Category: Surrender 4 (Page 5 of 6)

       The phrase ‘passive resistance’ was a violation of the rules. If someone reported it, the offender would be penalised with a point deduction, while the informant would be rewarded with three points.

       Qin Mu gave the acne face a warning glance, then pretended he hadn’t heard anything and walked away. Since the start of the school term, he had never once taken the initiative to report others—this was a line he had silently vowed never to cross. Though he feared the electric shocks, he feared more the possibility of turning into mad dogs moulded by authoritarian policies and relentless brainwashing like those of his ‘classmates’, willing to betray kindness for a few bonus points or to avoid punishment.

       The ‘correction and reform’ continued. During this period, Zheng Yan came to visit him once. Under the teacher’s arrangement, Qin Mu ‘proactively and willingly’ knelt down to wash Zheng Yan’s feet, all while reciting the words he had memorised so thoroughly from daily repetition—that he had been rebellious during adolescence, obsessed with being different, which had led to psychological problems; that he had defied his parents, disobeyed them, been unfilial and committed grave sins; that from now on, under the guidance of his teachers and classmates, he would work hard to reform himself…

       When he reached the part about being grateful for his parents’ nurturing, he kowtowed heavily and shed tears.

       Qin Mu felt as though a personality entirely alien to himself had split off from him. This personality was like a skilled actor, precisely performing a carefully written script’s expressions, gestures, and lines. Meanwhile, his true self was filled with hatred and disgust, watching numbly from within.

       He saw the rare joy and satisfaction on Zheng Yan’s face. The same face just like when she used to look at his report cards. She was overjoyed and hugged him with tears in her eyes, saying, “My son has come back! Thank goodness, my son has come back…”

       Who was this ‘son’ of hers? Qin Mu dazedly wondered as he lay in that familiar yet unfamiliar embrace. If what she liked and needed was a fake version of him, then what meaning did the real him have?

       The true self that had been repeatedly swallowed by waves of loneliness, helplessness, fear, pain, and despair but still clung stubbornly to the driftwood, refusing to sink. What exactly was it struggling for?

       Whether he left or not, no one was waiting for him outside.

       Qin Mu had never felt so helpless as he did at that moment. And yet, he smiled and hugged Zheng Yan tightly in return, just like a prodigal son halting at the edge of a cliff and returning to his mother’s embrace.

       That night, he curled up under the blanket, covered his mouth with his hands, and cried in silence. Afterwards, he tried hard to convince himself to stay strong. He silently recited the classical poems he had learned, seeking comfort—

       Cling tight to the green mountain, never letting go.

       Treat raging fire as if it’s nothing at all.

       When mountains pile, rivers twist, and no road seems ahead, a village appears through the shade of willows, bright and new.

       Walk to where the stream ends and sit watching the clouds rise.

       He wanted to draw courage from those ancient people who had been long gone. These lines became his fragile thread to the outside world, his faint connection to his real teachers and classmates—like flickering fireflies in the night, emitting a sliver of light that kept him from being forever lost in the dark. Even now, he was using all his strength to preserve his final shred of authenticity, holding tight to his own sense of right and wrong, good and evil, true and false as resistance against the unending brainwashing and assimilation.

       But the hand holding the pen of fate refused to stop writing and slowly inscribed unreadable passages.

       One day, two months after arriving at the reform school, the yellow teeth man went out to receive new students, and Qin Mu’s reform teacher was replaced by a man in his forties—Teacher Zhou. His face was broad and fleshy with the top of his head balding. He was brutal toward the students, quick to punish and beat them, and Qin Mu was very afraid of him.

       The discipline room’s air conditioning was off. Baldie Zhou came in wrapped in a down coat, plopped himself down on a stool, looked Qin Mu up and down, and smirked crookedly, “Take off your clothes and pants.”

       Qin Mu froze. Normally, the yellow teeth man only made him take off his shirt—never his pants.

       Seeing his hesitation, Baldie Zhou lifted his discipline ruler and lashed it hard against Qin Mu’s shoulder, shouting angrily, “Hurry up!”

       Qin Mu gasped from the pain. His hands trembled as he took off his clothes and outer pants, peeled off his thermal bottoms, and stood there with his arms down.

       Baldie Zhou raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you understand human language? I said everything off!”

       “Teacher Zhou…” Qin Mu was both humiliated and terrified. He tried to plead but was struck again. In the end, with tears brimming in his eyes, he pulled down his underwear.

