window, and no light was allowed in other places. The windows were covered with tape, so some places had different shades of light and dark, and some strange colored patterns could be seen, not to mention the row of puppets on the shelf next to it. The puppet with long straight black hair made by Chijianmu was extremely lifelike and creepy, looking blankly at the room. The row of dark eyes looked as if there were people staring at it coldly.

This room is decorated in a very European style, with thick dark green curtains creating an eerie, gloomy color. The person sitting on the rocking chair in the center looked very weak, his blond hair was dull and his face was terribly pale, making one want to sniff his breath. The black cat in his arms turned its head slightly at this moment, revealing a pair of round cat eyes. Because the environment was very dark, the pupils were dilated very round, which was inexplicably creepy.

The combination of all these factors created a new kind of hell picture with a gloomy atmosphere that was a hybrid of Japanese and European ghost stories in front of the living Qianjianmu on this sunny day.

"Wrote a new article?"

With a faint sigh, Qian Jianmu resigned himself to his fate and walked into hell.

The table top is very clean. Ayatsuji Yukito himself is a person with very clean and tidy tastes. The manuscript paper was neatly divided into several stacks, as if classified by chapters. Qian Jianmu picked up the first copy. It seemed that the author hesitated for a moment. The front was blank, and the word "guan" was written on the back.

The entire manuscript is still in a state of being incomplete and only an outline has been written. But the basic parts have already been written, and only some polishing is needed later. It may only take one to half a month to publish directly.

It's not "another", and the Thousand Maku is not very strange.

He had already found out that among so many people, no one could directly write works represented by their special abilities. Because they haven't reached that stage yet, in other words, they don't have enough experience to use this skill.

Although Endo Shusaku said he wanted to write it, he finally decided to change the name because he felt that "Deep River" was not what he was writing now.

There were two main reasons why Nakahara Chuuya was able to successfully create "In the Polluted Sorrow": 1. It was a very short poem. 2. What a coincidence! The lyrics of this poem are among the polluted sorrow, and they account for a large proportion.

The poet has a huge advantage and gets a great deal.

Writers can only think slowly, explore their special abilities and the meaning of their own lives, and then create based on this.

It is impossible to write about the abilities of people with special abilities in a short period of time. Sengenmu is written first and then created. In comparison, there will be no problem as long as the quality of the work is guaranteed. But the person with superpowers is already a finished product. If you have to write a text with a topic whose direction is not very clear, even the slightest deviation from the topic will not work. You must do an extra-long reading comprehension on your superpowers and your life.

It’s all well and good to know about your own special abilities, but who can truly understand oneself?

But it’s not a big problem if you can’t write about your own special abilities. People with special abilities will be guided little by little during the creation process, which is definitely not a bad thing.

"Is this your style, Shin Honkaku? Why is the name left blank?" Qian Jianmu asked softly.

Ayatsuji Yukito opened his eyes, with a hint of subtle emotion in his eyes. Qian Jianmu inexplicably felt as if he was being scolded by his eyes. In his troubled eyes, Chigenmaku saw Ayatsuji Yukito shook his head and said softly:

"I mean, help me throw it in the trash can."

"……ah?"

"Want me to say thank you? Thank you."

“…”

ah! ?

Oh no, you...?

Have you already developed writer's mysophobia before publishing any long works? No!

Writing a book is a process where you have to endure and keep writing no matter how bad what you have written is!

And you’ve finished it! If you don't like something about this book, we can discuss and summarize the problems.

However, Ayatsuji Yukito was obviously exhausted and didn't want to say anything more. Chigenmaku was silent for a moment, put the manuscript away and clipped it. Decided to wait until he has a good rest tomorrow.

Out of friendship, he used a knife to pry open the window sealed with tape before leaving, letting the breeze in through the window to disperse the filthy air like hell. After thinking for a while, he stuck his head out and asked:

"Glucose injection or food?"

"A cup of coffee." said Yukito Ayatsuji.

No drinking, no eating, no sleeping, the first thing to do is drink coffee, you don’t want to die!

Chijianmu filled the coffee cup with glucose syrup with an expressionless face.

Two wishes, fulfilled together.

**

In the end, Yukito Ayatsuji still did not explain why he wanted to throw away the book.

When he sobered up and calmed down and watched it again, it didn't seem so annoying anymore. He is also very concerned about perfecting this book. The drowsy and violent words of "throw it in the trash can" that day were ignored by both of them at the same time.

When Edogawa Ranpo heard about this, he leaned back in his chair and laughed. He asked:

"So, what was the final name? Let me guess--"

"——Ichimonji Mansion..." Ranpo stretched out his voice.

"--The unsolved case of Ichimonji Mansion." Chigenmaku said almost at the same time.

Under Chigenmaku's surprised gaze, Ranpo crossed his legs proudly and turned around in his swivel chair, holding on to the table.

"Let me tell you, Ayatsuji Yukito actually likes you. He even mentioned you when he corresponded with me a few days ago, and he said you're a nice person."

...I can't imagine Ayatsuji Yukito saying nice things. Even though he's such a cat-lover, he looks cold towards cats. Would it be a different style if he wrote it down?

Does a literary giant’s personality change depending on his writing style?

"What did he say?" Qian Jianmu was skeptical.

**

When Fukuzawa Yukichi walked into the Armed Detective Agency, he saw Ranpo and Senmaku, who for some reason was just strolling home, with their heads, one black and one white, huddled together and whispering to each other. Both of them were in a very relaxed state, and the distance between them was sometimes far and sometimes close. From a distance, you could only see the tops of their heads, and their furry hair looked like two kittens rubbing against each other.

Fukuzawa Yukichi's hands trembled. He thought that he was probably too busy to have such an illusion.

However, soon, the two heads separated, and he saw Qian Jianmu leaning on a chair with a numb expression as if he had died, and there was no light in his eyes.

"I should have known this earlier. He is indeed the one..."

Ranpo was pounding the table and laughing wildly with his head down, which seemed to be a sarcastic performance.

What are you talking about? So happy?

A question mark slowly appeared above the head of Fukuzawa Yukichi, who hadn't met with friends for a long time and was very busy.

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