My boyfriend's suspense novel was adapted into a scripted murder mystery game. During our class reunion, as we were playing it, he suddenly pointed at me and declared, "You're the murderer." But he wasn't talking about the game—he was referring to a real murder case from our school years. A case that had already been closed, with the culprit long behind bars. "You," he said, "are the real killer." I scoffed. "Got any proof?" 1 "Jane Davies, you're the killer!" Asher Reed, my boyfriend, pointed a perfectly straight finger directly at my face, his gaze unusually sharp. This was supposed to be the final line of the murder mystery game, but he had swapped the killer's name for mine: "Jane Davies." My heart gave a heavy thump. Asher had been acting strangely since this morning. His usual simple style of dress was replaced by a very formal suit, his hair slicked back with gel. He even wore black contact lenses, making his pupils look unnaturally dark and artificial. Now, those two dark abysses stared straight at me, intensifying the eerie feeling. A fine sweat broke out on my palms. For a long moment, someone finally broke the silence. "Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! Who knew a writer could act so well?" "A power couple showing off in style!" "Definitely giving his girlfriend a run for her money!" Amidst the playful teasing, the lively atmosphere of the gathering was finally restored. ... Today marked our third anniversary, and also the release date of the murder mystery game adapted from his novel, Blackwood Lake. A double celebration, Asher suggested we invite a few close college friends to experience it together. I was thrilled. As a theater actress, I had a natural advantage in these kinds of games. Plus, he'd invited our old campus leadership crew: Chloe Lee, the academic rep; Mike Evans, the sports rep; and Spencer Hill, our arts council head and drama club president. Caleb Scott, our former class president, somehow got wind of the party and insisted on joining. There was a vacant role in the game, so everyone agreed. Asher chose a secluded villa as our venue, bringing several large bags of snacks, imported fruits, even a fruit knife, and a full selection of beer and liquor. Everyone joked, "We're just showing up empty-handed, we feel bad! We'll split the bill later, Asher!" As the car wound through several turns and arrived at the villa, the previously relaxed and vibrant atmosphere suddenly chilled. The villa before us was traditional Chinese in style, with white walls and grey tiles nestled in the mountains. A pair of large red lanterns hung on the black lacquered front gate. Upon entering, everyone forced strained smiles. The rooms inside were filled with intricately carved Ming and Qing style furniture, which felt utterly outdated and possessed an eerie, almost 'gothic' vibe. Spencer tried to lighten the mood. "Asher, you truly are a wordsmith. So traditional, huh?" Asher explained, "In the novel, when the girl died, she was wearing a red dress. Doesn't this setting, when she's submerged in the water, match the environment perfectly?" Chloe’s face was filled with disdain. "What kind of comparison is that? That's even scarier…" Spencer chuckled awkwardly, slinging an arm around Mike’s shoulder. "We have a cop here, plenty of masculine energy. Don't be scared." Caleb stood silently to the side, his eyes darting around like a mouse, observing everyone. After dusk, the murder mystery game officially began. The red wood and red gauze of the traditional villa, stripped of sunlight, emanated an indescribable strangeness and chill under the dim lighting. The Blackwood Lake Murders was Asher's fictionalized account, based on a sensational case from our college days. The night the girl died was as dark and devoid of light as tonight. Yet, the killer set in the script was the "roommate" who harbored a grudge against the victim. And now, he stood at the head of the table, pointing directly at me, accusing me of being the killer. 2 "I have proof." Asher's loud declaration brought the entire room to a sudden hush. Chloe looked at me, her expression bewildered, muttering, "Seriously... this is just a game... why are you being so intense?" The others, however, remained silent. I felt several gazes turn to me, laced with suspicion. My fingertips trembled slightly, and I unconsciously clenched my hands. Fortunately, I was a professional actress, adept at controlling my expressions, so I managed to maintain a facade of calm. Spencer explained to Chloe, "In our business, this is called an Easter egg." At this point, my classmates, dressed in modern attire but perched on traditional Chinese grand chairs, shifted uncomfortably. Everyone stared at Asher, who now looked like a young master from a scholarly family giving a lecture. With a slight curl of his lips, he pressed a button on a remote beside him. Suddenly, from the center of the intricately carved round table before us, a lift slowly ascended. On it sat a dark red lacquered storage box, glowing faintly under the dim, ornate