To Become Like You...
Ouyang blinked in confusion, pondering for a few seconds. Suddenly, she realized something terrible and whispered in shock:
“Turn her into a wax figure?!”
The maids Anderson personally brought back to the castle faced only two fates.
The first was to be made into wax figures, displayed on a platform for illegal trade.
The second was failure in the process—burial by Anderson right here in the pine forest.
Anderson locked maids in special containers. He set them in client-specified poses, then released gas to freeze their movements. Next, he injected preservative liquid to prevent decay.
Once fully set, they were ready for sale.
Gazing at the wax maid figures—at least ten of them—Ouyang recalled the sobs and cries for help she’d just heard. She asked tensely:
“Haven’t any of you escaped? Or fought back against him?”
“Fighting back is useless,” sighed a wax-figure maid helplessly.
Back home, no job could clear the massive debt from their family’s failed business.
Economic pressure made staying here or outside feel the same.
Becoming wax figures for sale was their decided fate—unchangeable.
All maids here shared similar pasts, leaving Ouyang with complex feelings.
This wasn’t the best solution; other choices existed...
But Ouyang couldn’t decide for them. She wasn’t their hero.
All she could do was repay a debt of gratitude.
She remembered the girl who’d helped her up that morning. Now trapped by Anderson, Ouyang couldn’t let another fall to this fate.
Heading to the monster’s lab meant facing Anderson again.
Her wounds weren’t fully healed. She couldn’t guarantee escaping alive.
A true assassin discards emotions, using any means to succeed.
Right now, Ouyang wasn’t that assassin.
Over ten minutes had passed. Anderson, waiting in the lab, noticed Ouyang’s absence. He headed upstairs to check.
Seizing his return, Ouyang rushed to No. 2’s location. She pushed the wooden door open cautiously, hit by a foul chemical stench.
A long table held strange tools and vessels. Dozens of miniature wax maids struck bizarre poses, like a twisted dance, filling Ouyang with disgust.
Treading lightly on the dark brown floor, she reached No. 2’s container.
Ouyang tensed with anger—Anderson had already wrapped transparent threads around No. 2’s joints, fixing her pose.
A two-meter square container had thick pipes on both sides. They connected to colorful reagent bottles and buckets, waiting for Anderson to inject something terrifying.
No. 2’s pose mirrored the wax figures on the table. Her hands stretched upward, reaching for the unattainable. Her sorrowful face looked utterly pitiful.
The container door stood open—plenty of time remained.
“The handcuff key... is on the light brown table behind you,” No. 2 said.
Frozen in place, she’d glimpsed a shadow outside. The figure was blurry, but she guessed it was No. 4.
“Thank you.”
Freeing herself, Ouyang grabbed a safety cutter and approached.
“Anderson brought you here to turn you into a wax figure—to sell you.”
She relayed everything the wax figure had told her.
No. 2 frowned, panic flashing in her eyes. A trace of fear crept in.
“If you want to see your parents again, come with me.”
“No. 4... I... want to leave with you,” No. 2 replied without hesitation.
Ouyang untied the threads. She stated firmly:
“I’m not No. 4. I’m Ouyang Qingdan—an assassin.”
“You’re not here for training...”
“That’s right.”
As they moved to exit, the glass door slammed shut automatically. A sinister laugh echoed from outside.
“You’ve come to kill me.”
Anderson had overheard them. He’d never gone upstairs—just waited in the hallway, spotting her dash into the lab.
He sealed the container, activated the switch, and condemned them to die inside.
A machine hummed to life. White, pungent gas hissed from the pipes.
“Careful—the gas is toxic!” Ouyang warned.
They covered their mouths and noses for over three minutes.
The fog filled every corner, refusing to fade.
No. 2, breathless and pained, gasped:
“I can’t hold on...”
She dropped her hands, inhaled deeply, and collapsed.
“I came to take you out,” Ouyang vowed, holding her breath.
She grabbed No. 2’s arm—it felt like rubber clay. A light touch snapped it off.
Ouyang stared in horror. A thud sounded as No. 2’s body shattered like a clay doll into jagged pieces.
“Run... don’t mind me,” No. 2 whispered with her last strength. Her eyes closed forever.
“What is this...” Ouyang breathed.
Leaning forward to check, she stepped with her right foot. Suddenly, her left foot felt hollow.
She looked back—her left foot stood motionless on the floor.
“I’ll kill you, Anderson!” she roared.
Facing his direction, she lunged to escape—even with one foot. Her body shattered into fragments.
Darkness swallowed her vision. Anderson’s vile laughter filled her ears.
“Finally showing your true nature. Damn Blood Clan—die!”
Blind now, Ouyang felt her broken pieces carried from the container. The damp, earthy scent of the forest filled her nose as he hauled her far away.
A sticky, wet substance covered her. Things crawled on her skin. She longed to escape but couldn’t move.
As expected, she was being buried alive.
The cart’s wheels faded until silence fell.
Then—a familiar song echoed from elsewhere. The tune was cheerful, the voice annoyingly recognizable. It looped in her mind, refusing to fade:
“Happy birthday to you~”
“Happy birthday to me~”
“Happy birthday to our~”
“Happy birthday to ....”
Seriously....
Ouyang didn’t know whether to feel excited or moved. An indescribable complexity surged in her heart.
