Chapter 156:

Chapter 156
Mo Yi froze, quickly supporting his hand with the wall next to him, and stood up hard.
Then, before he got up straight, he couldn't help but get dark, and it was because Wen Wen held his arm that he didn't fall directly to the ground. He took a deep breath, stood up against Wen Yan's strength, and closed it tightly. With my eyes, I felt the dizziness gradually fade away.
Mo Yi patted the palm of Fang Wen's arm on his arm and said in a husky voice: "... I'm fine."
After speaking, he pushed Wen Yan's help away, and then walked out the door in the direction of the voice.
As soon as the door was opened, the hustle and bustle that was blocked outside the door rushed towards him instantly, Mo Yi frowned subconsciously, reached out and pressed his own temple that was faintly aching, and then stepped out.
The air was filled with a strong smell, and the cold air was penetrated by the dense rust smell and fell down heavily.
Mo Yi could not tell at one time whether the taste originated from herself or from other directions in the corridor.
Until he passed through the shoulders of everyone and saw the scene in front of him.
I saw a woman lying on the ground in the corridor in blood, covered with turbid and thick blood all over her body, as if every pore on her body was bleeding with blood, and the thick dark red liquid penetrated into the corridor. In the thick carpet, the soft long hair on the top is glued into a ray, almost blending with the brown-red background.
Unlike other corpses that had died before, her body was not covered with a white nightdress this time. Instead, she was wearing her original dress, soaked in layers of blood to a wrinkled texture, and stuck tightly to her body.
Moreover, she did not die in her room, but died in the center of the corridor.
The faces of the people around the corpse were dignified and gloomy. Some senior players began to whisper to ask if anyone saw what happened, but got negative answers.
Although the player died in an open public place, no one had witnessed it.
Mo Yi's brows frowned tightly, staring at the seemingly miserable corpse, he noticed that the woman's posture was very different from the other dead.
The other deceased were lying in their bedrooms, arms opened like martyrs, their limbs calm and serene.
But this player is not ... She seems to have experienced painful struggles before dying, her limbs are tight and twisted, and the whole person clings to the carpet in a strange posture.
In general, the regular pattern of death in a copy is rarely changed very easily.
It is not just a simple model, it is more like a forced circulation disease, a deep-seated compulsive sexual behavior disorder.
And now that model is broken.
As if disorder and chaos were added to the order and the law, Mo Yi could not help but feel a little uneasy.
He looked up and squeezed the bridge of his nose, forced his brain to clear, then turned to look at the player standing next to him, and asked, "Which room is the dead player?"
The crowd looked at each other for a while, and then one of the players raised his hand hesitantly, pointed in the direction of the other corridor, and replied mosquitoly: "It seems to be the first one there ..."
Mo Yi nodded and walked along with Wen Yan in the direction the player was pointing.
Immediately after entering the door, Mo Yi's eyes were attracted by the oil painting hanging on the door. He was shocked and stopped subconsciously.
I saw a woman lying on her back in the frame, pale and red. The naked body was lying on the dark red velvet sheets, and the slender neck was crossing a deep wound, and it looked as if the corpses were to be separated. .
The woman's eyes opened blankly, her black eyes covered with a layer of gray shadow, and she looked at the sky silently.
This picture hanging in Mo Yi's room.
Mo Yi took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes slowly-then it seems that this copy is supposed to be his turn, but he was saved by the smell, so the copy can only rush to another player .
He turned and walked quickly towards his room. As he entered the door, he stared straight at the oil painting in his room.
I saw that the pattern in the canvas in the dark frame had changed quietly when I didn't know--
The black and red in the picture, the thick black and the dazzling red are intertwined with each other, and the broken color blocks form a weird circular pattern. Looking into it carefully, it looks as if it is turning—it makes Mo Yi involuntarily recall what he saw before. That twisted corridor like an abstract picture.
Just then, he heard Zhao Nan's voice at the door:
"That one……"
Mo Yi froze, holding the door of the house subconsciously with his palm, and using the shadow of the door panel to block the oil painting out of sight.
