There's definitely something wrong with this murder mystery game

The second floor corner also boasts a spacious room, though it's not a bedroom—it's more like a grand hall.

The room has wooden flooring, floor-to-ceiling windows draped with dark red curtains, tall bookcases reaching up to the ceiling lining the walls, and a hefty grand piano situated right in the middle.

The female writer surveyed the room, pulling several books off the shelf at random to flick through.

Nearly every book had the same signature on its title page and end page, similar to the one on her manuscript pages, but the author names on the books varied.

It must be that the writer liked to take notes in the books after reading them.

The books with signed end pages seemed to be frequently handled, with bookmarks tucked inside, some passages highlighted, and annotations in the margins.

She was a writer constantly absorbing knowledge and Inspiration.

The female writer replaced the books and turned towards the grand piano standing in the center.

There was a red leather piano bench in front of the piano, which from the looks of the marks on it, was often sat upon.

And there were two different sets of marks?

The female writer brushed her hand over the bench thoughtfully before sitting down sideways on it, her fingers dancing across the piano keys and producing a short, pleasant melody.

On the piano's stand was a piece of sheet music that she picked up and examined, her gaze sharpening.

At the bottom of the sheet music was her own signature.

Although there was a pianist in the mansion, it was still unclear what kind of relationship the pianist had with them, the owners.

With this in mind, the female writer touched the musical note brooch on her chest, a curious detail that all the other players had noticed and that she certainly couldn't overlook herself.

The pianist appeared to be in her twenties and didn't resemble the lawyer or her at all, making it difficult to determine any familial connection.

If the sheet music bore her own signature, then it was safe to assume that it belonged to the writer.

And the two different sets of marks on the bench suggested that at least two people in the mansion played the piano and had played a duet not long ago.

Was it the writer and the pianist?

But the lawyer and the writer were married, as the photos hanging in the master bedroom clearly showed.

—Could she have been unfaithful?

The female writer looked puzzled as she took out her personal diary that she always carried with her.

There weren't many marks in the diary, suggesting that the writer used it to record her life but seldom revisited it.

The most recent entry was a photo of the pianist playing the piano in this room, with the text below lavish in its praise of how the pianist's music lifted her spirits.

Before that, there were a few photos of the lawyer and writer in front of a concert hall, followed by the entry of the pianist moving into the villa.

The female writer furrowed her brows in thought.

Judging by the usage marks on the piano and their frequent concert-going habits, she must have been able to play the piano originally.

And the diary entries suggested that the writer had recently hit a creative block and needed to listen to music for Inspiration—hence, she attracted a home pianist.

That seemed to make a bit of sense.

Though it still didn't rule out the possibility of her having an affair.

The female writer muttered to herself—if those scattered manuscripts in the living room were the result of an argument with the lawyer, that wouldn't be too far-fetched either.

So, who exactly was the person who died?

...

...

In the kitchen.

The piano player licked some strawberry jam off his fingers and said, "The bloodstains in the kitchen lead to the dining room. They mustn't belong to the same person as the pool of blood at the front door, right?"

"If there's more than one victim, it seems the person stumbled upon the murder in the kitchen and ran towards the entrance, but got caught," the chef said, putting down his knife and standing at the kitchen entrance as he pointed at the bloody handprint.

"To commit a murder in the kitchen..." The piano player's gaze drifted solemnly to the side.

The chef knew the reason well and couldn't help but chuckle bitterly, "But what exactly happened here, we can't remember either."

The piano player shrugged.

The moment everyone woke up, they remembered nothing other than their names. It was an amnesia-themed deduction game, and the only way to find answers was through the clues scattered around the mansion.

Darkness was beyond the windows of the mansion, and it was night. The clock in the living room pointed to half past twelve, which was precisely midnight as mentioned in the prologue.

Then, a pleasant piano sound came from upstairs.

However, the music played only briefly and then stopped, as if the person who found the piano had simply pressed a few keys at random, with no intention of playing a piece.

"There's a piano upstairs; I wonder what my relationship with the homeowner is," the piano player mused, rubbing his chin and stepping toward the staircase.

Watching the piano player's retreating figure, the chef didn't follow. He looked around the kitchen for a moment and then opened the refrigerator.

A foul, bloody smell hit him.

The blood inside the fridge hadn't coagulated due to the cold but had retained some freshness. As the door swung open, threads of blood began to trickle down the edge of the counter.

It seemed that something had been stored in there.

...

The spacious living room was in disarray. The piano player deftly avoided the bloodstains on the floor, but when he reached the front door, he came to a sudden halt at the sight of the bloody handprint.

The piano player looked around. The chef was still in the kitchen, and it seemed that everyone else had gone to the second floor or other places. No one was near him now.

So, he approached the front door, opened his right hand, and held it against the blood handprint on the door.

It was a perfect match...

The piano player swiftly removed his hand, glanced around to ensure no one saw him, then nonchalantly continued toward the spiral staircase.

The mansion's spiral staircase wasn't S-shaped but more of a semicircular form, rising approximately five or six meters to the second floor.

The banisters were topped with prism decorations, carved with intricate patterns, exuding luxury and opulence.

As the piano player ascended the stairs, he glanced unintentionally at the banister pillar and suddenly narrowed his eyes.

The varnish on the pillar was a bit darker in color, and there were also speckles of blood on the floor at the stair entrance. It appeared that someone had knocked into the pillar, causing the bloodshed.

If one's head had hit it, whether they could be saved was uncertain.

The piano player stared at the pillar for a while and then looked back at the handprint on the front door. A scenario began to form in his mind.

'Someone, in a panic, tried to run down from the second floor and accidentally twisted their foot, tumbling into the pillar. Yet they still had some strength to keep running towards the door.'

——And then the pursuer caught up and killed them.

Thinking this, the piano player unconsciously touched his own head.

The distance from the stair entrance to the front door of the mansion was indeed a straight line, with no obstructions in between, but it wasn't necessarily what happened.

The piano player walked up the stairs and, upon reaching the second floor, saw a shattered vase on the corridor floor.

[The servant was dusting a vase inside the mansion.]

Suddenly, this phrase from the script's introduction flashed through the piano player's mind.