Translator: CinderTL
Hearing this, the young man's expression changed. "Mr. Gong, there's no need. You know your own condition best. If something were to go wrong..."
He had been responsible for Mr. Gong's health for years. His immense power meant deeper levels of corruption.
To put it bluntly, he was only one step away from being completely consumed.
The Gates represented by ordinary Lifeline Notes were useless to him now, unless they were the red Blood Contract Gates—those that had been completely corrupted.
Only curses of that magnitude could fight poison with poison.
But such things were rare and unpredictable.
More than that, he worried about unforeseen events during the investigation. If Fatty was just an ordinary person or even a regular Disciple of the Door, it wouldn't be a problem.
Such Gates couldn't resonate with Mr. Gong Zhe's Gate.
The entity behind Mr. Gong Zhe's Gate defied ordinary understanding. It was a being beyond Ghosts, from another dimension—what they called an Abnormality.
If they encountered such a Gate during the investigation, it would likely be a fight to the death. After all, in the realm of Abnormalities, there was no concept of kinship—only food.
Despair consumes more despair, making them grow even stronger.
But as the young man considered this, he shook his head. He had truly been swept away by the chaos outside. How could the Gate of the Bizarre be obtained so easily? Besides, why would it appear within such a timid Fatty?
Few of those who could bear the Gate of the Bizarre still lived. Most had perished in the great battle twenty years ago.
The stone gate closed. Gong Zhe's arm turned a sinister black, then lunged towards Fatty's heart.
Five minutes.
Perhaps not even that long.
The stone gate opened from within. Seeing Gong Zhe, the young man breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed everything had gone smoothly. He had worried needlessly after all.
"Keep an eye on him," Gong Zhe said calmly before leaving the Stone Cabin in the Woods.
The Gray-Robed Elder, guarding the outermost room, sneered and withdrew his hand, scratching his disheveled hair. As he moved, a rattling sound filled the air.
Beneath his loose gray robe, a pair of handcuffs was secured to the stone wall behind him by a chain.
In stark contrast to the old man's worn attire, the handcuffs were spotless, reflecting his image like a mirror.
The old man in handcuffs bared his teeth, his face covered in bloody wounds, his eyes bulging almost out of their sockets.
He looked less like a man and more like a ghost.
A malevolent ghost.
"Mr. Gong," the young man asked from outside Gong Zhe's office door, "when should we begin the thorough investigation of the villa?"
The encirclement wasn't the goal, merely a means to an end: ultimately, they had to capture those two hateful scoundrels.
"You're in charge of this matter. Keep the impact to a minimum," Gong Zhe replied before slamming the office door shut.
The young man immediately left.
But he could never have imagined that Gong Zhe, since entering the office, hadn't moved a single step, remaining frozen behind the door.
It wasn't that he didn't want to; his physical condition simply wouldn't allow it.
Veins bulged on his forehead, his eyes were bloodshot, and blood streamed incessantly from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. His heavy breathing sounded less human and more like a ferocious beast's.
His hands clenched and unclenched uncontrollably, the blood dripping from them like highly corrosive acid, burning holes through the expensive solid wood floor.
The Gate.
That Fatty truly had a Gate within him!
By the time he realized this, it was already too late. The scent was the same as the Gate within him, like the essence of their bloodline.
If he hadn't used his last ounce of strength to withdraw, it felt as though the blood in his veins was burning. His body felt like it was about to be torn apart by the Gate within him, though he knew it was just a sensation.
This contact had dramatically accelerated the rate of his corruption.
Even a moment later, he might have been completely consumed by the Gate within him, and the consequences of that would have been catastrophic.
He struggled to move his feet, taking one step, then another, toward his desk.
He pulled open the bottom drawer, revealing a fingerprint-locked compartment. With a mechanical click, the lock disengaged, and a moment later, a golden clock appeared before him.
No, it wasn't a clock. No clock would display a 13th hour mark.
After the 12th hour, there was an extra one.
The hour marks were adorned with enamel-like patterns—13 distinct designs, each like a badge, looking strange, mysterious, and dazzling.
They were arranged in the form of a clock face.
Gong Zhe reached out and pressed a spot on the golden dial. The mark for 10 sprang open, revealing a smaller hidden compartment within.
With trembling hands, he retrieved the only items from the secret compartment: a few blurry one-inch photos, all close-up shots.
The images lacked any pretense of composition or editing; it was clear the photographer's sole aim was authenticity.
Because the people in the photos were all dead, and their deaths had been brutal.
These were the faces of those he had killed himself, and those killed by the Night Watcher—Crimson's No. 10.
Crimson had a total of thirteen official members. They had successfully eliminated several, but No. 10 remained a persistent enigma.
They had hunted No. 10 more than once. In fact, they had killed at least seven or eight No. 10s over time.
Yet each time, their Crimson mole confirmed that No. 10 was still alive.
Why?
Crimson, an ironclad organization, with a revolving door for No. 10?
No, that couldn't be right. He knew Crimson; they wouldn't engage in such pointless theatrics, despite the rumors that they were mindless, emotionless lunatics.
But today, he finally understood. No. 10 had never remained within Crimson's ranks. Instead, they had slipped away unnoticed.
The moment the two gates touched, Gong Zhe recognized this gate as the same one he had seen twenty years ago.
With effort, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled a photo Fatty had left in the interrogation room from his pocket, placing it in the secret compartment.
With a crisp click, the No. 10 marker snapped back into place, and the golden clock face retracted into the hidden compartment. Gong Zhe slumped back into his chair.
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (NS) on Pa.treon@CinderTL - c784. [+4]
🔑Early Access at $1.
✍Translated (6) Series, (3.5K+) Chapters, (4.9M+) Words.