Chapter 54: Zhao Haoyu

Zhao Haoyu’s shrill screams echoed through the empty, silent observatory hall, threatening to shatter the very structure. He tore at his hair frantically, his bloodshot eyes staring intently ahead. His frantic demeanor resembled that of a cornered beast, ready to tear at anything.

Everyone exchanged glances, sensing that there was more to this story than they had initially thought.

“Tsk.” Yin Xiran let out an impatient sound. She had no patience for watching a madman unravel.

Before Chen Dongyang or Yin Qingle could react, Yin Xiran stepped forward, raising her slender fingers toward Zhao Haoyu and pressing down gently. An invisible but crushing pressure descended upon him.

Zhao Haoyu’s frantic movements halted abruptly. He was pinned to the worn swivel chair, his body bound tightly, limbs immobilized, his face contorted under the immense force. His mouth, previously wide open, was forced shut, emitting only a muffled “woohoo” from deep in his throat. His eyes, however, still burned with madness and resentment, glaring at the group.

The hall returned to an eerie silence.

“Okay, now we can talk properly,” Yin Xiran said flatly, lowering her hand as if she’d done something trivial. She turned to Jiang Yuxin, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the plan? Read his mind directly? It’s rough, but it’d be the quickest.”

Jiang Yuxin glanced at Zhao Haoyu, still struggling futilely in the chair. His distorted face sparked a flicker of disgust in her usually impassive eyes. “No need for that trouble,” she replied coolly. She avoided delving into the minds of people like him, unwilling to wade through their twisted, filthy memories.

Raising her right hand, she snapped her fingers toward Zhao Haoyu. “That’s enough,” she said lightly.

Yin Xiran frowned, puzzled by the action. Chen Dongyang and Yin Qingle exchanged confused looks.

“He can only speak the truth now,” Jiang Yuxin explained. Her ability allowed her to implant psychological suggestions through words, gestures, or even eye contact—suggestions that were unbreakable except by her. The target would follow them instinctively, unable to resist. It was a simple, efficient use of her power, requiring no mental intrusion.

She nodded to Yin Xiran, who released the pressure on Zhao Haoyu’s mouth.

Freed, Zhao Haoyu gasped, gulping air greedily. The wild madness in his eyes faded, replaced by a hollow sadness and exhaustion, as if his life force had been drained.

Chen Dongyang, seeing this shift, hesitated but stepped forward, his voice low and firm. “Zhao Haoyu, calm down. Tell us what happened. The truth about Lin Shiyao’s death.”

Zhao Haoyu raised his head slowly, his cloudy eyes locking onto Chen Dongyang. The madness was gone, leaving only a lifeless sorrow. Ignoring the question, he began speaking in a hoarse, dreamlike voice.

“You know… Shiyao… she was a genius.” His face softened with a wistful, almost intoxicated expression. “The first time I met her was at a choir audition. She was small, thin, in a faded school uniform, too nervous to speak clearly. But when her fingers touched the piano keys… the world went silent.”

His words painted a vivid memory, his voice trembling with reverence. “Her family was poor, her parents crude. They didn’t understand music, art, or her. They used her as a trophy, forcing her into competitions to win prizes. Only I… only I understood the loneliness and yearning in her music.”

“I became her teacher, taught her everything I knew. I watched her grow, shining brighter each day, like a flower about to bloom under my care. We… we were kindred spirits, the only ones who truly understood each other.”

He raised a hand, stroking the air as if a girl sat before him, playing the piano with a frail, sickly grace. Yin Qingle shivered, pressing closer to her sister.

“She was incredible,” Zhao Haoyu continued, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “She won first place in the city’s competition effortlessly. I was so proud. I saved my salary for months to buy her a gift—a beautiful music box. I composed the melody inside for her, told her it was hers, a celebration of her soaring to greater heights.”

“She smiled… so happy. It was the happiest I’d ever seen her.”

His reminiscence darkened, replaced by a venomous resentment. “But we didn’t know the devil was watching.” His voice turned icy. “Zhang Weiming… that beast, that sanctimonious hypocrite.”

“He’d noticed Shiyao long before. I’d seen his kind—always eyeing young, beautiful students with that fake, paternal concern. He twisted our bond, our pure connection through art, into something filthy, an ‘inappropriate’ teacher-student relationship. He used it as an excuse to lock her away… to lock Shiyao up!”

