"Yu Jia, Yoga? Yoga, Yu Jia?

Could Xiao Xuan have been saying Yu Jia back then? The alcohol in me violently cleared, and I repeated the four characters as if in a trance: Yu Jia Yoga, Yoga Yu Jia?

If what Xiao Xuan meant was indeed Yu Jia, was she suggesting I seek help from Chen Yu Jia, or that the key clue to the case could be found through him? I shook my head, thinking neither possibility was likely: Firstly, although Chen Yu Jia possesses exceptional intelligence, investigation is a specialized discipline, much like psychology.

There are vast differences between specialized fields. Chen Yu Jia might offer assistance in relevant areas, but pinning the entire case on him is clearly unreasonable and impossible.

Secondly, what clue could possibly be found on Chen Yu Jia is even more baffling. He has absolutely no connection to this string of cases, let alone holding the key clue.

But then, did Xiao Xuan say Yoga or Yu Jia? It wasn't until past nine in the evening that Zhang Jiewei and I left the hotel and took separate taxis home.

Back home, a shower cleared my head considerably. The night breeze carried a chill that made me shiver.

Outside, the shadows of the trees danced, projected onto the window like the arms of specters. They swayed incessantly, quickly pulling me back into the horrifying memory of that day.

Sitting in this house that unsettled and terrified me, recalling every scene I witnessed that day felt like being trapped in a dream. Before the dream ended, I was a police officer full of a sense of justice; after waking, I became a ruthless murderer.

Was this truly just a dream? Was I always a brutal killer who occasionally dreamt of being a policeman?

No, no! I suddenly sprang up from the sofa and rushed to the desk, pulling open the left drawer all the way to the end, where the USB drive documenting my crimes was kept.

But when I lifted the book resting on top, I froze—there was no USB drive underneath! My head spun.

What in the world was happening? How many dreams had I had?

Was that USB drive merely a figment of my imagination? I am a policeman, but one suffering from severe delusional disorder.

I dreamt I went to the Grand World Trade Center, retrieved a USB drive, and on it, saw my experiences of murder and crime. In reality, all of it was just a dream.

But why did the contents of the USB drive match reality perfectly? Did I foresee the truth of the case and play it out in a dream through another protagonist?

No, it must be 'I' who committed the good deed, just as he secretly took Xiao Cuo's black leather bag—this time, too, he secretly took the USB drive without my knowledge and hid it somewhere I don't know. 'I' did this to make me believe it was a dream, to stop me from contemplating suicide, because 'I' also fears death, fears eternal damnation.

But the problem is, right now, I cannot be certain if an 'I' even exists. Everything I imagine, including 'I', is illusory.

If there is no 'I', then the USB drive never existed, and if the USB drive doesn't exist, then nothing exists. This is a very simple logical deduction, yet I feel like I've fallen into a labyrinth, unable to deny anything, unable to confirm anything.

However, I remember Professor Michelle once said that the shadowy figure inside my body was another me, and it wants to replace me—this is the strongest evidence that 'I' exists. Perhaps its current power is on par with mine, giving it a degree of control over this body.

It can command this body to do anything it wants, just as I can, without my awareness. At this moment, all sorts of bizarre and unpredictable thoughts flooded in, threatening to split my head open, like a priest's mouth.

I rushed into the bathroom and turned on the faucet; the icy cold stream helped calm my throbbing head. Sitting there, drenched, I suddenly thought of another possibility.

If the USB drive is real, and yet there is no 'I' existing, what would the situation be? The conclusion is simple: Someone took the USB drive!

Why would he take the USB drive? A sudden chill ran through me.

Could he be planning to coerce me into committing even more brutal and horrifying acts, using my crimes as leverage, just as 'I' controlled You Qiaolin via the USB drive? Moreover, I have a deeper doubt: Could this person have been in control of everything all along?

Did he deliberately let me control Qi Wan and You Qiaolin, and orchestrate the subsequent string of atrocities, just to completely master me by today? My thoughts suddenly quieted amidst the chaos.

The severe clash of opposing logic unexpectedly plunged me into a miraculous state. I vaguely felt I was approaching the truth.

That wasn't a dream, nor was it reality; it was a net meticulously woven from dream and reality, and I was its prey. Besides me, there were many other catches on this net, but because my size was larger, the master reigning at the center intended to let me devour the other prey before coming to feast on me.

