Chapter 1268: Doubts and Clues |
The two wept across the windowsill, neither making a sound.
Madame Freud could clearly see Lake had his answer. She slumped against the window ledge, her anguished expression even more complicated than Lake's.
She growled under her breath and pounded the desk:
"Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you do this to Masford? Why did it really have to be the Sunset!
I just love this art—what have I done wrong!
Why must destiny punish me like this!"
Madame Freud wept heart-rendingly—torn between the gratitude she owed her former home and the injustice of Masford's tragic death.
Lake watched her struggle and turmoil play out before him. After a long while, he took a deep breath, stilled his grief, and spoke to Madame Freud with solemn deliberation:
"Madame Freud... this may sound selfish, but the Sunset is my home—and it was once yours. It cannot fall... At the very least, it cannot fall because of Fate's mistake, nailed to the pillar of shame for the circus arts!"
"Then what about Masford—he died for nothing!?
And what about Morning Joy?
What about all those performers who worked so hard, so diligently, to reach the pinnacle of their art!?
Did they deserve this!?"
Lake hung his head, his voice a low drone:
"No—they don't deserve any of this. They deserve to win.
The Sunset's failure was entirely Fate's doing. He should bear all the consequences. But the Sunset itself is innocent.
Madame Freud, I have a way to resolve everything—but only if... please, I'm begging you, give the Sunset a chance.
I can't watch the Sunset collapse. Even if it loses to Morning Joy—even if it's condemned to second place forever—it cannot fall in disgrace!"
Hearing this, Madame Freud scoffed:
"Second place? Morning Joy's clown is dead! Your ringmaster killed him with his own hands!
What right does Morning Joy have to compete for first? Are you suggesting I come out of retirement and take the stage again?
Yes, I was brilliant once—but it's also true that years away from the stage have left me rusty.
Morning Joy isn't the Sunset. We won't accept an ambiguous victory.
Even if you intend to throw the match, I won't agree.
Masford is already dead. I won't let a second clown who's devoted to the art die on that stage.
I will report everything to the royal court. Fate should pay with his life.
As for the Sunset... history will give it a verdict. Good or bad, let posterity decide. If you want someone to blame, blame yourselves for choosing a ringmaster who kills without blinking!"
With that, Madame Freud turned to leave.
But Lake caught her arm, his plea written all over his face:
"No—Morning Joy will win. And it will win fair and square.
Please, hear me out.
Masford did nothing wrong. He shouldn't be absent from this circus festival. The ones who were wrong are Fate, the Sunset, and... me!
Fate can pay with his life. I can pay with mine too. All I ask is that the Sunset not be destroyed.
Madame Freud, I have a plan that can bring Masford back to the stage—but only if you spare the Sunset."
"You can bring him back to life!?" Madame Freud's eyes lit up with desperate hope.
"I'm sorry—I can't..."
"You're toying with me!?"
"No, you've misunderstood. What I mean is... I will impersonate Masford and complete Morning Joy's final performance.
And Lake... that coward will 'vanish' because he was too afraid to compete, causing the Sunset to lose.
Would a disgraced clown be enough to quell your anger and convince you to spare the Sunset?"
"You!?" Madame Freud's eyes went wide with disbelief. "...What did you say!?"
"Please—this is the last solution I can think of.
I know Fate. If the century-old Sunset loses to Morning Joy, he, as ringmaster, will take his failure and end his own life.
We will pay the price for Masford's death...
Is that an ending you can accept?"
Shock registered on Madame Freud's face, quickly giving way to inner conflict.
Considering Morning Joy's honor, weighing the bonds of her Sunset origins—this seemed like the best possible solution. There was truly no better compromise.
Fate's mistake should not cost the entire Sunset.
After long deliberation, Madame Freud's expression shifted through countless changes before she finally agreed—for the sake of both the Sunset and Morning Joy.
"But this way, your reputation..."
"Heh, I don't deserve a reputation. I misjudged someone, so I should pay the price.
Please give me some time, Madame Freud. Let me say my goodbyes here, and then I will become Morning Joy's new clown...
The dead can't be brought back. But if we can win this—perhaps it will offer some comfort to Masford.
I... owe him."
That night, Lake and Madame Freud struck their deal. The next day, to confirm his suspicions, Lake disguised himself as another performer and casually brought up the fire-scorched boots when crossing paths with Fate.
Fate laughed heartily and said the boots were gone—probably stolen by a visitor.
In that moment, Lake's heart turned to dead ashes.
He looked at this friend who had accompanied him, encouraged him, and fought alongside him for over a decade—and the longer he looked, the less he recognized him.
That night, he packed a few clothes and left the place that had broken his heart.