       “Well-developed, huh.” Baldie Zhou used the discipline ruler to poke at Qin Mu’s pen-s, speaking with a mocking smile. “Heard you like men?”

       “I used to be sick in the head. I don’t like them anymore.” Qin Mu didn’t dare move. He was cold and nervous, trembling all over.

       Baldie Zhou slapped him twice on the face with the ruler. “Lying through your teeth. I can tell at a glance.” Then he stood up, slowly circling around Qin Mu twice—then, without warning, pressed up behind him.

       Qin Mu flinched and instinctively leaned forward, only to be caught around the neck by Baldie Zhou’s elbow. Baldie Zhou lowered his voice and said, “Aren’t you shivering from the cold? If Teacher holds you like this, you won’t feel cold anymore.”

       Qin Mu, struggling to breathe, had to lean back. He tensed and stammered, “Teacher Zhou… I’m not cold anymore.”

       “Lying again. Want to be locked in the black room?” Baldie Zhou saw he was frightened and said slowly, “You young kids, always stirring up trouble. Homosexuality, huh? Do you know how homosexuals do it?” He tossed the ruler aside, and his rough hand slid down Qin Mu’s spine, into his buttocks, pressing a finger against Qin Mu’s anus. Leaning into his ear, he said, “It’s about shoving a d1ck in here and thrusting. You know about the prostate, right? Thrusting there will make you aroused. Heh, little brat, want to try it?”

       Qin Mu, pale and trembling, said, “Teacher Zhou… I don’t want to try…”

       “Don’t like that? There’s another way. Shove the d1ck in your mouth, ram it down your throat, fvck it hard, and shoot it all out for you to drink as a tonic.” Baldie Zhou kneaded Qin Mu’s buttocks playfully and said, “I still prefer your ass—nice and perky, soft. It’d probably feel good to thrust into.”

       “Teacher Zhou… please don’t, Teacher Zhou…” Qin Mu was terrified and began to cry.

       “Stop pretending, little liar. I know what you’re thinking. Tired of being a good kid, hitting p***rty and wanting to play rebel to seem different. Don’t you like being a homosexual? I’ll let you have a taste. Go bend over the lectern and stick your ass up.”

       Qin Mu was terrified. He didn’t react until he was pushed to the lectern. He broke free and turned to run. But the door was locked, and the windows were barred with iron grilles—there was no escape. Baldie Zhou grabbed him. Qin Mu shouted for help and struggled with all his might.

       No one came.

       Baldie Zhou took a few hits to his face and body and was enraged. He threw Qin Mu to the ground, straddled him, and slapped his face over a dozen times until his mouth bled and his face swelled painfully. He tied Qin Mu’s hands with his belt, unzipped his pants, and molested Qin Mu while pinning him down. Qin Mu resisted fiercely from beginning to end, his tensed body preventing penetration despite bleeding. Unable to enter, Baldie Zhou could only thrust between his legs a few times to satisfy his lust, then panted and ejaculated on Qin Mu’s face.

       Qin Mu was dragged out for electric shocks and locked in solitary confinement to starve for a whole day.

       He began to run a fever. The high fever dragged him into a delirious, terrifying nightmare, tormenting him repeatedly with no escape.

       The half-baked school doctor was too lazy to care, tossing him cold medicine and fever reducers before leaving. Perhaps because his fever was alarmingly high, the yellow teeth man, worried he might die and cause trouble with his parents, exempted acne face from drills and classes to watch him. He fed Qin Mu fever reducers when his forehead burned too hot.

       Acne face, a few years older, was named Lang Feiran¹feiran meaning brilliant/outstanding—his parents hoped he would be outstanding. But in his senior year, Feiran veered off course. He was sent to this facility for two years due to internet addiction and refusing to study. Qin Mu gleaned details from his ‘profound self-analysis’. Before coming, Feiran was a rising provincial esports player, about to sign with a team. However, his parents couldn’t understand the value of online gaming and believed he was wasting his life. To ‘save’ him, they forcibly sent him here to cure his addiction. Feiran resisted so fiercely upon arrival that he broke a finger, which never healed properly—his right index finger, once used for clicking a mouse, remained slightly curled.