He turned his head and looked out of the door, only to see Zhao Nan approaching him, his frown frowned:
"The oil painting in the room ... there is no way to dispose of it."
The other players' faces became dignified and dim. They nodded one after another, and apparently had the same experience as Zhao Nan.
Mo Yi heard the words, turned and walked outward without changing his face, while closing the door of his room behind him, he replied, "Yes, I found it."
Zhao Nan's expression was heavy: "What shall we do now? Now Red has already died of two people, what next?"
Mo Yi knew that the metaphorical color on his note was white.
Perhaps this is why he is so anxious now. After all, if the red and black are over, the next player to die is the white player.
Mo Yi didn't seem to listen to Zhao Nan carefully, but the whole person was immersed in his thoughts. He said absently, "I have a question ... I need to confirm it."
Having said that, before waiting for others to follow his thinking, I saw Mo Yi walking through the crowd quickly, running down the stairs in a hurry, looking in the direction of the side hall with portrait words, The crowd stared blankly for a while, but saw the same overwhelmingness on each other's faces. After several seconds, they finally calmed down, so they hurriedly followed Mo Yi behind Run to the side hall.
A few minutes later, a group of people swarmed into the cold dark side hall again, and several flashlights all lighted up, making this white-clothed room look more like a morgue.
Mo Yi slowly stepped forward and pulled the white cloth over the oil painting. The dry and cracked oil painting was again exposed to the public. The woman's hair and eyes in the painting were dark, and the fading face was red. A brightly blooming rose held in his hands with blurred outlines, looks like blood in the dimly lit room.
He stepped forward, carefully looking at every scene on the canvas, frowning.
Regardless of the three-color sketch in the prompt or the hint behind the oil painting in each player's room, there are only three colors: red, white, and black. More than red, white and black.
Moi's previous guess is that if a player dies, as long as it is in the same color system as the relevant color, it can be filled into the oil painting, then it may make sense.
However, it seems that this is not the case.
It wasn't obvious when there was only one color in the previous picture, but now that there is one more color, the rules of it finally show up-no matter whether the corresponding color of the dead player is black or red, the oil painting is filled They will only be the corresponding primary colors: the dark eyes and black hair, bright red lips and roses are pure colors without impurities.
So ... logically, if it has always been according to the current law.
This oil painting can never be completed—because it is not a three-color sketch, it requires far more than three colors.
Mo Yi's eyebrow was carved with deep vertical marks, as if he encountered something difficult to overcome, his eyebrows were locked tightly. He rubbed his fingertips against the cloth, and the smooth surface of the cloth was pulled out by him. Wrinkled.
There was a deep silence in the room, Mo Yi stared thoughtfully at the weird portrait, while the others in the room stared inexplicably at the thoughtful Mo Yi.
Zhao Nan finally couldn't bear it. He stepped forward anxiously, his voice sharp and sharp, as if his throat was choked by some invisible force:
"Hey, we didn't follow you to see you dazed at a painting! Do you know--"
His remaining words were stuck in his throat.
Wen Yan retracted his eyes lightly, and his brows looked a little bit of suffocation under the deep light and shadow, which made him dare not look at them.
Mo Yi seemed to be awakened from his thoughts. He blinked, turned to look at Zhao Nan standing behind him, and asked afterwards, "... how are you here?"
Zhao Nan's face mixed with resentment and timidity into a complex expression. He took a deep breath, finally adjusted his emotions, and then asked with some gritted teeth: "Do you know, what will die next Kind of player? "
Mo Yi froze, "Oh, this."
He turned his head to glance at the portrait, and his gaze turned around—the remaining black and red primary colors had been filled up—he looked at Zhao Nan again, his face was waveless, and said lightly:
"It should be white."
Mo Yi's tone angered Zhao Nan, who had just calmed down. His chest was undulating and a single syllable was forced out of his throat stiffly: "--you!"
At this moment, the familiar bell rang and interrupted Zhao Nan's words. Mo Yi stunned, and subconsciously looked down at his wrist watch:
It's one o'clock in the afternoon.
-From this morning to now, neither the housekeeper nor the maid has ever appeared.
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