Chapter 846: I Didn’t Want To, Friend
Zhang Yao used the spare key to smoothly open the door to Room 301. After the door to Room 301 swung open, he gently pushed it inward.
What greeted his eyes was still pitch black, with barely any light.
After the two quietly slipped inside, they closed the door behind them.
Then, they carefully made their way to the bedroom.
Once in the bedroom, they were just one step away from killing Jin Hai.
Zhang Yao, without any further hesitation, used the flashlight on the back of his phone to shine it toward the bed.
But what surprised him was that the covers on the bed were tossed aside, yet there was no sign of Jin Hai.
"Huh?"
His eyes darted around in their sockets as if he'd thought of something. He immediately crouched down, shining his phone's flashlight under the bed.
But under the bed was completely empty—not a trace of that detestable little bastard.
The Purple-Shirted Man wasn't idle either.
He started opening the bedroom wardrobe, then left the bedroom to check the kitchen, the bathroom, and other places.
When he returned to the bedroom, he shook his head at Zhang Yao.
"Hey?! Where did that little bastard go in the middle of the night instead of sleeping?!"
He wildly scratched the top of his head with his right hand, sending white dandruff flakes falling like a heavy snowfall.
Zhang Yao's heart was burning with impatience.
...
"Hiss, hmm, ah..."
Inside a stall of the women's restroom on the first floor of the gym at Alice Apartment.
A man and a woman were here, making great contributions to the continuation of the human race.
The sounds coming from their mouths were swallowed by the darkness of the restroom.
Melding into a unique kind of symphony.
This couple was two of Zheng Zihan's group of fourteen.
In other words, they were the same couple that a middle-aged man had approached back in the activity room.
Zheng Zihan and the other fourteen had said they were coming here to look around and walk off their meal. They hadn't all stayed together but had scattered completely.
It was because they'd scattered that these two ended up doing this sort of thing in one of the stalls of the women's restroom on the first floor of the gym.
Maybe it was that surge of carnal desire kicking in, maybe they were just seeking thrills.
Or perhaps this was their unique hobby—they simply liked doing this sort of thing in restrooms.
Regardless, they did it.
Young people, after all, have good stamina.
The two of them went at it from start to finish for a full half hour before finally emerging from that stall.
After they came out.
The guy, who wasn't even twenty yet, first turned on the light in the women's restroom.
Once the light was on, he used the tissues his girlfriend—also under twenty—had brought with her to clean himself up.
Guys, you know, just pull up their pants and they're done.
Simple and easy.
So this guy had already cleaned himself up, pulled up his pants, and fastened his belt.
He turned around and urged his girlfriend to hurry up too.
The girl complained through her lips: "So annoying, I said I didn't want to do it here in the first place. And now that it's over, you've got it easy just pulling up your pants. And now you're rushing me."
The guy grinned: "It's fine. Didn't you look like you were having a good time too?"
The girl quickly finished up as well—after all, with her boyfriend rushing her, she didn't have much of a choice.
Once they were both done, they stretched their necks a little and shook their wrists before getting ready to go out and wash their hands.
Officially declaring the end of this battle.
But just as they were about to step out of the women's restroom door.
An uninvited guest suddenly appeared at the entrance.
And what's more, they recognized this uninvited guest.
"Damn it, you scared the hell out of me!"
They had been about to go out and wash their hands when this person suddenly popped up at the door. There hadn't even been any footsteps—it was like he'd materialized out of thin air.
The guy closest to the door was naturally startled. After getting over his shock, he recognized the person who had suddenly appeared—it wasn't one of his friends, but the middle-aged man who had hit on his girlfriend back at the welcome party.
Considering the time of night, and the fact that this middle-aged man should have been staying in his own room instead of showing up here at the gym's first-floor restroom at this hour—and the women's restroom entrance, no less.
If you called that a coincidence, not even a ghost would believe you.
The guy immediately understood what was going on.
His brow furrowed, his face turning fierce:
"I'm asking you, old geezer—are you sick in the head? Or are you some kind of psycho?! Didn't my girlfriend already reject you back there? And you still won't give up—following us in the middle of the night?!"
"You looking for a beating?!"
The guy thrust his fist forward, looking ready to throw down.
As for the girl.
Behind her boyfriend, she didn't have much goodwill toward the middle-aged man standing at the door either. In fact, rather than goodwill, she felt a hint of contempt and disgust.
After all, the middle-aged man's behavior was downright sleazy and disgusting. Thank goodness her boyfriend was here—if he hadn't been, she suspected this middle-aged man might have just forced himself on her.
And so, she felt that her boyfriend's back was so broad and safe.
At this moment, the middle-aged man standing at the door.
A smile suddenly appeared on his previously calm face:
"I didn't want to, friend."
The guy heard this and found it completely baffling.
What do you mean, you didn't want to?
So you followed us all the way to the restroom, but you didn't want to?
If you didn't want to, then why did you do it?!
Just as the guy was about to yell at him again and tell him to get out of the way, the middle-aged man suddenly lunged at him.
Before the guy could even react.
He only felt the front of his body—his chest, his stomach, and various other spots—being violently struck by something.
After the strikes, the pain spread like ink drops dispersing in clear water.
He looked down and saw that the middle-aged man pressed up against him was using a sharp, gleaming white dagger, frantically stabbing into the front of his body over and over. The speed was definitely the hand speed of a thirty-year bachelor—as if he was trying to turn his body into a beehive.
And at this point, even if his body hadn't become a complete beehive, it was half a beehive. The stab wounds, the holes all over his body, really did look like a honeycomb—if you squeezed hard, a flood of honey would come pouring out. What was even more absurd was that he didn't even need to squeeze—large amounts of warm, sticky, red liquid were already flowing out on their own.
This guy was still pretty young and had never experienced anything like this. So now that this was happening to him, his body was already sluggish, and his mind was even more sluggish. He had absolutely no idea what he should do or how to do it.
He was completely frozen, lost in fear.
And the price of that was that by the time he thought about what to do, it was already too late. He had no strength left in his entire body—not even the strength to lift a hand, raise a leg, or turn his neck.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't even manage these simple everyday movements.
After the middle-aged man withdrew his knife, he could only collapse helplessly—bang—onto the cream-colored tile floor of the women's restroom.
And then there was no more movement.