Chapter 181: Snow Mountain: [23W Nutrient Solution Bonus Chapter]

Samuel was murdered, no doubt about it.

His hands and feet were firmly tied to the bedposts, spread-eagled in a classic spread-eagle position.

The man was completely naked, his eyes wide open, face twisted in agony, lying face-up. His belly had been sliced open, the knife wound running from below his ribs all the way down to above his pubic bone, deeply cutting through the flesh and a thick layer of yellowish fat. Blood had soaked the sheets and floor into a dark, reddish-black mess, with blood splatters dotting the walls and ceiling.

As for the organs that should have been inside his belly, they'd been pulled out one by one.

Farther down, nestled in the tangled hair, the organ that should've been there had been sliced clean off at the root.

On the windowsill two steps away from the large bed, like museum exhibits, the missing organs were lined up in a row, crammed together.

The window was wide open, and after the wind had blown through it all night, the organs had frozen solid, the blood on them frozen into ice. In the sunlight, they glittered like blood-jewels—almost pretty, in a twisted way.

As for that particular organ, it seemed intentional—it had been hacked into a disgusting pulp of minced meat.

One quick look at the carnage was enough to make plenty of people clamp their hands over their mouths and double over, gagging.

Old John had seen more corpses than he could count, so he stayed cool as a cucumber. He glanced at Rebecca, who rubbed her eyes and nodded back at him—which meant Rebecca had already "looked" and confirmed there was no sign of anything supernatural in the room; this was purely a human job.

Murder in a remote mountain lodge—what's the first move?

Answer: call the cops.

They'd only been stuck in the lodge for one night, so they hadn't really grasped yet that the outside world had basically written them off for now. The moment they saw the professor dead, everyone started yelling to call 911.

Fine, let 'em call. If the rescue crew heard someone died and rushed over early, that'd be a bonus.

In a panic, the whole group huddled around Old John as he headed to room 210 at the other end of the hallway, dug out the satellite phone, and called the cops.

And sure enough—

"You say someone's dead? Well, nothing we can do about that. After an avalanche, there are dead people everywhere—the ski resort's got even more. And the mountain is still windy, helicopters can't get anywhere near, and the roads up the mountain are completely buried in snow. We don't have the people to spare to clear 'em... Just hang in there, or try catching the killer yourselves, why don't you?"

And with that, the rescue team hung up, quick as that.

"..."

Everyone looked at each other: "So... what now?"

Old John mulled it over for a second, then said, "Let's go take a look at the room... Whoever killed the professor has to be one of us. If we don't root 'em out soon, and they hit someone else before the rescue team shows up, we're in real trouble. Besides, even in winter, a corpse rots. The sooner we check it out, the more clues we'll get."

With that, the old man took the lead, heading for room 205 at the end of the hall.

When they got to the crime scene, Old John stopped and held up a hand for everyone to wait outside. Then he walked up to the door, ready to step in and take a look.

Just then, a four-eyed guy named Lucas stepped in his way: "Mr. John, hold up."

Not just Old John—everyone in the room shot Lucas a confused look.

"I get that you mean well, wanting to check out the scene. But as the primary crime scene, this place probably holds a ton of evidence that's key to cracking the case. Before you go in, I think you need to answer a few questions to clear your name."

"..."

He did have a point, to be fair. In some crime shows, you've got cops who've been bought off by the killer, or who are the killer themselves. When a cop like that walks into the scene and, when nobody's looking, wipes away evidence or plants fake clues, it can totally screw up the investigation.

But Everly was loyal to her people, and she didn't like Lucas's entitled attitude one bit.

Out of everyone there, Old John was the oldest, the most experienced, and the one who'd coughed up the satellite phone to reach the rescue team. After all this time together, everyone had kind of quietly started treating him like the leader. Everyone had silently agreed to let him go in and check things out.

Lucas, meanwhile, had been keeping to the sidelines the whole time, totally unremarkable, no special contributions—just another face in the crowd.

So for Lucas to suddenly pop out and block Old John, striking this big-shot pose and demanding Old John answer his questions and pass his little test before stepping in—it was exactly like those insufferable types who jump out of nowhere going, "Let me quiz you!" So freaking pretentious!

"Sorry if my questions rubbed you the wrong way, Mr. John. But there are a few things about you and your crew that don't add up for me."

With that, Lucas raised his right hand and, out of habit, nudged his glasses up with his index and middle fingers. The old-school square lenses caught the light, flashing a smart gleam like a mirror. That image, straight out of a comic book panel, jogged some distant memory in Everly, and a suspicion started to form...

"I haven't brought this up before, but I'm actually a mystery novelist—pen name 'Noah Pipe.' In the past, I served as an honorary consultant—the Yona City PD invited me to help crack a few tough cases..." the bespectacled man continued.

"You're Noah Pipe?! Oh my god, I've read your books! 'The Fifth Personality' was insane—so clever and mind-blowing!"

"I've read your novels too! My favorite is 'Detective Fio's Lies'—I've read it over and over again, and I still remember every puzzle in it!"

Hearing the pen name, many in the crowd showed shocked expressions, and the front desk girl Minnie and Fatima were so excited their cheeks flushed red, as if they'd rush over for an autograph any second.

Everly: "..."

Well, no need to guess—it really was him...

Even though Everly didn't read mystery novels, she'd still heard of the name "Noah Pipe." It was like how people who've never read Harry Potter still know J.K. Rowling—Lucas's mystery novels were quite popular across America.

In "locked-room mystery" movies, there's the killer, the victim, the innocent bystanders caught up in it, and naturally, a detective who sees through everything and catches the culprit. And based on Everly's extensive experience watching films, when someone in a "locked-room" scenario gains the rare identity of "mystery novelist," that person is almost certainly the movie's protagonist.

