1:48 a.m., the 24-hour "Old Chen's" snack shop.
The ticking of the clock's second hand sliced through time, intertwining with Feng Ju's hoarse narration—the once authoritative father now seemed like an obsessive madman, incoherently repeating words like "monster," "mask," and "heart."
Feng Mu pretended to listen blankly, his brow furrowed tightly.
Feng Ju looked at his son with trepidation, afraid the other would think he had lost his mind.
The scene before him involuntarily reminded Feng Ju of the times when his useless son would bring home his Martial Arts grades, facing him with panic.
Only now, the roles of father and son seemed subtly reversed.
For a while.
"So, Dad, what you mean is..."
Feng Mu spoke slowly, his voice so dry it didn't sound like his own,
"Yuhuai and that [Mask] monster in the sewer are the same?"
Feng Ju's face darkened, his jaw muscles tightening as if he'd grind his teeth to dust:
"Not just the same, I now suspect that Feng Yuhuai is the [Mask]."
