Deep Within the Living-Chapter 1: The Diary

[Old Town Prison]
The architecture of the prison resembled a medieval castle, with its grand hall and imposing entrance. Towering fifty-meter-high walls flanked either side, punctuated by manned watchtowers spaced at regular intervals, working in tandem with drones for joint surveillance.
An invisible electric grid or some other strange film seemed to hover above the walls.
A black sedan adorned with gray streaks and a metallic cap-like decoration on its roof glided slowly along the solitary road, coming to a stop in the expansive prison parking lot.
Both the driver and passenger stepped out simultaneously, their black leather shoes striking the ground, though the size difference between them was noticeable.
Both individuals were clad in black trench coats, their chests adorned with badges featuring an eye motif, though the material and color of the badges varied slightly.
The driver, a young man with delicate features, appeared no older than thirty. As soon as he exited the car, his attention was captivated by the prison.
The passenger, a middle-aged man, seemed far more nonchalant, his face marked by deep eye bags. He stretched lazily, as if he had spent the entire journey asleep.
The older man did not look at the prison but instead fixed his gaze on his younger companion.
“Are we that short on staff?”
The raspy question, like a hand extending from a stone crevice, snapped the young man's attention back from the prison.
Scratching his head awkwardly, the younger man replied, “Mr. Anderson, you fell asleep as soon as you got in the car… My name is Zhang Chi, from the Behavioral Science Division. The director assigned me to accompany you on this inspection.”
“Bring the bird. Follow me,” Anderson said curtly.
Zhang Chi hesitated, puzzled. “Do we really need birds for a prison like this?”
Anderson seemed disinclined to explain. From the inner lining of his coat, he retrieved a metallic egg-shaped container.
Click.
With a precise mechanical motion, the shell of the egg opened, and a bird resembling a parrot emerged, flying instinctively to Anderson’s right shoulder.
Zhang Chi mimicked the process, summoning his own bird to perch on his shoulder.
Thus, the two men, one behind the other, strode toward the prison’s foreboding gates.
They underwent a series of strict procedures:
Identity verification
Weapon surrender
Blood testing
Psychological evaluation
Once all preparations were complete, a guard in full protective gear led them deeper into the prison. They bypassed the mixed-use and relatively open general area, where crude and vulgar jeers echoed from the open cells. The prisoners rarely saw outsiders dressed in formal attire without any protective gear.
Past the general area, they traversed a fully enclosed corridor. At its end, they descended fifty meters via a spiral staircase, reaching the deepest section of this frontier prison—a place neither guards nor the general prisoners were willing to approach.
[High-Security Detention Zone]
The prisoners held in this section were often guilty of crimes that surpassed even the boundaries of capital punishment. They were not only extraordinarily dangerous but, for certain reasons, could not be allowed to die.
“Mr. Di has already been moved to the
interaction room
. Please ensure your visitation does not exceed fifteen minutes. If any dangerous incidents occur, we will immediately terminate the session,” the guard explained.
Anderson interlaced his fingers, stretching his wrists, while issuing instructions to the young man beside him.
“Zhang Chi, I’ll be leading the conversation from here on. Do not speak to Mr. Di without my permission. Even eye contact should be minimized as much as possible.”
“Understood. I’ll focus on taking notes for the most part,” Zhang Chi replied, already pulling out the department-issued notebook, ready to diligently record the conversation.
“Let’s go.”
They passed through the final transition zone.
The prisoner was confined behind a barrier of new-generation bulletproof glass.
For Zhang Chi, this was his first field assignment, and it involved contact with such a notorious criminal. He couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. He had conducted thorough research before setting out and understood well just how dangerous this individual was.
The files referred to him as a “demon.”
This label came from the testimony of a survivor, who described the perpetrator not as a person, but as a devil with flaming eyes and curved horns on his head.
[Violent Syndrome], [High Intelligence], [Lack of Humanity], [Superhuman Physique]
These tags from the file were seared into Zhang Chi’s memory.
However, when Zhang Chi peered through the glass barrier into the cell, he saw only an ordinary young man performing standard push-ups.
