Translator: CinderTL
Luo He walked over and saw him reach out and tear down the curtain with a sharp "rip," revealing a hidden door.
The hidden door wasn't large, about one person tall and wide enough for only one person to squeeze through sideways.
Without hesitation, Fu Fu strode forward, raised her leg, and kicked the door open with a single blow.
"Don't move! Don't... don't hit me! I have nothing to do with the Japanese! I've never done anything wrong for them! I'm truly innocent! Please, you must believe me!"
Behind the door was a small, narrow room. In the dim light, they could make out a man slumped on the floor, his face etched with terror.
From his posture, he had clearly been hiding behind the door, but he hadn't expected to be found so quickly and have the door kicked open.
"Who are you?" Huai Yi demanded immediately.
The man inside was still begging for mercy, but when he saw the people standing outside, his expression changed. Fear was replaced by a look of confusion. "You're..."
"Answer the question," Chen Qiang said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Alright, alright, as long as you don't hurt me, I'll tell you everything," the man stammered, swallowing hard. "I'm the owner of this photography studio. My surname is Sang, Sang Fuyin."
"Boss Sang," Luo He asked, "what were you doing?"
From the moment they entered, Boss Sang had been hiding. Combined with his earlier pleas for mercy, it was clear he was trying to avoid someone.
"You... aren't here to cause trouble for me, are you?" Boss Sang asked cautiously, glancing over their shoulders as if searching for someone.
But Fu Fu's words snapped him back to reality. "Not necessarily," she said, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. Though short, she exuded authority. "If you're cooperative, we won't cause any trouble. But if you don't tell the truth, we'll beat you up first, then burn this dilapidated photography studio to the ground."
Hearing this, Boss Sang, who had just managed to stand up, stumbled backward, his face contorted in a mournful expression. "No, no, spare me, ancestors! This little studio barely keeps my family fed. My whole family depends on it for survival!"
As Boss Sang stood up, everyone frowned. The man, in his early forties, had a slender build. He wore a traditional Chinese tunic and gown, and his fair skin and delicate features suggested a comfortable life.
Yet his face was etched with worry and bore obvious injuries: one eye socket was completely swollen, and a palm print remained on his right cheek.
"Why did you change the photo at the gate?" Huai Yi cut straight to the point.
At the mention of the photo, Boss Sang's legs wobbled. "Oh, don't even get me started! What sin have I committed?"
He pointed at his face, a mix of anger and grievance in his voice. "These injuries are all because of those damn photos. They accused me of colluding with the Japanese and harming my own people. They wouldn't even listen to my explanation—they just started beating me and smashed all my equipment."
As Boss Sang spoke, his voice grew more choked with emotion, and tears streamed down his face.
"The war's over! Why would you put up photos of the Japanese? What were you thinking?" Pi Ruan demanded angrily.
"But I didn't put them up! Why would I do something like that?" Boss Sang explained with a wronged expression. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, his face turned fierce. "I don't know who did this, but if I find them..."
"That's enough," Luo He interrupted. He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and held it up to Boss Sang. "Take a look. Did you take these photos?"
Boss Sang stared at the series of eerie, deathly pale faces on the screen. A chill ran down his spine, but he dared not refuse. He forced himself to examine the photos.
He reached out and touched the phone screen, which suddenly went black, startling him. It was clear he had no understanding of this advanced technology from decades in the future.
No one had the patience to explain it to him. They just urged him to identify the photos.
"Where did you find these photos?" Boss Sang looked up at Luo He, his face filled with confusion. "They're definitely in our studio's style, but I don't remember taking them."
Suddenly, Boss Sang seemed to remember something. "Wait a moment."
Boss Sang turned and walked back into the darkroom. A rustling sound followed, and then he emerged holding a large photograph.
Appearing somewhat nervous, Boss Sang kept glancing at the door. Chen Qiang understood and turned to close it, after which the group gathered around the sofa.
"Take a look at this photo," Boss Sang said, handing it over. "I know the people in it—well, not really know them. I took photos for the Feng Family. Their butler called me over on Master Feng's 60th birthday, and I took this group photo for them."
In the photo, a crowd surrounded an old man seated in a grand armchair. Whether due to the lighting or the angle, the scene, though meant to be festive, took on an eerie quality after prolonged viewing.
Every person in the photo was clearly smiling, yet something felt strangely off.
They couldn't quite pinpoint what was wrong.
Until—
"It's the angle," Lin Wan'er said, her gaze lingering on the photo for a moment.
Hearing this, everyone crowded around, staring intently at the photo. Slowly, gasps rippled through the crowd.
To their horror, they realized the expressions of the Feng family members in the photo were eerily identical.
Their gazes, the angle of their drooping arms, even the curve of their lips—everything was perfectly synchronized!
Their stiff bodies stood there like straw scarecrows bound together with grass.
Luo He, holding his phone, scanned each face in the Feng family. Through comparison, a terrifying theory he'd once entertained was confirmed.
The Feng family members in the photo were all dead.
Chen Qiang reached out and touched a spot on the photo, asking in confusion, "What's this?"
About a fifth of the photo was stained, and when he touched it, it felt sticky, as if something like glue had been spilled on it.
Huai Yi reached for the photo, instinctively wanting to scrape it off with his fingers, but Boss Sang stopped him. "Don't touch it. If you need me to, I can clean it, but it'll take time."
"How long?" Lin Wan'er asked.
"About... about a day. You can come back tomorrow," Boss Sang said, studying the stain on the photo thoughtfully.
After returning the photo to Boss Sang, Luo He looked around and continued, "We've inquired, and your studio is the only photography shop in Grey Stone Town. The Japanese used to come here frequently to have their pictures taken, didn't they?"
Boss Sang's expression changed. Just as he was about to explain, Luo He pressed on, "Bring out all the photos you took for the Japanese."
(End of the Chapter)
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