I went back to the house with Ying Ru.

We walked side by side and my breathing was no longer ragged. I would even unconsciously match her pace.

Was I no longer afraid of Ying Ru? That would be a grave error.

I just felt really close to her, or more accurately, feeling accepted.

Have, I, not, reached, the, end, yet?

The feeling of approval made me admire her uncontrollably, even the way she breathed.

But I was still terrified of her.

Because that was the source of my admiration, the origin of my accord.

“I hope we’ll get to do this more often.” I said while waving her goodbye in front of the stairs.

“We will.” Ying Ru replied, smiling softly like usual.

Ying Ru went back to her room.

And I returned to observing my screens.

Strange questions filled my mind as I watched other tenants slowly returning to their rooms one after another.

Question one.

If Ying Ru invites me to her room for coffee, would she drug me like she did to the others?

“Definitely. I was afraid of her for a reason. She always knew how to catch me by surprise. She wouldn’t care that I hadn’t reached the end yet.” I raised my hand, answering my own question.

Which means I still have to keep denying her lethal invitations.

Question two.

Ying Ru said that she could see the end. Was she a psychopath? Or exceptionally gifted? Or a b.l.o.o.d.y liar?

“Or perhaps she just didn’t wish to reach the end of the path herself, thus deciding to go crazy?” Raising my hand, I argued against myself.

Unfortunately, the process of logical deduction doesn’t work on the likes of Ying Ru, especially since I don’t know how many other obscured theories of life she held sacred. Perhaps she has one that dictates “life is a constant experiment”, or perhaps there is one that says “the silent abuse is a n.o.ble form of character,” or maybe she has the habit of making s.h.i.+t up?

While incoherent thoughts continued to plague my mind, old man Zhang came back. He drank the nasty, disgusting expired milk at twelve past seven. Bo Yan came back at eight, and finished the leftover noodles from last night at half past nine. He dropped dead in front of his PC at twenty to ten. Mr. w.a.n.g and his daughter came back at half past five. It was now eight past ten, still a while till Mr. w.a.n.g’s epic struggle.

I only introduced a low dosage of aphrodisiac in old man Zhang’s drinks, because I had to “control” when he was going to explode. The first few times, the dosage had to stay low. It just needed to stimulate his imagination for now, but when the moment comes, I’m going to ignite it with a bang.

Which was why old man Zhang had to spend his night in torment, writhing on the floor listening to Miss. Chen’s moans. It only took him half an hour before he decided to take the telescope to the rooftop.

Whenever a person’s mind is fixated on only one thing, their behaviour becomes extremely predictable. Old man Zhang is the perfect example of that. His every move is wrapped by an invisible wire called s.e.x. I only need to sit down, plug my ears with my fingers and light the fuse, and old man Zhang would be blown sky high.

Since Mr. w.a.n.g had yet to swallow the pills, I went to check on Ying Ru. (She was taking a shower, completely oblivious to the young man sitting on the bathroom stall next to the big black plastic bag. Afterwards, she started typing comfortably lying on the bed.) So I went downstairs, entering Bo Yan’s room.

Bo Yan left the chat window open on the PC; messages kept popping up, eagerly awaiting his reply.

After I moved Bo Yan to the bed, I sat down in front of his PC and entered a few random messages. The sender seemed to be a girl Bo Yan met online, called “Cat on the piano.”

I never chatted with someone online before; I was too old for that. But I knew the symbols on the keyboard, and the “enter” key. Besides, I specially went to the bookstore a few days ago and got myself a bestseller on online friends.h.i.+p: “The first intimate contact”. In order to completely destroy Bo Yan, I had to do my homework.

“Beep… Are you asleep? :(”

Eew, Bo Yan, a b.l.o.o.d.y university student called himself Dododog.

“Yep… I just discovered another me… :)” I typed.

“^_^ Another you? What is that?”

“The other me just went to sleep, this me is like a recently hatched b.u.t.terfly.  It is a strange feeling.”