There were no curved horns, no red devilish skin—just black hair and yellow skin, much like Zhang Chi himself.
Even when the man noticed the arrival of visitors, he didn’t stop his push-ups, merely moving his lips as he counted under his breath.
“198, 199, 200…”
After completing two hundred push-ups, “Mr. Di” finally stood up slowly.
He had deliberately dressed in a white shirt and suit trousers to greet his “guests.” The exertion had caused sweat to soak through large portions of his shirt.
When Zhang Chi got his first look at the man’s face, his initial impression was—unexpectedly—one of friendliness.
Upon closer inspection, Zhang Chi quickly detected an invisible menace lurking beneath Mr. Di’s seemingly friendly demeanor. His entire body tensed as a surge of vigilance overtook him.
At that moment, Mr. Di’s gaze shifted, locking onto Zhang Chi’s.
Zhang Chi, a trainee investigator who had graduated with top marks and near-perfect practical scores, instantly felt cold sweat trickling down his back. Nonetheless, he forced himself to maintain composure, nodding politely in greeting.
Using the nod as a cover, he lowered his head to jot down his earlier
feeling
in the notebook he carried.
“Mr. Di, we’re here to seek your assistance in analyzing a particular case,” Anderson interjected, seizing control of the conversation. At the same time, he placed a meticulously prepared document on a scanner, which promptly transmitted a copy to Mr. Di.
Mr. Di spent only three minutes scanning the document before neatly stacking the pages in his hand.
Their environment was completely soundproof, and all communication occurred via transmitted signals.
Mr. Di’s voice was received by a wall-mounted receptor, converted into electrical signals, and relayed to the earpieces worn by Anderson and Zhang Chi.
Even after being processed, his voice retained an unsettling quality. Though it came through the earpieces, it sounded as though it originated from the depths of the earth.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had young visitors. I’m willing to help you analyze this case, but on one condition—talking to an old man like you, Anderson, accelerates my aging. Let the young man discuss the case with me.”
Anderson, well-acquainted with the temperament of this criminal, knew that outright refusal would likely render the trip a waste of time.
He turned to Zhang Chi, who was diligently taking notes.
“Remember, during the conversation, avoid discussing any of your personal information. Stick strictly to questions related to the case. I’ll be monitoring the exchange the entire time. If the discussion veers into inappropriate territory, I will immediately intervene and terminate the session.”
As a trainee from the Behavioral Science Division, Zhang Chi knew that interacting with criminals was a core part of his future duties. Without hesitation, he accepted the task.
Anderson, the veteran, stepped back, ceding the floor to the two younger men.
Zhang Chi didn’t rush into engaging with the prisoner. Instead, he closed his eyes, employing a peculiar method to communicate with something deep within his mind.
When the silent exchange ended and he reopened his eyes, the earlier traces of youthful inexperience had vanished, replaced by a gaze of unyielding determination.
Just as Zhang Chi was about to speak to the criminal behind the bulletproof glass, the man greeted him with a friendly smile and raised his right hand, waving at a steady rhythm.
The voice synced through the earpiece, now notably friendlier than before:
“Come closer…”
The words seemed to seep into his thoughts, attempting to compel him.
But Zhang Chi remained motionless, mentally shielding himself from the pull of the man's words.
The voice continued in his earpiece, “Oh? It seems we have a talented newcomer here. But~ if you don’t come closer, we won’t have a conversation.”
“Step forward,” Anderson’s voice prompted from behind him.
Though his expression betrayed some reluctance, Zhang Chi stepped forward slowly, stopping a meter away from the glass.
“Ahem, Mr. Di, I’d like to discuss—” Zhang Chi began, only to be abruptly interrupted by a voice through the earpiece.
“What’s your name?”
Zhang Chi realized he had yet to introduce himself. As he prepared to utter his name, the voice spoke again.
“Zhang… Zhen… no, that’s not it. Let me guess—Zhang Chi, right?”
“Yes,” Zhang Chi replied.
As he prepared to steer the conversation back on topic, Mr. Di once again preempted him, directly delivering an analysis of the case.