His body shook with rage, still bound to the chair, a low growl escaping his throat. “I confronted him, begged him to release her. But he just sat behind his desk, looking at me like I was garbage, saying he was ‘saving a fallen girl’ and ‘cleaning the school’s reputation.’”

“I was so naive then. I thought he just wanted to separate us. I sought help everywhere, desperate to save Shiyao. But…” His voice broke, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes. “When I returned… she was gone. Vanished. A living person, gone without a trace.”

“I searched like a madman, asked everyone, checked every corner. Nothing. Zhang Weiming coldly claimed she’d dropped out. But that was impossible! Shiyao loved music, was about to compete provincially. She’d never leave without a word.”

“It was him! Zhang Weiming!” Zhao Haoyu’s face twisted, his voice a venomous hiss. “He killed her! Hid her to cover his crime!” His screams echoed, saliva spraying from his cracked lips.

“I searched everywhere, but it was useless. The police found nothing. That fox was too clever… or he had help. Old Liu, the handyman—he must’ve helped him cover it up!” His voice faltered, choked with pain and fury. “No evidence… not a shred…”

He slumped, despair overtaking him. “I could only wait, endure, like a rat in the shadows, watching his every move. He thought it was over, started embezzling, taking bribes, misusing funds…” A sick satisfaction crept into his expression. “Finally, I had him. I gathered evidence, bit by bit, for years. Then I sent it where it belonged. I watched him get arrested, thrown in prison, ruined… Haha…”

His laughter grew manic, chilling the hall. Chen Dongyang clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms, barely containing his rage. “Even if Zhang Weiming deserved it,” he growled, each word heavy with anger, “what about the others? The senior who jumped, Li Wenbo, the five people last night—innocent people! Why did you kill them?”

Zhao Haoyu’s frenzied expression froze. His eyes fixed on Chen Dongyang, devoid of guilt, brimming with twisted pity and pride. “Kill?” he sneered. “No, no, you mortals can’t understand. I didn’t kill them. I gave them liberation, glory.”

His voice turned feverish. “Their existence was suffering—despair, sorrow, forgotten. Their lives were meaningless, their cries unheard. I gave them purpose, elevated their pain into sacred nourishment!”

“Their deaths weren’t the end!” He strained against his restraints, eyes ablaze. “They’re steps, a stairway to godhood built on suffering! This world is a cage—full of despair, numb souls. I heard the call from above… I know my mission! I’m no murderer—I’m a guide, a messenger of salvation!”

His voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “I played them the melody of peace, freed them from suffering! Their deaths are sublimation, sacrifice—the only path to purity!” His gaze swept the stunned group, settling on the darkness. “Their souls will pave the way to a new world. When the sacrifice is enough…”

His voice trembled with chilling certainty. “…true angels will break free from this filthy world. They’ll descend, bringing eternal peace and order. That’s true salvation. You fools will never understand.”

He raised his clenched hand, revealing a small, eerie dancing doll—half the size of a palm, milky white, its faceless form twisted in agony. An ominous aura radiated from it.

As he lifted it, the observatory shook. The lead-gray sky above the dome’s hole turned into a swirling, bottomless vortex. A cold, holy chant rose, chilling the soul.

“Come… come…” Zhao Haoyu opened his arms, his face alight with crazed devotion. “Come, my perfect work, my angel! My—Shiyao!”

Golden light poured from the vortex, forming a sacred beam. Within it, a massive, writhing white figure descended, its countless eyeballs gleaming coldly.

Yin Qingle clung to her sister, trembling. Chen Dongyang’s heart pounded, sweat dripping. Yin Xiran’s eyes narrowed, her hand twitching toward the puppet.

Before anyone could react, she hooked her finger, yanking the doll from Zhao Haoyu’s grasp. It arced through the air and landed at her feet. Zhao Haoyu screamed, collapsing in despair, clawing toward the doll like a broken animal.

“It’s useless,” Jiang Yuxin said coldly, her eyes on the descending creature. “He’s not controlling the ‘angel.’ It’s controlling him through that doll. Destroying it won’t stop this. We have to kill the monster.”

Yin Xiran snorted, abandoning her plan to crush the doll. “Fine,” she said, her voice icy. “Let’s destroy this disgusting thing.”