Just as I was lost in thought, the phone suddenly rang. I answered groggily, and a strange voice came through: "Hello, where are you enjoying yourself now?" I paused, checked the number—it was an international call.

I immediately remembered who it was, and a strange sense of relief washed over me. I replied naturally into the phone, "I am already in despair.

It seems I must go see God soon. I certainly won't forget our agreement when I do." "Tell me quickly, what exactly happened?" Professor Michel asked anxiously on the other end.

For some reason, I felt no defensiveness toward him, perhaps because he was abroad, meaning I didn't have to worry. I told him everything exactly as it happened, omitting nothing.

After hearing my account, Professor Michel remained calm: "Don't do anything foolish. This situation might have complexities beyond your imagination.

Although dissociative identity disorder can cause people to do unexpected things, and some may completely forget afterward, there is a time constraint involved. Furthermore, when a person is in a dissociated state, they cannot perform actions requiring high precision and complexity, so don't believe you committed murder.

Moreover, in your blood sample, I found traces suggesting long-term use of a hallucinogen, though this drug is extremely rare and hasn't yet hit the market, so it can't be confirmed completely yet..." I was shocked by his words; I couldn't clearly hear the rest. I suddenly felt I had fallen into a vast and hidden net.

All my intelligence and struggle were futile against it. Its existence seemed almost monstrous, far exceeding human imagination.

And I was unluckily chosen to be its agent in the human world. I am no longer truly a single person.

What I see, hear, think, and even dream is not real, nor is it illusionary; it is another world created by It. It created a world solely for me, and the only reason I live in this world is to slaughter!

To kill every intruder who suddenly appears! To kill everyone unfortunate enough to wander the fringes!

To kill everyone It has targeted in real life! I am a killing machine.

But, could all this really just be a dream? If I didn't kill anyone, because It detests life and derives pleasure from ending it, why would It give something it loves to me?

My mind gradually cleared. For such a selfish and utterly merciless entity, it would never hand over something it cherishes to another.

How could It do that when I am merely its puppet? I did not kill anyone; this was all fabricated!

I must find the real murderer! However, what Michel said was only one possibility; 'possibility' implies there are other possibilities.

Time flew by, a month passed in a blink, and all the cases remained stalled because 'I' simply didn't exist. Only I could bring him to justice.

The burden on my mind grew heavier, suffocating me. My delusional disorder worsened; sometimes, I suffered hallucinations in the office during the day, throwing the special operations office into chaos.

Chen Yu Jia heard about this from Fatty Old Demon and immediately called me to come to the clinic. I climbed the staircase, as steep as a mountain path, again, walked through the alley-like corridor, and entered the clinic.

Chen Yu Jia looked at me quietly. I stepped forward and embraced him: "Long time no see.

You're still the same, but I’m close to entering Stone Pan Mountain." Chen Yu Jia smiled faintly: "That won't happen, because I see optimism in you, and optimistic people ultimately conquer illness." I sank onto a seat and quipped, "If that's the case, doctors will be out of a job. I suggest letting a comedian hang out a shingle on the clinic door." After a few casual remarks, Chen Yu Jia inquired about my condition, then said, "Your stress is too great, and past experiences cling to you like nightmares.

I strongly advise you to switch to a different job; it would help immensely." I sighed: "When these few cases are solved, I will consider doing that." Chen Yu Jia nodded, then extended his hand, beginning the hypnotic therapy. I once again fell between the illusory and the real.

It was a void, devoid of light or warmth, yet I could sense my own existence. Perhaps I should dwell in this sunless place, never to emerge.

I walked in the darkness, without companions or sustenance, accompanied only by endless solitude. Finally, I arrived before that building again, watching it stand silently in the gloom.

There is an 'I' inside this place too, but I don't know if it is that 'I'. Having been here once before, I easily found the room where 'I' was hidden and walked in.

The floor was spongy, like human flesh, the room vast and empty. I saw 'I' again.

This time, 'I' was still a skeleton, quietly concealed within the mirror, wearing darkness as its garment. Suddenly, 'I' began to speak: "Why are you here?" I felt no fear, responding with composure: "Because I wanted to see you."