“I don’t understand :P”

“This is the new me! The old one was like an ugly, ordinary caterpillar. But now even the way I breathe has transformed! ^_^”

“Hoho… That sounds amazing… Is it because you met me? <>

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“Hahaha! Maybe? I’m about to go on an adventure! And my adventure is unlike anything you have ever seen!”

“What kind of adventure? O_O”

“I’m going to disappear! Whoos.h.!.+”

After typing those last few words, I stopped caring about the return messages from that stupid cat.

I stripped Bo Yan from head to toe, throwing his clothing everywhere.

“Hurry, use the nunchucks, Hoho Haha! Why aren’t you singing now?” I laughed as I pulled Bo Yan’s arms and dragged him under the bed. Next, I opened his closet and tore away at his clothing till it was a complete mess, then I carefully closed it.

“Go to sleep.” I couldn’t resist any longer as I jerked off again in front of his PC, spraying it all over the floor. I even left the tissue I used to wipe myself clean on the floor as well.

After returning to my room, I went to stare at another screen alone in the dark on my bed.

The image showed Mr. w.a.n.g sitting nervously on the bathroom stall, pouring hot water over his naked body.

He swallowed the pills half an hour ago; his daughter was already sound asleep by then.

“Shouldn’t he have used cold water? Hot water is clearly the wrong choice here.” I commented.

Still naked, Mr. w.a.n.g walked towards the bed of his daughter, watching.

I couldn’t see Mr. w.a.n.g’s savage facial expressions clearly from this point of view; how unfortunate.

The kind of emotions expressed during such epic struggles had to be very artistic and twisted.

Mr. w.a.n.g just stood there, arms dropped, chest raised.

“Deep breaths won’t help you, pretending to hesitate is also pointless. n.o.body is watching, you are only fooling your own conscience… If you still believe that you have a conscience to begin with.” I mocked Mr. w.a.n.g’s futile attempt to stop the inevitable.

Things like these happen all the time in the world.

Father rapes daughter. It doesn’t matter whether she is mentally challenged, under aged or normal. Whenever the father wants to f.u.c.k his daughter, the father would always put up a fight with himself, like angel versus demon, and it would always be a pointless struggle.

As a reminder, the second rule of life I follow has told me that as long as it is a battle of morality, conscience is almost always going to lose.

When the fight is over, the real show begins.

Therefore, I have decided to never waste time talking with my conscience, because in the end, I would always end up doing what I wanted to do in the first place. So as time pa.s.ses, my conscience has stopped talking to me as well.

“Hurry up. Your daughter is yours to begin with! As long as you are ok with it, it will be fine!” I commented.

But Mr. w.a.n.g was a coward, and like a statue, he stood in front of the bed. His legs were frozen, his d.i.c.k was as well.

Two hours had pa.s.sed since then; I stared at the screen, half asleep, half awake. I almost died from boredom, but Mr. w.a.n.g was still there, standing like a statue in front of his daughter. I thought he fell asleep on his feet.

I kept on switching the channels, waiting and hoping.

One yawn after another.

Finally, Mr. w.a.n.g fell like a meteor, dropping down on the chair next to the bed and falling asleep.

His talk with his conscience took way too long, letting the effect of the drug slip away from between his legs.

“You stupid f.u.c.k, how can you become the hero of the incestuous world if you keep being indecisive like that?” I cursed a few words and fell asleep as well.

The second and the third day, every night, Mr. w.a.n.g would pretend to be a statue, and stand like a rock in front of the bed, and every time I would miss out on his marvelous expression of desire due to the camera angle restrictions. Slowly, I changed from mocking him to respecting him for his incredible restraint.

But surely I couldn’t let Mr. w.a.n.g keep holding his c.o.c.k and do nothing. So I had to take out my playbook and make some major adjustments. Since the ending had to stay the same, the difficulty of the script writing had drastically increased. It was going to cause me some serious headaches for the next few days.