Lake finished telling everything in silence. None of them had expected this turn of events.
He had come here to impersonate Masford out of disappointment in the Sunset and as penance toward Morning Joy?
The story was internally consistent—almost impossible to poke holes in.
But that depended on who was listening. In the ears of several deceivers, the story was riddled with flaws.
First, the most obvious question: how exactly had Masford died?
Fate had killed the rival circus's clown?
Was it possible? Not impossible—after all, none of the players present knew Fate personally. If even Lake thought it plausible, then Fate clearly wasn't some paragon of virtue.
But if Fate had personally killed Masford, why had his first reaction to Lake's disappearance been to contact the Golden House to search for him? Why hadn't he immediately suspected that Morning Joy had retaliated by using the same method to eliminate Lake?
Could the ringmaster have wanted to use the Golden House's involvement to expose Morning Joy's dirty tactics?
But then, how could he be so confident that the Golden House's investigation wouldn't uncover his own crime?
Consider: if a murderer discovers that his victim's side has apparently used the same method to "remove" his own clown, shouldn't he immediately realize his scheme may have been exposed and prompted retaliation—making him even more cautious?
How could he possibly bring in a third party and put himself in the crosshairs?
Moreover, even though the Lake that Fate met was Long Jing in disguise, Fate's reaction to seeing "Lake" couldn't have been faked. He cared only about where Lake had gone—he hadn't once mentioned whether Lake's disappearance might be connected to Morning Joy. That was completely unlike how a killer would react.
Even if he were deliberately avoiding the topic to deflect suspicion, there should have at least been some probing. Yet he'd done nothing. It defied all logic.
With that in mind, Cheng Shi frowned slightly and asked:
"Where is Masford's body?"
Lake shook his head: "I don't know... Madame Freud must have buried him secretly. News of his death can't get out."
"You've never seen his body?"
"No... but seeing it or not—what difference does it make?"
A strange glint passed through Cheng Shi's eyes. The corner of his mouth curved: "It makes all the difference. Without seeing it with your own eyes, how can you know how Morning Joy's clown actually died?"
Lake blinked: "He was strangled by Fate."
"Oh? Really?
Then let me ask you this: if you were the one committing the crime, after meticulously erasing every trace inside and out, would you choose to strangle Masford with a rope that's covered in evidence?
The victim was already dead-drunk and unconscious. Since there was no resistance at all, why not pick a more discreet method?
Don't tell me that Fate—who has connections to Blacks—can't even procure a single bottle of colorless, odorless poison."
"I..." Lake was stunned.
"And another thing—what exactly was Masford strangled with?
I said 'rope,' but what was the actual murder weapon? Do you know?"
"I..." Lake wasn't stupid. From Cheng Shi's tone, something occurred to him, and his face drained white: "...I don't know. Madame Freud didn't say."
Hearing this, Zhang Jizu narrowed his eyes and said coldly:
"In other words, everything you know about the murder came entirely from Madame Freud's account. You never saw the crime scene, never saw the so-called murder weapon, didn't even see the body—and simply believed her word for it?"
"..."
Those words shattered Lake's defenses completely. He wanted desperately to say that Madame Freud's tears had been genuine—that couldn't have been faked, could it?
But he also knew that proved nothing. It hadn't seemed suspicious at the time, but in hindsight, questions were everywhere.
And yet, Lake couldn't bring himself to believe he'd been deceived.
Even if he didn't know the murder weapon, what about the footprint? The footprint was unmistakably Fate's—he'd even discarded his boots to cover his tracks.
At this point, even the Grand Marshal started sighing.
He shook his head repeatedly, sitting in his chair with a rueful laugh: "I may not kill with that much flair, but even I know assassination hinges on the word 'covert.' If Fate knew enough to discard his boots afterward, why on earth would he wear such a conspicuously identifiable pair to commit the crime in the first place?
He could've just grabbed any random pair from Morning Joy, and he'd have been in the clear."
"..."
Indeed—the story was full of holes!
Lake—Masford—was dumbfounded. He curled up in the corner, a cascade of expressions flashing across his face—shock, fear, worry, dread—his chaotic mind unable to settle on a single thought. He only wished the last few days had been a dream, and that he could wake up now.
But for him, the nightmare had only just begun.
All three deceivers present scoffed in unison, and Zhen Xin stepped into the role of "chief villain."
She looked down at the clown, a meaningful smile curving her lips.
"If everything you know came from Madame Freud, and you never witnessed any of it firsthand—how can you be sure Masford is actually dead?"
"!!??"
Lake shuddered violently and collapsed to the ground.
He felt like his world had truly fallen apart.
...
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