lanterns. Asher spoke softly to me, "I have a special gift for you." He even gave a deliberate, knowing smile. I turned to look at the box, my unease deepening. I glanced back at Asher; an uncontrollable excitement gleamed in his dark eyes, almost bursting forth. He placed his hand on the box's brass lock, twisting it with a soft "click" as it opened. He lifted the latch, setting the lock aside, and slowly opened the box. When the contents fully revealed themselves, everyone gathered around recoiled. My heart sank, my scalp prickled, and my body swayed slightly. I had to brace myself against the table to keep from falling. Chloe suddenly shrieked in terror, and the others recoiled sharply, their grand chairs scraping loudly and gratingly across the floor. "What is that?!" Inside lay a tattered red dress, crumpled and stained. Its hem was frayed, covered in dried, greenish algae and mud, some strands of algae stretched into fine threads. A dirty, waterlogged dress. This was Asher's "special" gift to me. Asher looked around triumphantly, finally fixing his gaze on me. "Jane, does this look familiar? This is the evidence." 3 Every eye in the room was fixed on me. If I showed even a flicker of fear now, it would confirm their suspicions. I took a deep breath, yanked the dirty dress from the box, and flung it angrily at Asher’s face. "Asher Reed, is playing these spooky games fun?" But the man merely shrugged off the red dress and smirked. Mike, out of professional habit, pulled out a tissue, picked up a corner of the dress, and held it up. After examining it, he concluded, "This is Scarlett Hayes's dress." Scarlett Hayes—the victim of the Blackwood Lake case from years ago, and the victim in Asher's novel. Everyone gasped, holding their breath, then recoiled as if I carried a plague. "How could her dress be here?!" Asher finally spoke. "Don't be nervous. It's just a replica. Scarlett Hayes's dress was taken by the police ages ago." Then, he took a step towards me, his eyes challenging. "Jane, do you dare tell everyone the truth of what happened that night?" I glared at Asher, my chest constricted, my breath catching. "The truth?" I looked at Asher's twisted grin and the others' bewildered gazes. I savagely dug my nails into my palm. The pain instantly brought tears to my eyes. Looking up again, my gaze, full of unshed tears, met Asher's. "The truth?" "Asher, do you really want me to speak the truth?" Asher had a pair of captivating, expressive eyes that made everything he looked at seem gentle and tender. It was those very eyes that had once captivated me. Now, the room's windows were tightly shut, and the candlelight seemed much brighter. I stood before everyone, looking at him, feeling as if he were a complete stranger. If you're heartless, don't blame me for being unjust. "You cheated on me with Scarlett Hayes, giving both her and me identical dresses. Such a sordid affair, you didn't have to go to such lengths to make me tell it. Why don't you just tell them yourself? Isn't it the same?" Asher lowered his head slightly, then slowly raised it again. "Yes, I did cheat back then." I scoffed. My classmates around us were all on edge. Chloe Lee's couple figurine, a gift she’d given me, glinted with an irritating glare. Asher's face flickered in the candlelight as he continued, "But you were the other woman." I froze. I never knew he had actually been with Scarlett. Now, to be publicly accused by him of being the 'other woman'... What about our three years together? Our shared memories felt like a tattered rag, torn to shreds by his own hands. Asher continued, "You deliberately seduced me away from her because of something that happened eighteen years ago." Everyone held their breath. 4 Eighteen years ago, I was in middle school. I was the hope of our small town, my academic performance good enough for me to get into the city's top high school. But that summer, a devastating piece of news, like a massive hailstorm, suddenly descended and shattered our small home. I never imagined that those unbearable past events would be exposed in such a setting. And I never thought my own lover would be the one to reveal it, digging a knife deeper into my ugly wound. Asher seemed to be enjoying it all. His voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement. Eighteen years ago, my father died. When the police came to notify us, they carried his ashes. They didn't even let us see his body. They said my father had accidentally drowned while trying to save a girl from a neighboring village who had fallen into the water. The moment I heard the word "death," my blood froze. It was as if I was the one who had drowned. The muddy water of the rice fields filled my nostrils, ear canals, and eyes. My five senses faded, my family disintegrated. Did my father die like that? I couldn't see, couldn't hear. My mother stood nearby, muttering blankly, "Saved someone... died? Who did he save? Where is that person?" The police simply said, "They're not obligated to come. We've investigated thoroughly; it was purely an