Chapter 91: The Human Meat Processing Plant

I was the first to step down, pulling Huang Xiaotao's hand as we entered the dark tunnel. The stairs were slick and slippery from years of dampness, corroded by moisture. Every cautious step we took felt precarious.

The basement walls were lined with old, faded ceramic tiles, stained with watermarks, their original colors long lost. Above us, a single incandescent bulb flickered intermittently from unstable voltage.

A plastic curtain divided the basement into two sections. Behind it, a strong, metallic scent hit my nostrils — the unmistakable smell of human blood.

It's like searching everywhere for a needle in a haystack — only to realize the true culprit has been hiding right under our noses all along.

Huang Xiaotao drew her pistol, her expression sharpening instantly.

I reached out and pulled aside the curtain. Together we stepped inside.

Hanging from the ceiling was a row of rusted iron hooks—the kind butchers use to hang meat. Dried blood crusted some of them.

On the long table below lay a long, dark plastic bag—its shape suspiciously human. Drops of blood dripped steadily from the table's edge, pooling into a small puddle on the floor.

Another table held a huge, round chopping block, scarred with countless knife marks. It was well-worn and sunken in the center, with a pool of blood collected there.

Next to the block was a rack of knives—cleavers and boning knives—with polished handles and blades that gleamed coldly, radiating a chilling aura.

...

At the very bottom was a manual meat grinder, bolted firmly to the table. A red basin sat beneath it, filled with suspicious minced meat.

The sight sent a shiver down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Cold sweat broke out across my back.

This was nothing less than a human meat processing workshop.

Huang Xiaotao pulled out her phone and dialed headquarters. Before the call connected, I heard soft footsteps behind us, deliberately quiet.

We both spun around.

A tall, shadowy figure emerged behind the curtain, wielding a thick wooden stick!

Before we could react, the stick swung swiftly from behind the curtain. Huang Xiaotao screamed. Her phone flew somewhere unknown, and a trickle of blood ran down her forehead.

She immediately stepped back, gripping her gun with both hands, and shouted fiercely, "Drop your weapon or I'll shoot!"

The curtain was slowly pushed aside by a thick, long rolling pin—over a meter in length, clearly a makeshift weapon. Out stepped Tang, the cook.

But he looked like a different man. Instead of the sinister, terrifying expression I expected, a faint smile played on his lips. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, his eyes fixed on us like a starving man spotting his prey.

My mind went blank. How had Tang appeared behind us without a sound?

Later, I realized we had been so focused on the meat workshop that we hadn't checked the rest of the room carefully. Tang had been hiding behind baskets of potatoes and cabbage, blocking our escape route.

"Meat, fresh meat delivered!" Tang muttered, his voice oddly unfamiliar.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm Ma Jinhua—the man you've been looking for all along," he answered.

We were stunned. Tang was Ma Jinhua? Could he be suffering from dissociative identity disorder?

I had suspected dissociative identity disorder before, thinking Ma Jinhua was a mentally ill man with split personalities. But I never imagined that Ma Jinhua didn't really exist—that he was merely another persona of Tang.

"You're talking nonsense. You're Tang! I order you to put down your weapon and stop this. There are cops I arranged in the neighborhood!" Huang Xiaotao shouted.

I immediately understood—she said that on purpose. Her phone, smashed and lying in a corner, had connected the call. She wanted headquarters to hear what was happening and send reinforcements quickly.

Tang ignored her words completely, stepping closer with a face twisted in greed, hunger, and madness.

To him, we were just meat—no different from pigs or cattle. He didn't see his actions as crimes. He killed to make buns, to eat. That was what chilled me to the bone.

Suddenly Tang swung the rolling pin. At the same moment, Huang Xiaotao fired her gun, but the weapon slipped from her hand and the bullet missed, only grazing Tang's left shoulder.

He looked down at the wound, gritted his teeth, and hissed angrily, "How dare you hurt me, you two naughty little lambs!"

Then he raised the rolling pin and attacked again.

Tang was tall and broad-shouldered. The rolling pin weighed at least tens of kilograms, and his powerful swings pushed us back step by step—until we reached the table with the bodies.

He swung so close to the lamp shade that the incandescent bulb swung wildly above, casting flickering light across his twisted face, making it even more terrifying.

I noticed Huang Xiaotao had been holding her right wrist with her left hand—it was swollen from being hit.

She said, "I'll hold him off, you run and call for help."

"No way!" I refused immediately.

"Stop talking nonsense. You're useless in a fight. I'll protect you!" she insisted.

Before I could stop her, she charged forward. The size difference was huge—Tang looked like a giant compared to her. I couldn't help but worry.

Huang Xiaotao kicked at Tang's large belly, but he barely staggered and grabbed her leg.

"Hehe, what beautiful legs—would make a tasty stew," he sneered, saliva dripping onto her foot. Then he raised the rolling pin to strike her head.

I was about to scream when Huang Xiaotao used the momentum to leap up and spin midair, kicking Tang's neck hard with her other foot.

Though strong, Tang was knocked off balance and slammed his hand on another table to steady himself. He dropped the rolling pin and snatched a heavy cleaver from the wall.

Seeing this, Huang Xiaotao retreated quickly.

Tang drooled and his eyes gleamed with madness, wildly hacking at her, forcing her back to the chopping block.

She scrambled for something to defend herself—but the table held only a corpse wrapped in plastic.

Terrified but unable to watch her get hurt, I gritted my teeth and grabbed the rolling pin from the floor, swinging it twice at Tang's head.

The wood struck with loud thuds, and for the first time in my life, I hit someone in the head with a stick. The impact even numbed my hand.

Tang turned with a snarl, blood dripping from his forehead down to his nose, making him look even more monstrous.

"Why are you all so disobedient!" he roared, swinging the cleaver at me.

The blade whistled through the air. I instinctively raised the rolling pin to block—and a third of it was sliced off. The knife was insanely fast.

In the moment I was stunned, Tang kicked my stomach, sending a fiery ache through my gut. I stumbled back several steps, the rolling pin flying from my hands.

Suddenly, Huang Xiaotao yelled sharply and leapt onto Tang's back, choking him with both hands.

Tang thrashed wildly like a raging bull, trying to throw her off. Finally, he smashed into the wall repeatedly—four or five times. I was terrified she'd be crushed.

Exhausted, Huang Xiaotao collapsed weakly.

Tang grabbed her hair, yanking her head upward. The pain was brutal—she clutched his huge hand desperately, her face twisted in agony.

Raising the cleaver high, Tang snarled, "Don't worry—I'll make you into delicious meat buns!"

Just as the blade was about to fall on her neck, I grabbed a boning knife from the wall and charged.

Tang heard my footsteps and tried to turn—but it was too late.

Thrust.

The knife plunged deep into his lower back, almost halfway in…