At this moment, William Carter stood motionless, his eyes unfocused as if he were lost in thought.

"Wait a second." Just as James Turner placed his hand on the tonearm, William Carter called out, "Don't turn it off yet."

"What's wrong?" James Turner looked at him with some displeasure, only to see William Carter searching for a pen on the table and jotting something down on a scrap of paper.

Did he notice something? James Turner slowly withdrew his hand and began to listen carefully to this strange, disjointed piece of music.

At first, the stutters in the music seemed almost random—sometimes brief, sometimes lasting longer. But upon closer listening, he realized that at the end of every two measures, the stutter would pause for a few seconds before reappearing, and even the duration of the stutters was identical each time.

It was like some kind of cycle...

James Turner quickly caught on: each cycle began with the repetition of the code.

Long stutter—short stutter—short stutter—short stutter—music

Short stutter—long stutter—short stutter—music

Short stutter—music

Long—short—music

Long—short—long—music

...

The alternation of long and short—it's Morse code.

He stood in front of the phonograph, listening to a few measures. Meanwhile, William Carter, who had just been bent over the desk, had already straightened up, scrutinizing the draft he had just worked out before walking over to James Turner's side.

"You've cracked it?" James Turner was a bit surprised. As far as he knew, William Carter's major was art—how could he decipher Morse code so quickly?

William Carter nodded, his brows slightly furrowed. He walked over to the mirror he had noticed earlier, stared at it intently for a moment, then said to James Turner, "Step back a bit."

James Turner was puzzled but still moved aside. He saw William Carter lift the tonearm, abruptly cutting off the music. Just as he was about to ask what information William Carter had decoded, he was a step too late. William Carter took a step back with his right foot, clenched his cuffed hands in front of his chest, and with practiced precision, delivered a side kick.

With a bang, the oval mirror shattered. He quickly retracted his leg as shards reflecting the light clattered onto the wooden cabinet and floor, making a crisp, breaking sound. As the pieces fell, the true form of the ornate mirror frame was finally revealed.

Inside the gray base of the frame, a silver key was affixed.

"Could you help me unlock this?" William Carter turned to glance at James Turner, stretching out his bound hands toward him.

To be honest, William Carter's intelligence exceeded James Turner's expectations.

In that split second, he even considered whether he should seize the key while William Carter was off guard, to use as leverage against him in the future—after all, this was an extremely cunning person, and there was a high chance he was the killer.

But in the end, he gave up on that idea. James Turner glanced at those wrists reddened by the handcuffs and felt a bit ashamed of his own thoughts.

If he got tricked by him later, he'd just have to accept his bad luck. James Turner stepped forward and took down the key. The props team had really done their job—the key was stuck on so firmly that it took quite a bit of effort to remove it.

William Carter obediently held out his hands in front of James Turner, watching as he lowered his head to unlock the cuffs. This scene was a great aesthetic pleasure for him.

James Turner's handsome nose and the exquisite angle of his eyes looked even more refined from this lowered angle—a kind of sculpted masculinity, with beautiful lines connecting his brow bone and the bridge of his nose, like a silent mountain toppled by a wild wind. His bowed head and the focused look in his eyes reminded William Carter involuntarily of Paul from Rodin's sculpture "The Kiss."

If it weren't for the fact that they were filming a reality show, William Carter would definitely have leaned in to whisper in his ear.

[This face of yours really is made for kissing.]

Chapter 9: The Mystery of the Shattered Glass

"All done."

The handcuffs clicked open. Mission accomplished, James Turner looked up, meeting William Carter's direct gaze off guard. He instinctively frowned, looked away, coughed, and with a flick of his wrist, tossed the open handcuffs into his palm and set them down on the wooden cabinet with a snap.

William Carter smiled, gently rubbing his wrists as he softly said thank you. Remembering James Turner's expression just after unlocking him, he added, "You realized it was Morse code too, right?"

James Turner nodded, reaching into his pocket to check the time. "But I can't really remember the exact Morse code correspondences. It was a bit of a struggle to decode, so I had to guess."

William Carter replayed the music he had paused earlier and explained along with the tune, "It starts with a long stutter, then three short ones. After the short stutters, the music resumes. [Long, short, short, short] corresponds to the letter B. Then there's [short, long, short], which is the letter R." The music, mixed with the inserted stutters, continued to play. "[Short]—the letter E... [Short, long]—the letter A... [Long, short, long]—the letter K..."