No wonder... no wonder she always found Lucas so insufferable!

Perhaps influenced by the Sherlock Holmes stories, later works of fiction, when crafting famous detective characters, loved to give them traits like coldness, arrogance, conceit, and so on. Over time, "brilliant but rude and hard to get along with" became almost a stereotype for detectives.

Watching from behind a screen, the audience often identifies with the protagonist, watching a high-and-mighty hero tear everyone down with sharp analysis, stripping others bare, and seeing people swallow their frustration and follow along—it satisfies the audience's desire for vicarious triumph and hits the sweet spot.

But encountering such a protagonist in real life, being scrutinized like a suspect, is far from pleasant.

As the renowned mystery novelist "Noah Pipe," Lucas had won many major mystery writing awards. He pulled out his phone and showed photos of several award ceremonies to prove his identity.

Then, as a famous figure who had assisted police in solving cases, the bespectacled man bypassed Old John and naturally assumed supreme command of the murder investigation.

And this movie protagonist (highly suspected version), the moment he gained command, turned his suspicious gaze toward Old John's group, bluntly voicing his suspicions:

"I've actually been curious for a while—why would you, Mr. John, bring a satellite phone on a ski trip? Your answer was that you brought it because it seemed useful, but I find that unconvincing. Satellite phones aren't exactly common items; unless someone plans to venture into dangerous places like deep mountains or dense forests, ordinary people wouldn't think of buying such an expensive device."

"Furthermore, from my observation, you and your granddaughter Everly have thick calluses on your index fingers, ring finger sides, thumb bases, and the webbing between thumb and index—marks left by prolonged gun handling. And looking at the way you two walk—light and agile—and your habit of sidestepping close to doorframes when opening or closing doors, I have reason to believe you've both undergone systematic combat training and possess strong counter-surveillance awareness."

"Finally, one more thing raised my suspicion: when you and your three companions saw the professor's corpse, you all remained remarkably calm—at most furrowing your brows—without the fear, nausea, or revulsion typical of ordinary people... Am I right to assume you're quite accustomed to facing corpses head-on? And what was the subtle exchange between you and Ms. Rebecca after seeing the body?"

Lucas's words were sharp and aggressive, stopping just short of pointing directly at Old John's group and calling them murderers.

And the masses, being easily swayed by authority, began to look at the four with suspicion. Some of the more timid ones instinctively stepped back half a step, afraid of getting too close and being killed by them.

Everly was getting angry.

If you have questions, just ask—why phrase things so misleadingly? They hadn't done anything wrong; they'd even helped everyone contact the rescue team. Now that a murder had occurred, the crowd, led by Lucas, immediately turned suspicious eyes on them—how infuriating!

Of course, they could reveal their identities and explain everything. Old John was actually a retired detective and a doomsday prepper, which was why he'd trained his granddaughter Everly from a young age. As for Misha and Rebecca, both had encountered multiple bizarre cases before and were long since desensitized to corpses...

But for one, Americans generally value privacy, and being forced to reveal their identities and past experiences was unpleasant for them. For another, even if they explained, the suspicious would still suspect—after all, by any measure, the four of them were the most formidable and capable of killing among everyone present.

Ugh, what a pain!

After all, the folks at the inn were going to be stuck together for a week. Everly and Old John had originally planned to lend a hand in cracking the case, hoping that catching the real culprit sooner would make the days ahead calmer and safer.

But now, Everly had changed her mind.

"Closed-circle" murder mysteries typically involve serial killings; it's rare for there to be just one murder. Since a movie usually runs between 90 and 120 minutes, if it only dealt with a single case, the plot would feel too padded—whether the focus was on clue-hunting or the subsequent deduction—making the pacing hard to control.

So, films in this genre are almost synonymous with serial murders. Spreading the movie's runtime across several interconnected killings serves two purposes: on one hand, the successive deaths effectively heighten the thriller atmosphere; on the other, peeling back the layers case by case makes the puzzle-solving process twisty and more engaging.

But this also brings a problem—in a "closed-circle" murder scenario, the first murder often just serves as a catalyst. The killer leaves few traces or clues in the initial crime, and trapped in the lodge with no way to do more thorough forensic analysis, even a brilliant protagonist can't pinpoint the culprit based only on the clues from the first case.

By the middle or later part of the movie, when the killer strikes again, taking a second and third victim... as more clues surface and are pieced together through deduction, the detective can finally identify the true murderer.

Thinking this over, Everly stepped forward before her grandfather could respond, taking the initiative.

"Mr. Lucas," she said, "you say you're a famous mystery novelist who's cracked plenty of cases. Coincidentally, the four of us happen to be a well-known detective team as well. How about a challenge—let's see who cracks this case first."

"Oh?" Lucas shifted his gaze, his sharp eyes locking onto Everly's. A glint passed behind his glasses, and a flicker of interest crossed his face. "Are you challenging me? How intriguing—it's been years since anyone made such a request... But unfortunately, you're all too suspicious. I can't possibly allow you into the crime scene, even if you're trying to goad me."

"Ha..." Everly curled her lips into a somewhat fierce smile. "We don't need to enter the scene to solve this case... Still, since it's a competition, we'll give you time to inspect the area and hunt for the killer, so you can't claim unfairness when you lose. Anyway, good luck—hope you find what you need in that room."

With that, she grabbed Old John and the other two, casually backing up to lean against the wall across from Room 205, arms crossed, settling in to watch how things played out.

Lucas was taken aback.

He stared at Everly for a long moment, then silently turned and, under everyone's watchful eyes, walked into the bedroom alone.

...

(Please check the author's note—there's a 3000-word bonus chapter attached~)