From Apocalypse To Entertainment Circle (BL)-Chapter 86: The Face Collector

By the time Jiāo Liàngchén arrived, Sian had already kicked the attacker, sending him crashing into a tree. Now, Sian stood in front of the crying girl.

Jiāo Liàngchén froze in place, neither moving nor speaking.

Meanwhile, the man Sian had sent flying got back to his feet, his crazed, obsessive gaze locking onto Sian.

His face was far from handsome; rather, it was terrifying. And now, after taking Sian’s kick, it had become even more twisted and grotesque.

He staggered forward, mumbling to himself, before speaking in a clear, eerie voice:

"You... You’re the one from before? I really, really liked your face. You’re an angel. No one in my collection can compare to your beauty."

A chilling giggle escaped his lips as his eyes glowed with a twisted desire.

"Hehehe... I want it. I want your beautiful face. Those dazzling, captivating eyes... those delicate, cherry-red lips... I want everything! Hahaha!"

"No, no... just taking your face isn’t enough. It’s not enough. I want you. I want all of you. Yes! I can preserve you. I’ll take you and turn you into my finest, most precious treasure. I’ll embalm you... And that way, your beauty will last forever. With me. Forever."

"This sick bastard," Jiāo Liàngchén spat, disgust twisting his face.

Wan Wan had been terrified moments ago, but with Sian here, her fear had melted away. Still, she couldn’t stop crying. She turned her tear-filled eyes to Sian and choked out, "Brother Sian... he... he killed someone. I saw it. He... he skinned a girl’s face and held it in his hands. He... he wanted to do the same to me... and he said he has a collection... Brother... he’s a killer... a truly evil killer..."

She barely managed to finish her sentence before the horrific scene she had witnessed resurfaced in her mind, and she broke down in sobs again.

But Sian had already understood everything from those few words. A certain case file suddenly flashed through his memory—the one Lan Qisheng had tossed onto his desk the other day.

A deranged serial killer obsessed with faces. He skinned his victims alive, leaving behind only mutilated corpses. More than thirty similar cases have been reported so far.

And yet, until now, the killer had left behind no trace.

"Oh."

Sian let out a soft exclamation, drawing the attention of the three people present at the scene. However, he remained unbothered and continued speaking, his ponytail swaying in the silent night breeze.

"So, you’re that infamous serial killer. Can I ask you something?"

A seductive smile curled on Sian’s lips as he spoke. His face was breathtakingly beautiful, and under the moonlight, his slightly golden eyes shimmered with an ethereal glow that could steal one’s breath away.

If any of Sian’s subordinates or acquaintances from his previous world were here, they would immediately recognize the barely restrained fury beneath his composed demeanor. The perpetrator had awakened a demon—one that would soon drag him to hell.

However, the three individuals before him were too captivated by the beauty of the teenage boy to notice anything else.

Well, except for one person.

The pig-faced, overweight man was staring at Sian obsessively, his mouth slightly open, drool dripping down his chin.

"Yes, yes! Ask me anything, my angel—anything at all!"

The man responded eagerly, stepping closer, inch by inch, toward Sian.

Sian paid no mind to the approaching man. His smile deepened, becoming even more refined and dazzling as he spoke with eerie calmness.

"Do you enjoy skinning people? Is it fun?"

His voice remained casual, yet the words carried a chilling weight.

"I mean, the sound of flesh being sliced, peeled apart... The way it separates from the bone amidst the squelching of blood and tissue—does it thrill you?"

A stunned silence fell over the group.

The girl trembled in fear, clutching her clothes tightly as she curled into herself. Meanwhile, Jiāo Liàngchén kept his gaze locked onto Sian, scrutinizing every step he took, every movement he made, every word he uttered.

Why would Sian ask such a question to a deranged murderer?

Serial killers were nothing more than mentally disturbed individuals.

Then, a voice, unexpectedly enthusiastic, broke the silence.

"Ah, ah—yes! Finally, someone who understands me! Hehehe!"

The man’s excitement was palpable, his eyes gleaming as he chuckled manically.

"It’s so fun! So, so fun! I love beautiful faces. People always told me I had an ugly one—that I would’ve been better off if I were as beautiful as my mother. Even my father said I wasn’t my mother’s child because I didn’t resemble her at all! He never loved me."

His expression twisted with resentment before quickly shifting back to unhinged excitement.

"They said only those with beautiful faces are loved, cherished, and treated well. So, I learned to collect beautiful things from a young age. Even faces. I have a lot—so many treasures! I’ll show you when I take you with me! But don’t worry..."

The man grinned, his pupils dilating in obsession.

"You’re the most precious of them all. My greatest treasure. My angel."

Sian didn’t react.

He didn’t care.

Frankly, he never cared about how much someone had suffered to become who they were.

To him, a bad person was simply a bad person—because they chose to be.

He never believed in blaming one’s environment or upbringing for their crimes. In his lifetime, he had encountered criminals who had children purer and kinder than anyone else. Conversely, he had seen teachers and doctors—people raised in good, loving homes—whose offspring had grown up to be depraved monsters.

One could not always blame the parents.

A person, once grown, possesses enough rationality to distinguish right from wrong. And if they still chose the wrong path, then that was their decision, their choice, their intent.

"Oh, so you truly enjoy it?"

Sian’s voice was light, indifferent.

He made no comments about the man’s past, nor did he ask any further questions.

... And he did not ask whether the man had ever regretted his actions or felt pity for the souls he had taken, the ones he had tormented in the most inhuman ways.

Why must he ask such hollow questions?

What was the point?

Would questioning the man bring his victims back to life?

Would it ease the pain of their grieving loved ones?

Would it erase the suffering they endured before their deaths?

Sian had no interest in meaningless actions.

The man had now stepped close enough—mere centimeters away.

Then, his eyes flashed with murderous intent.

In an instant, he lunged forward, dagger in hand, aiming to stab Sian.

"Watch out!"

"Brother Sian!"