My mortal enemy Jiang Ci and I were ordered to go undercover to investigate a bizarre case. Before each crime, the criminal sends a note with a homophone: "I'm going to pick up your 'head' (mobile phone) tomorrow."
We pretended to be a couple and lurked, but found out that the target was the internet celebrity I was following.
Until he wrote in the serial: "At eight o'clock tonight, the protagonist will die from talking too much -"
And my cell phone suddenly rang: "Hello, the 'body collection' service you booked has arrived at the door."
Intent: This work attempts to wrap sharpness with humor and raise heavy questions in laughter: When the boundaries between reality and fiction are deliberately blurred, and when the most familiar strangers become the closest comrades, how should we protect the bottom line that cannot be ridiculed in the absurd puzzle?
Just like the homophones that appear repeatedly in the story - it can be the beginning of a crime, or it can be the code to decipher people's hearts; it can be the knife that tears apart trust, or it can be the bridge that connects each other. The key is never in the language itself, but in the direction of the heart that uses the language.