“This ‘Butterfly Killer’ will strike again within three days. It’s very likely the victim is already in his custody. Investigate the areas where he committed his second or third crimes and look for missing males aged 45 to 55, particularly those who are obese. You might find a clue.”
While delivering his analysis, Mr. Di deftly folded the photocopied document in his hands with precision.
“Thank you,” Zhang Chi said. Having obtained useful information, he decided not to linger. A sense of danger hung in the air, one he was unwilling to ignore.
Just as he turned to leave, the earpiece transmitted a new line, chilling in its insinuation:
“So~ when are you planning to commit a crime?”
“What?!” Zhang Chi froze in shock.
“Let me rephrase. When did you first feel the urge to kill, Zhang Chi? Let me guess…”
Without hesitation, Zhang Chi ripped off the earpiece, cutting off the dialogue with Mr. Di.
However, the cessation of the transmission did not end the communication. Instead, the voice grew clearer, no longer processed by electrical signals, but emanating directly from behind him.
If the earlier voice felt like it came from the depths of the earth, this unfiltered voice was as if a fissure had opened straight to hell. It was the pure, unadulterated sound of the devil, seeping relentlessly into his mind.
“What?!”
To his horror, Zhang Chi found that the glass barrier between him and the prisoner had vanished entirely.
‘Stay calm~’
A whisper from within his mind instantly dissipated his tension. Zhang Chi swiftly donned the black gloves that accompanied his trench coat, switching to combat mode.
His jet-black trench coat, made of multilayered flexible metal designed for combat use, was capable of withstanding medium-caliber bullets. Moreover, Zhang Chi had achieved the highest scores in his entry-level combat tests within his group, making him more than ready for a confrontation.
Zhang Chi assumed a Mongolian wrestling stance, preparing to subdue the unarmed prisoner in front of him.
Swish!
Something flashed before his eyes, moving so fast that he couldn’t make out what it was.
Thud, thud, thud.
A series of soft impacts followed as something fell to the ground.
Zhang Chi glanced down and was horrified to see his ten fingers scattered across the floor, cleanly severed. His combat gloves had been sliced open with unnerving precision.
Ten fingers connected to the heart.
Yet, his brain suppressed the pain, his gritted teeth and bloodshot eyes fixed on Mr. Di. That was when he noticed the paper document in Mr. Di’s hand—folded into the shape of a knife.
“Paper!”
Zhang Chi barely had time to process the impossibility of what he was seeing. He shifted his stance and swung his mutilated hand with all his strength.
Smack!
The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed.
But his palm never reached Mr. Di. Instead, his wrist was caught in an iron grip. The sensation wasn’t that of human flesh—it felt like a burning metal shackle clamped down tightly.
“What kind of monster are you?!” Zhang Chi roared, unwilling to give up. He decisively launched a high kick.
Thwack!
This time, the kick connected.
However, the sensation that traveled up Zhang Chi’s foot felt as though he had struck solid stone. Mr. Di didn’t budge, his only reaction a slight tilt of his head, no more than 10 degrees.
Danger!
Zhang Chi’s instincts screamed louder than ever. An unprecedented sense of peril overwhelmed him.
In that moment, the faint whispers in his mind grew into a cacophony, as though his entire face was about to split open.
Hisssss...
Something resembling tendrils began to seep from the edges of his eye sockets and between his teeth. A crack appeared at the tip of his nose, as though his entire face was fracturing, ready to reveal the horrifying entity concealed within.
Chirp! Chirp!
The incessant cries of his bird filled the air.
The creature perched on Zhang Chi’s shoulder flapped its wings frantically, desperately trying to escape from its master.
Just as Zhang Chi’s body seemed poised to transform into some unspeakable horror,
Whoosh!
Once again, an object too fast to track hurtled toward him from the front.
Zhang Chi felt something pierce his mouth. The grotesque transformation of his face came to an abrupt halt as his mind began to fog.
Looking down, he saw the folded paper knife embedded in his mouth, piercing through to his brain and destroying a vital cluster of tissue.