She launched herself upward, defying physics, propelled by a burst of compressed air. Jiang Yuxin noted her precise control with a nod. Yin Xiran hovered near the angel, tapping its writhing flesh.

The space warped, and debris from the dome—steel, concrete, metal—tore free, forming hundreds of sharp spikes. With a single word, “Go,” they shot toward the angel like a storm.

But the spikes passed through harmlessly, as if the angel were a phantom. “Physical attacks don’t work?” Chen Dongyang gasped. Yin Qingle stifled a cry.

Yin Xiran frowned, undeterred. The angel’s eyeballs turned, its chant rising into a psychic assault. Yin Xiran winced, clutching her head, but countered by creating a sound-absorbing barrier, dulling the attack.

“It’s a frequency-based mental interference,” she deduced coldly, rubbing her temples. Scanning the ruins, she raised the scattered metal again, compressing it into high-density alloy bullets. With a wave, they fired at supersonic speeds, tearing sonic booms through the air.

Yet, the bullets passed through the angel, unchanged. “It’s not neutralization,” Yin Xiran said, smirking. “It shifts to a fluid state on impact, dissipating kinetic energy, then reforms. Like a self-healing non-Newtonian fluid.”

She raised her hands, sparking electricity between them. A dazzling ball of lightning formed, distorting the air. “Go,” she said, launching it. The angel’s chant tried to stop her, but her barrier held. The lightning struck, erupting into electric snakes that charred the angel’s flesh, bursting its eyeballs.

Chen Dongyang and Yin Qingle winced at the grotesque sight, but Jiang Yuxin noted the angel’s resilience. As Yin Xiran prepared to intensify the attack, the angel’s central slit opened, swallowing the lightning in seconds. Its charred body healed instantly.

“It absorbed it?” Chen Dongyang muttered, horrified.

Before Yin Xiran could act, the angel’s slit glowed blue, unleashing a massive energy beam—mimicking Yin Qingle’s attack. Yin Xiran formed a dense barrier just in time, the beam crashing against it with a deafening roar, shattering the dome further.

Panting but unharmed, Yin Xiran glared at the angel, then at her sister. The attack’s similarity to Yin Qingle’s wasn’t coincidence—it was learning. Jiang Yuxin’s curiosity piqued: could it copy her abilities too?

“We can’t drag this out,” Yin Xiran said, charging again. Ignoring the angel’s chant, she created a vacuum around it, silencing the psychic attack. Closing in, she spread her hands, disintegrating the angel’s flesh at the molecular level. A massive hole formed, then another, its regeneration failing.

“Do you think I’ll let you try that again?” she taunted, sealing its slit with crushing force. The angel’s energy boiled, and it exploded in a grotesque shower of flesh and fluid. Yin Xiran’s barrier repelled the debris.

“Not invincible after all,” she said, but the fragments on the ground writhed, forming a dozen smaller “angels.” Yin Xiran’s expression darkened.

Before they could rise, Yin Qingle, guided by Jiang Yuxin, fired crimson beams, reducing them to ash. Yin Qingle looked confused, realizing Jiang Yuxin’s influence. Chen Dongyang glanced at her, wary of tension, but Jiang Yuxin pointed to Yin Xiran, falling from exhaustion.

Chen Dongyang caught her, her trembling form light in his arms. “You okay?” he asked, concerned. Yin Xiran, regaining her composure, pushed weakly against him. “Let me go,” she rasped, but lacked strength. Yin Qingle rushed over, tearfully checking her sister.

“I’m fine,” Yin Xiran assured her, softening. “Just overdid it. I’ll recover.”

Jiang Yuxin approached Zhao Haoyu, who lay broken, staring at the puppet. She left the interrogation to Chen Dongyang. “It’s over,” he said. “Your ‘angel’ is gone.”

Zhao Haoyu’s laughter turned manic. “End? You fools! That was just a larva! The true angel has spread through my melody—‘Angel’s Melody’—on radios, online, in malls. Everyone who’s heard it carries a seed!”

“The seeds sprout!” he raved. “Tonight, tomorrow, thousands will die in their dreams, hatching more angels! You can’t stop it!”

His crazed laughter echoed as the group stood frozen, the weight of his words sinking in.