Chapter 6 The Unerasable: No Redemption in Ink

  It was just another morning… A somewhat unusual one.

  His editor had called him in to "talk."

  "Brother Ji Xiahan… Tell me the truth. Are you involved in something shady?"

  "Why would the police come looking for me and ask a bunch of strange questions about you?"

  Ji Xiahan rubbed his temples with his fingers. A headache was coming on.

  And it wasn’t a mild one.

  "Brother Lou, you know me. Do I seem like someone who would commit a crime?"

  Lou Song looked at Ji Xiahan’s appearance very seriously.

  "You do."

  He was honest.

  "If I didn’t know your past, based on how you act and talk, I’d think I was dealing with a pervert, a sicko."

  Ji Xiahan hadn’t expected the insult.

  His lips trembling, he gred at the man in front of him.

  "Don’t look at me like that, it’s creepy."

  "Have you even looked in the mirror?"

  Ji Xiahan mocked him back.

  Lou Song was the epitome of tired and overworked.

  He had oily skin, bloodshot eyes, and a gloomy expression.

  The one who looked like a pervert wasn’t Ji Xiahan.

  "Hahah."

  Lou Song ughed awkwardly and changed the subject.

  "So, what happened? Did they take you in for tea at the station?"

  "Don’t even mention it."

  Ji Xiahan was still worried.

  Getting up from the chair in his editor’s private office, he walked over to the bookshelf at the back—where Lou Song kept the submitted manuscripts. Ji Xiahan picked up his own.

  It was his first pnned volume.

  This one, too, had red lines across its pages and published sections.

  That alone extinguished the small rebellious fme in his heart. He couldn’t burn the manuscript out of spite.

  But earlier at home, he had tried to erase a crucial line from a past chapter—one he himself had written. Yet it soon returned in a menacing red, even darker than usual.

  Adding was fine, but deleting was not.

  Ji Xiahan had a foreboding that if he completely destroyed this manuscript, it would return intact, with blood-red ink covering every word.

  And he had a feeling those gring words—like some kind of celebration—wouldn’t stop at just a warning.

  Tossing the script onto the desk in front of Lou Song, Ji Xiahan smiled coldly.

  "Your answer is right there."

  "Your script?"

  Lou Song looked puzzled but still opened the copy.

  "What’s so special about it?"

  Even after a few minutes, he noticed nothing unusual.

  "All I see is that your writing’s gotten even more realistic. You really should apply for a consultant position somewhere."

  "That’s the problem."

  Ji Xiahan turned on his phone screen and pulled up the news report from yesterday’s broadcast.

  Having just reread the manuscript, he knew exactly where the connection y.

  But when he showed it to his editor, Lou Song let out an empty ugh and gave him a strange look.

  "What is it?"

  "Nothing. Just thinking how much you really do seem like a criminal."

  "What?"

  Ji Xiahan raised his eyebrows.

  "If even I—someone who’s known you since your teens—find you suspicious, I can only imagine how the police would react."

  "Haha." Ji Xiahan frowned, his lips twisting into an odd ugh.

  Sitting down again, he covered his mouth with the palm of his left hand. Brief, analytical thinking.

  Would this cause him any trouble? Could the police actually do anything to him?

  No.

  Without concrete evidence, no.

  At most, they’d keep him under covert surveilnce.

  Ji Xiahan didn’t care about things outside his direct line of sight.

  Just like how he hadn’t cared about the strangely human-like smile of the animal after killing it.

  Or how he hadn’t bothered confirming the names of the other two victims in the triple homicide news report.

  Ji Xiahan inherently had a very cold personality.

  It was the idea of himself being the killer that disgusted him.

  Of him being the one who caused it.

  If only he hadn’t written this novel. That morning, hearing the news of the dismemberment, seeing the victims’ families weeping miserably—he wouldn’t have even blinked.

  It was this ck of sympathy that made him deeply regretful when his own turn came four years ago.

  If he had been kinder, if he had at least feigned solidarity...

  Would he have felt less wretched?

  "...Ji Xiahan."

  "What?"

  "You disconnected for a moment."

  "..."

  "Don’t overthink it. This isn’t important."

  Ji Xiahan couldn’t hold back a ugh.

  "Hahah..."

  "Yeah, right."

  ---

  One time, Ji Xiahan witnessed a robbery and a murder.

  The assaint stabbed the father of a family of four who were leaving a restaurant.

  It was just a robbery until the youngest boy resisted. The father was stabbed trying to protect him from danger.

  Amid the tumult and confusion, Ji Xiahan accidentally locked eyes with the robber - a dark, bloodshot gaze.

  His face beneath the cap was briefly glimpsed unintentionally.

  Ji Xiahan turned and hurried away, unconcerned with the noise behind him.

  His mind couldn't process calling the police or helping the man fallen on the ground.

  He had just entered adulthood.

  He'd never experienced anything like this before.

  But...he didn't feel much. Maybe it hadn't sunk in yet?

  He just wanted to get as far away as possible from that terrifying gaze.

  Ji Xiahan clearly heard his racing heart, along with the irritating ctter of keys.

  And in retrospect, looking back after everything ended, someone else had heard it too.

  That day, Ji Xiahan had also lost a receipt that happened to have his home address.

  However, he hadn't gone home - he had pns with his new university friends.

  And his younger brother was at school dormitory. He'd return tomorrow for the holiday to celebrate Ji Xiahan's birthday.

  His parents had been on a business trip until now. No one was supposed to be home.

  But...

  His mother and father had returned one day early. To prepare his birthday party.

  He should have known - they always celebrated together, this year wouldn't be different.

  When Ji Xiahan returned the next day, his house was blocked by police tape.

  His brother was crying.

  His parents were wrapped in white cloth.

  An older policeman handed a gift package and letter to the stunned, unresponsive Ji Xiahan.

  It was his present.

  Limited edition red sneakers he'd had his eye on for a while.

  The letter was an apology - they said they wouldn't force his career choices anymore and encouraged him to develop his creative writing talent.

  His mother wrote in her usual pyful tone. One you could feel even in a letter. That she'd secretly read his first draft - the one he'd buried deep in his things out of embarrassment.

  His father didn't say anything sentimental. He thought conveying feelings through letters was his wife being "cheesy."

  He just wrote:

  'Happy birthday.'

  Ji Xiahan unconsciously clenched his fingers.

  The letter slowly wrinkled, but he smoothed it out again.

  This time.

  He felt many things.

  Scarlet_Sleight