Brother Dao Took the Entertainment Industry by Storm, Fans Beg Me Not to Kill Anymore Chapter 415: All the Evil, Bearing His Name — "The Twelve Ev

On a night of howling wind and swirling snow, a young detective arrived at this place and chose to seek lodging.

He simply hadn't expected the castle to be exceptionally lively tonight.

Besides the last to arrive, the wise and steady detective, there was also a gloomy-faced young poet. It was said he was revisiting an old haunt, wanting to see the scenery on the mountain, but like the detective, found the descent blocked by heavy snow, unable to leave, and could only stay temporarily.

Additionally, there was a hot-tempered hunter, a rebellious teenage girl, a sarcastic and insinuating middle-aged corporate drone, a consumptive ghost who was always yawning, and a neurotic, crazy beggar...

Finally, two people originally lived in the castle: one was a hunched, terrifying-looking old lady butler, and the other was a little girl who always spoke unclearly, waiting for her mom and dad to co ho.

Each person in the group had their own circumstances, yet all gathered at the castle because of this heavy snow. In their conversations and mannerisms, each seed to hide unknown secrets.

Soon, when the blizzard outside the window swept in once more, a murder occurred—

There were twelve actors on stage in total, each with distinctive attire. Even without a detailed introduction, the viewers in the stands could basically identify their respective identities and occupations. The arrangent of personnel wasn't chaotic either; the actors on stage each had a reasonable position to "stand by," without affecting the presentation of the main storyline, making it very comfortable to watch.

On the contrary, the plot progression wasn't as brilliant as the original.

After all, the original stage play of "Twelve Mirrors" was a full two hours long, while this version was only twenty minutes. Basically, after outlining all the personality roles, it had to move into the murder case segnt, so this part was heavily condensed. Gone was the kind of plot with constant twists and turns that made one's skin crawl; it basically just progressed linearly as clues appeared.

In the end, the detective discerns the truth, discovering that everyone in the castle is a villain—including himself.

A detective who solved countless cases but couldn't avenge his own daughter, laughably confined himself within these ruins, repeatedly deducing the circumstances and truth of that year's case, ultimately driving himself insane.

He stuffed these people's souls into his own body and fabricated a lie, altering the truth.

—But the fact was, he couldn't accept all this and split off these personalities, constantly forcing them to play the roles from that year.

When the detective on stage finally went mad, snatched the hunter's rifle, and shot everyone except himself, the stage lights suddenly went pitch black for a mont.

The people below held their breath, silent and still.

In the darkness, sothing seed to be brewing—

"Whoosh—"

The bright main light lit up again, shining solely on the person at the center of the stage.

A lonely young man sat dazedly on a chair, facing everyone.

His expression was pained and twisted, his hands clutching his head, then he abruptly slumped forward—

In that instant, the drapery covering behind him suddenly fell, revealing a massive mirror before the crowd, eliciting short gasps of surprise from everyone.

"What is that—"

"A mirror! Such a huge mirror!"

That enormous mirror, roughly five ters tall and three ters wide, stood behind the young man, reflecting not only the young man and the chair in its surface but also the viewers below and the distant stands.

Everyone's initial surprise turned into anticipation, as if sothing major was about to happen.

Sure enough, the next mont, the young man lifted his head again.

The wise and steady detective had vanished, replaced by the lancholy, unfulfilled poet.

His eyelids drooped slightly, even the light in his eyes dimd, his tightly pursed lips completely downturned, and even his straight back gained a hint of stiffness and timidity.

And behind the young man, the "dead" poet reappeared, looking left and right into the mirror, his movents synchronized with the young man on the chair, but their speaking voices beca the sa timbre: "So that's how it is... So my letter can never be sent."

Then, the actor playing the "poet" calmly left the lit area, rging back into the darkness.

Imdiately following was the explosive-tempered hunter.

The young man's aura changed sharply. In just the mont of lowering and raising his head, his eyes changed again. The previous lancholy receded, replaced by a highly aggressive scrutiny and inspection, like soone hidden in the jungle, spying on their prey.

Simultaneously, the hunter also stood behind him.

Their hands simultaneously stroked the air, as if polishing a rifle, the sa voice but with a different tone: "Damn little brat, stole my hunting rifle! She deserved to die!"

The next mont, the hunter seed uncontrollably flung sideways out of the light, tumbling into the darkness, while the young man on the chair also uncontrollably tilted to the side, but just as he was about to fall off the chair, he steadied himself again.

Then he sat back up properly, one leg swinging slightly. His eyes changed once more, his pupils widening a bit, the shape of his eyes becoming slightly rounder. His crossed-arm sitting posture carried a hint of feminine coyness, along with a youthful casualness and recklessness.

The teenage girl behind him disdainfully looked into the mirror, instinctively brushing aside the stray hairs on her forehead: "I'm not interested in your affairs, but I don't want to stay here anymore! Everything here disgusts !"

...

The other eleven actors on stage appeared one after another, looking into that massive mirror.

They seed to be confirming their true bodies, or perhaps awakening their full consciousness. Finally, they gradually began to understand—they weren't separate individuals, just separate personalities.

This body belonged to them, yet not completely; it was their own, and also soone else's.

Because the true host personality had already died.

Wait, sothing seems a bit off—

One, two, three...

All the personalities present had looked into the mirror, yet the people in the mirror weren't themselves.

So where had the true host personality gone?

Everyone turned their heads.

Before the mirror, all the personalities gathered together, silently staring at the young man before them. Their positions happened to block the mirror, preventing it from reflecting the young man's figure anymore.

At the sa ti, the young man lifted his head again.

—He had beco that detective once more.

The detective who appeared first and disappeared last.

The detective slowly stood up from the chair.

The personalities parted to make a path, allowing him to walk straight to the mirror.

This ti, the detective began to examine himself carefully in the mirror. Behind him, on the chair, no one else followed his synchronized movents.

Thus, everyone understood: the detective was the beginning of the entire story, and the master of this body.

But in the end, he died.

The detective staggered back to the chair, clutching his chest in disarray. When he raised his hand again, it was already stained with fresh blood. Even on his white shirt, now revealed after removing his trench coat, large patches of red were automatically spreading.

—He was the first host personality to die, yet his body was the last to be buried.

All the evil bore his na, and the final punishnt granted him a tragic, heroic death.