accident. Our condolences." Then, they turned and left, as if fleeing. Not a single word of comfort. They ignored my mother's questions and cries from behind them. Only my mother and I were left, collapsing to the ground, sobbing in each other's arms. Later, rumors from the neighboring village began to trickle in. The girl my father saved was the eldest daughter of the village chief of Hayes Hollow—Scarlett Hayes. The core of the rumor was that my father was trying to molest her, not save her. ... Asher paused his story there, and everyone present looked stunned. Under his biased narration, everyone believed my father had actually molested Scarlett. My expression was flat, my gaze cold as I stared at him, remaining silent for a long moment. Suddenly, I grabbed a half-empty bottle of red wine from the table and hurled it at Asher’s head. He dodged, and the bottle shattered with a "thud" on the brick floor, leaving a messy puddle. Asher, instead of getting angry, laughed. He clapped his hands, and bloodshot veins spiderwebbed around his black pupils. "Yes, just like that. You were just as furious when Scarlett Hayes found out about you." During freshman year, Scarlett and I both got into the same university. She had always been the center of attention, adored by everyone since childhood, and she still had many admirers in college. I barely managed to suppress my hatred for her, forcing myself to look ahead, but her provocations ignited everything. Not long after we started, I got a slap across the face right outside my dorm room. Scarlett left me with a haughty glare and a simple, cutting remark—"Bitch!" Chloe Lee remembered that incident vividly. But even a goddess has to bow her head sometimes. When Asher Reed, as cold and aloof as a snow-capped peak, appeared, Scarlett’s proud head gracefully lowered in shyness. 5 A person's hatred, if left unvented, will sooner or later consume them. Asher interlaced his fingers, sighing, "I was just the pawn you used to vent your hatred, wasn't I, Jane?" I looked at him, the awkwardness of our first meeting suddenly reappearing. He had been the one to cautiously approach me first, yet now he was gossiping about our past to everyone like a malicious busybody. He said he didn't know why we would coincidentally meet at the deserted Blackwood Lake. After all, with the tales of "Blackwood Lake God, sacrificing living souls" spreading, almost no one at school ever went there. Yet, he loved to go there, and so did Jane, who hated Scarlett Hayes. Whose intentions were sinister was clear at a glance. "Going to the lake was just to seduce you? That conclusion is a bit too self-absorbed, don't you think?" I retorted. "Of course not. You had more important things to do." Mike rubbed his chin, looking at us with a hint of amusement. "What? What?" Chloe asked curiously. From Spencer’s side, there was a rustle of pages turning. "Probably because of this." He then placed Asher's novel in the center. "Just played the game, already forgot the plot?" Caleb said, his voice a low, chilling whisper, "Holy smokes, this stuff can actually connect to real life?" Everyone leaned in, eyes glued to the page. —Blackwood Lake, page 177, Chapter 34: The Stand-in. "The Stand-in?" Chloe read the words, her voice rising in pitch. "Still haven't remembered? The killer, dressed in the same clothes as the victim, is pushed into the water by someone else, feigning to be the victim to clear their own name." "Could it be... that the stand-in was Jane?" "No way, the lake is so deep. Wouldn't she drown if she jumped in?" Asher spoke unhurriedly, "Perhaps we would all drown if we jumped in, but Jane certainly wouldn't." "Because she's an expert swimmer and diver." Chloe frowned, looking from me to Asher in disbelief. "No way… we lived together for four years…" Asher gestured towards the door. "Don't believe it? There's a hot spring right outside. Just dunk her head in for a few minutes, and you'll know." I glared at Asher. So, that was the real purpose of booking the hot springs. At that moment, Mike, who had been observing silently, asked, "Jane, where were you on the night of the 23rd?" 6 Finally, Asher's goal was achieved. Mike was a police officer. Now, in front of our old classmates, he was interrogating me like a hardened criminal. How ridiculous life could be. Asher, the man I had spent three years with, was now so meticulously trying to destroy me. Well, then, he shouldn't blame me for abandoning all sentiment and shared history. I shed all traces of my nervousness and let a calm, collected expression settle on my face. Now, it was my turn to turn the tables. I clapped my hands, laughing wildly. "Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!" I toyed with my phone, then spoke softly. "But before I answer that question, I have a question of my own." Mike’s expression remained stern. "What?" I placed my hands on the table, fingers interlocked, looking at Asher with an unsettling calm. "Why today?" "Why this particular place?"
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