In his fleeting moments of clarity, as the edges of consciousness blurred, fragmented memories surfaced—brief but vivid.
It seemed that, at some point, Zhang Chi had begun hearing faint whispers within his mind.
Under their influence, he would occasionally act like a stranger, alien even to himself.
It seemed that not long ago, he had killed his own girlfriend.
Thud!
His body collapsed heavily to the floor, pinkish fluid trickling from the paper knife embedded in his mouth.
An agent had been killed, yet the prison’s alarm remained eerily silent. The only response was the slow re-emergence of the bulletproof glass barrier, descending from the ceiling to separate the cell once again.
Outside the glass, Anderson leisurely lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke as his gaze fell on the corpse. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes—not at the death of his colleague, but at the realization that Mr. Di had grown even stronger despite his time confined within the prison.
Inside the cell, Mr. Di crouched beside the body, appearing to examine it closely. He provided an impromptu analysis:
“This guy didn’t even realize he had already undergone a ‘change,’ enabling him to perfectly disguise himself. These things… they’re evolving.”
Anderson’s voice came through the earpiece:
“We appreciate your assistance with this matter, Mr. Di.”
Mr. Di turned his gaze toward Anderson. “Since you already suspected there was something wrong with him, why didn’t you deal with it internally?”
Anderson shrugged nonchalantly.
“If word got out that we had a ‘mimic’ infiltrating our ranks, it would spark widespread panic. Even a one-in-ten-thousand chance of exposure is unacceptable. By comparison, an agent being killed during a prison inspection by a convicted criminal? That’s a much more palatable explanation.”
“Is that so?”
Mr. Di abruptly stood and approached the glass, pressing his entire face against it as though preparing to break through.
The sight made even Anderson, a seasoned operative, break out in a cold sweat.
“Mr. Di, rest assured, there will be compensation for your assistance. The item you requested last time? We’ve found it for you.”
Hearing this, Mr. Di immediately returned to normal, stepping back voluntarily, his tone becoming much more amicable.
“Is that so?”
Anderson reached into his coat and retrieved an old, leather-bound notebook, its age evident from its worn appearance.
“I’ll make a copy for you right now.”
“No need. I want the original,” Mr. Di replied, a strange smile playing on his lips.
In his hand, he held a collection of teeth—freshly extracted from Zhang Chi’s corpse during his examination.
The teeth had been meticulously embedded into Mr. Di’s fingers, transformed into an improvised, macabre tool.
With his five fingers pressed against the glass, Mr. Di rotated his hand in a clockwise motion, slicing a perfect circular opening into the bulletproof glass.
Crackling sounds filled the air.
Mr. Di extended his arm through the opening, tilting his hand to let the teeth tumble out and roll to a stop at Anderson’s feet. Then, with a calm demeanor, he gestured for Anderson to hand over the item.
This act triggered the prison’s alarm system, bathing the corridor in flashing red light.
Yet, Anderson did not step back. Instead, he moved closer, passing the notebook in his hand to Mr. Di.
The moment the notebook was in his grasp, Mr. Di’s demeanor transformed entirely. His once dangerous presence softened, his attention wholly consumed by the diary.
He ran his fingers over the cover with delicate reverence, even pressing it to his face to inhale deeply, as though savoring the scent of a lover’s skin.
“Ah… untouched by others’ hands, unsullied by any foreign scent. It’s perfect. Thank you, Mr. Anderson.”
The visitation concluded, and Anderson proactively ed the incident to the prison authorities, instructing them under no circumstances to interfere with Mr. Di as he reviewed the diary.
Back in his cell, Mr. Di could no longer contain his anticipation. He meticulously washed the bloodstains from his hands and carefully dried them with a towel.
Seated upright at his desk, he hooked his forefinger under the diary’s leather cover, gently flipping it open. His eyes locked onto the words within, each one drawing his focus.
[Owner: Luo Di]
[Diary Commencement: June 10, 2026]
Day 1, Weather: Sunny
As Luo Di’s eyes absorbed the words, his mind drifted back in time, to the unique and extraordinary days of his high school years.