So sinister, damn it’s really sinister!

Autumn Whitman looked at the pills, then at the dried corpse, feeling a bit uneasy. If he took the pills, would that count as indirectly eating a person?

Is this an ethical dilemma now?

He thought about it for a while but couldn’t figure it out, so he decided to think about it later. He carefully put away the two pills, then looked again at the dried corpse on the ground and used his foot to flip it over.

He kept feeling that this guy looked familiar. After examining him closely for a while, he realized that he really had met this guy before—he was the drunk who came to make trouble last night, the bald man he had thrown out onto the street.

So after being corrupted by the shadow demon, the bald guy hadn’t completely lost his mind, and still retained some of his past desires, which is why he specifically came to attack Caroline Parker’s mother?

Is this just being a lecher? That thing showed such a strong desire to kill and was so violent during the day—was that because of long-term psychological repression?

This time, with plenty of time, Autumn Whitman carefully studied the monster corrupted by the shadow demon, even feeling over its body in detail, recording some data, and making some guesses—just in case. He had a feeling he’d have to deal with this kind of monster again. He couldn’t say why, but he just had that feeling.

Still, this monster was really unlucky. Of all places to attack, it just had to attack next door to him, and ended up as a specimen. Otherwise, it could have at least had a bit more fun for a while.

Once everything was more or less settled, he faintly heard the sound of police sirens. He tossed aside the unlucky monster and went straight out the door, looking out at the street and asking, “The police are here?”

As he spoke, two police cars, one after the other, sped past his building with red and blue lights flashing and sirens blaring, and then… turned the corner and disappeared.

Autumn Whitman was completely baffled. What kind of operation was this? Someone died here—aren’t the police going to do anything?

He turned to ask Caroline Parker’s mother, “No one called the police…”

He stopped halfway through his question, startled—Caroline Parker’s mother was still holding a kitchen knife, dressed all in white, hair disheveled, her figure thin, standing in the dimly lit hallway looking just like a ghost—no wonder, after such a big commotion, there wasn’t a single onlooker in the hallway. Anyone who opened the door for a look probably got scared right back inside.

He quickly reached out to take the knife. “Give me the knife, it’s all over now… Did you call 110?”

Caroline Parker’s mother obediently handed him the knife, then raised her hand as if to make a gesture, but hesitated. At that moment, Little Caroline spoke up for her mother: “Mom can’t talk.”

Can’t talk? Is she deaf-mute?

Autumn Whitman suddenly understood. Only 2.3 out of every thousand people can use sign language, so she probably thought “speaking” was useless, or maybe she simply couldn’t hear what he was saying, which is why she hesitated. But that didn’t matter—he actually knew a bit of sign language. He’d been locked up in the special care home in Mist Island City for two whole years, where there were quite a few abandoned or lost deaf-mute children. Over time, he naturally picked up a bit—at least enough for daily communication, as long as the other person “spoke” slowly. If it was as fast as a ninja making hand seals, he wouldn’t understand a thing.

As someone who grew up in China, he naturally had a lot of patience for vulnerable groups. He immediately started using very clumsy sign language: “I mean, did you call the police? How did the police respond, did they say…”

But before he could finish, Little Caroline spoke again: “Mom can hear, she just can’t talk.”

“You can hear?”

Autumn Whitman asked in surprise, and saw her mother nod. He suspected her vocal cords were simply damaged, but it wasn’t convenient to ask—that would be too rude. So he politely said, “You can use sign language. As long as you go slowly, I can understand.”

Caroline Parker’s mother probably felt she was troubling Autumn Whitman, and her expression showed some embarrassment. After a slight bow, she used sign language to say, “I already reported it to the police by text message and email. The police replied that they would arrive soon.”

“That’s good.” Autumn Whitman nodded, hesitated for a moment, then pointed inside the room and said, “The perpetrator seems to be the one who was banging on the door last night. You…”

He wasn’t sure what kind of relationship this young mother had with the “drunk bald monster,” so he was asking tactfully. Caroline Parker’s mother looked surprised, apparently not having recognized him before, then her expression quickly darkened. She signed, “He’s my store manager. He’s been harassing me for a long time.”

Autumn Whitman understood. That guy really was a pervert when he was alive. Seeing that this young mother couldn’t speak and was easy to bully, he was always trying to take advantage of her. No wonder last night she just hugged her daughter and hid behind the door, trembling, not daring to call the police.

It must be hard for her to find work. To keep herself and her daughter from going hungry, maybe she had no choice but to put up with it—that bald pervert deserved to die, even if he hadn’t turned into a monster!

As he was thinking this, regretting not having chopped that pervert a couple more times, the police finally arrived, albeit slowly. Two patrol officers pedaled their bicycles like they were riding wind and fire wheels, only stopping when they reached the building.

Autumn Whitman watched them get off and head into the stairwell, completely speechless.