There's definitely something wrong with this murder mystery game

Outside the villa, the girl hugged a sketchbook as she sat in the pavilion, facing the pebble path not far away. Her brush stroked across the page, suggesting she was truly painting.

After Zhan Qian emerged, she took a seat on the wicker chair next to the girl.

Miss Painter glanced at her, then disdainfully turned her head away, her painting motion uninterrupted.

Zhan Qian, undisturbed, crossed her legs and adjusted her long dress, maintaining a noble and elegant posture. She said softly, "You seem to be familiar with Mr. Guo?"

"Does an experienced player really need to ask for information from a beginner like me?" the girl cast a glance at her.

"Gathering clues is the most important process in a Scripted Murder Game. Different player characters have different scripts, and naturally, the clues they obtain will vary. I need to collect these clues," said Zhan Qian lightly.

As she spoke, she looked at the girl's drawing.

The pencil sketched a corner of the courtyard, with the figure of a gardener bending over to tend to the flower bed just appearing at the end of the pebble path.

Zhan Qian looked up, but there was no gardener opposite them. If the painting were to be realistic, it was quite unsettling.

Moreover, Zhan Qian knew that there might indeed be ghosts in the estate, so the hand resting on her waist unconsciously gripped her skirt a bit tighter.

She couldn't help but say, "There's no gardener over there."

Miss Painter slowly filled in the gardener's figure, saying casually, "The mind of the person painting houses mountains and rivers. What does it matter if there's no gardener? I can even draw flowers without any."

As she spoke, the girl, as if stubbornly, moved her pencil and swiftly added a few roses to the edge of the flower bed.

Zhan Qian's mouth twitched slightly, then she heard the girl continue, "Instead of inquiring with me, you might as well ask him directly. I think, being Mr. Guo's son, he might know everything."

"Knowing is one thing; whether he tells us is another," Zhan Qian remarked. "No matter the story, the truth is always buried in secrets."

Hearing this, the girl suddenly stopped painting and raised her head to look at Zhan Qian with an ambiguous gaze.

Zhan Qian was slightly perplexed by the look but continued to press, "So what clues did you manage to gather from Mr. Guo? I suspect this incident is related to Madame Guo, and it seems Mr. Guo has some estrangement from his father due to his mother. To reconstruct the truth of the story, I am still missing many clues."

"You're not wrong with your guess."

The girl returned her gaze to her painting and continued, "Mr. Guo drove his wife to death, and all of this was unfortunately witnessed by Mr. Guo, who then fell into depression."

"For what reason?" asked Zhan Qian urgently.

At that moment, she suddenly saw a middle-aged man dressed as a gardener, holding a hoe, appearing at the corner of the courtyard.

He seemed to have been tending to the front garden, making his way slowly toward them. His trousers were smeared with mud, and now he was pressing down the soil in the flower bed with a serious face.

Zhan Qian glanced again at the girl's drawing.

Miss Painter, without even looking up, continued to paint and speak, "I'm not sure about that. Madame Guo seemed to have gone mad over something at the time and committed suicide after an argument with Mr. Guo."

Zhan Qian looked at her, "Are you really clueless?"

"What can a beginner like me find out?" the girl also looked at her, a sneer forming at the corner of her mouth.

"If you want to sell yourself short, there's nothing I can say," Zhan Qian also mocked lightly.

"Pfft, as if you're so superior," the girl retorted.

Before they could have a proper conversation, they started bickering inexplicably.

After exchanging a few barbs, Zhan Qian gracefully closed the topic. She looked at the gardener who was now compacting the soil and suddenly asked loudly, "Gardener, what are you doing?"

The gardener who was digging the soil heard the shout and became flustered as if frightened. He looked around hastily and then spotted the pavilion with the two girls sitting there.

The gardener glanced over and quickly looked away, his voice moderate, somewhat deep: "It rained heavily last night. The soil in the garden is loose; I'm pressing it down."

Zhan Qian narrowed her eyes slightly; she found the gardener's reaction to be very strange, as if he had been guilty of something.

She stood up and walked straight over to him.

Noticing her approach, the gardener's face suddenly became very tense.

He quickly looked down and shuffled through the muddy soil, pushing many of the broken branches underneath.

Zhan Qian glanced around casually before asking, "Gardener, how long have you been working on the estate?"

The gardener turned his head, ignoring her.

Zhan Qian feigned confusion, "What's the matter, can't you say? Actually, I could go ask the butler as well."

"For over three years..." the gardener muttered softly.

"I see. I heard Mr. Guo used to plant a lot of rose flowers for the former lady here, but unfortunately, they were all removed later for some reason. Were you looking after those flowers before?" Zhan Qian asked as if casually.

"..."

The gardener stayed silent and didn't speak.

All he did was bury his head and use his hoe to press the broken branches into the mud. The grass plot had become quite muddy after the rain. While he was turning the soil, some mud splashed out accidentally.

Seeing this, Zhan Qian immediately stepped back to avoid dirtying her long skirt, watched the gardener who really didn't want to say anything, then turned around and went back.

The girl who was painting laughed scornfully when she saw Zhan Qian return without success.

Zhan Qian didn't respond and took another look at her painting.

At the end of the stone path, the gardener was swinging his hoe as if turning the soil, and the rose flowers that adorned the edge of the grass plot had also been captured in her painting.

Suddenly, Zhan Qian remembered the white figure she had seen at the window last night.

She looked up—

This was the backyard of the villa; turning left at the second corridor, the windows of the rooms all faced the front yard, but indeed, from that side, one could see the corner of the courtyard to the back.

Moreover, on closer thought, that figure seemed to be near the edge of the grass plot.

If...

Just as she was thinking this, a commotion suddenly came from the front yard, followed by the frivolous detective walking around the corner, who also seemed to be observing the grass plot.

The photographer and the butler were following behind him. The gardener, who had been tending to the grass plot, became very flustered when he saw them.

"Gardener, what are you doing here?"

The approaching detective asked with a smile, echoing the same question Zhan Qian had asked earlier.

The gardener hung his head and stole a cautious glance at the butler behind him, murmuring, "It rained heavily last night, and the soil in the yard has become very loose. I came over to tidy it up."

"What's there to tidy up? The plants are all subjected to the elements, and moreover, you don't even have any flowers here. Come on, step aside."

The detective said, and he pulled the flustered gardener out of the grass plot and then stepped into it himself.

He had just put on new shoes, which were now covered with mud.

The detective squatted down to examine the grass plot and his gaze suddenly sharpened. He stared at the gardener, "Did you turn over all the soil along this path?"

The gardener nervously said, "Some branches were broken, and the grass blades and roots were stuck inside. I'm tidying those up."

"Did you see any footprints in there just now?" the detective continued to ask.

"What... What footprints?" the gardener posed a surprised expression.

Yet, the detective was staring at him with an inscrutable gaze, causing the gardener to break out in a cold sweat.

At that moment, Zhan Qian had already made her way back over and asked curiously, "What happened?"

Turning to her voice, the detective looked at her again.

After observing for a while, the young man suddenly laughed strangely, "Miss Zhan, as a mysticist, did you see any ghosts last night?"

Zhan Qian: "..."

...