       Acne face had truly been ‘saved’. He was the most exemplary student, strictly following every rule, tearfully reflecting on his ‘crimes’, revering teachers almost devoutly, and eagerly reporting any hint of trouble. He was a model ‘wolf dog’, and so he was made class leader. The school occasionally showcased him as a ‘reformed exemplar’ to parents, demonstrating its corrective success. When the yellow teeth man went to pick up new students, Feiran was the ‘bait’ to escort them. He was entrusted with all dorm keys, locking doors after nightly checks and collecting diaries. Feiran vowed to stay at the school forever, serving to repay the teachers’ kindness in remaking him. So, the teachers trusted him to watch Qin Mu.

       Qin Mu woke at noon, groggy. He sipped from an enamel cup handed to him, then hoarsely thanked the person before him, realising it was Feiran.

       The others were out drilling, leaving just the two of them in the dorm. Feiran glanced at the door, lowered his voice, and asked, “Did he succeed?”

       Qin Mu pursed his lips, silent, then gently shook his head.

       Feiran smiled. He gave him a thumbs-up and said, “Good job.” He handed over a cold steamed bun. “Eat. You need strength to survive here. Listen to me if you don’t want to die.”

       Qin Mu took it, silently chewing the rock-hard bun, tears falling unnoticed. He hurriedly wiped them, but Feiran pulled the blanket over his face.

       “Cry if you want,” Feiran said. “You don’t snitch on others, and I won’t snitch on you.”

       Having lived long in a place of mutual surveillance and betrayal, Qin Mu wasn’t sure if he should trust him. When he calmed down, he emerged and thanked Feiran again. He ate the bun with hot water. His swollen face and eyes throbbed with every chew. He wanted to rest, but Feiran insisted he get up.

       Qin Mu struggled to stand, his injuries making him weak.

       Feiran asked, “Can you run?”

       Qin Mu shook his head and felt it was impossible. Someone passed by, calling from the door, “Class leader, Teacher Chen wants you.”

       Feiran responded, then whispered hurriedly, “Rest well, don’t sleep too deeply tonight,” and left.

       They had no further chance to talk.

       That night, when everyone was asleep, Qin Mu felt a light tap on his back through the blanket. He opened his eyes and was startled. Feiran covered his mouth and wrote ‘escape’ in his palm.

       Qin Mu stared at him in shock, at a loss. Baldie Zhou had already set his sights on him, and he might not be able to escape the fate of being r4p3d next time. He didn’t know if he could trust Feiran, but what choice did he have? He had no way to escape by himself. After a long time, he finally nodded tremblingly.

       Acne face left the dorm door unlocked, and Qin Mu followed him quietly, tiptoeing out.

       It was snowing outside, and it was bitterly cold.

       Acne face led him skillfully past the field and staff dorms, silently approaching the small iron gate at the school’s entrance. Crouching in the wall’s shadow, he stuffed two buns into Qin Mu’s clothes and placed a brass key in his hand, whispering, “Open the gate. If the guard wakes, I’ll stop him. Don’t worry about anything—just run.”

       He pointed to the right at the mountains. “Don’t go to nearby towns; the locals are in on it and will catch you for a reward. See that mountain? Its south side has a tourist spot. At dawn, find out-of-town visitors for help. Remember, don’t trust your parents—they sent you here once, they’ll do it again.”

       Acne face hugged him and touched his face. “Don’t be scared. Unlock the gate and run. Don’t look back.”

       Qin Mu remembered the pale mist around his mouth when he spoke, the warmth of his embrace, the unusually bright eyes, and the last glance as he turned back after unlocking the gate—Feiran was grappling with the burly guard.

       Amid the blaring alarm, he heard a hoarse shout behind him.

       “Run, Qin Mu—run fast—”

       He ran desperately, so fast he felt he might take flight.

       The biting wind whipped away the tears that blurred his vision. The cold sliced his face like a knife and poured fiercely into his lungs. Like a startled antelope, he fled through the snow, his heart pounding as if it might burst. One shoe fell off, but he didn’t dare stop to retrieve it, his sock grinding painfully against stones.

       He held his breath and raced over barren hills. Two blinding beams swept over him, followed by a screeching brake. A massive vehicle screeched to a halt just before hitting him, leaving deep skid marks in the snow.

       In terror, he collapsed. He scrambled to rise but tripped on a stone, rolling into the snow.

       “Hey, you okay?” someone shouted in the snow.

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T/N:

The lines listed come from different Chinese poems and were well-known excerpts from several classical works,

1. Cling tight to the green mountain, never letting go.
From: 《竹石》 (Bamboo and Rock)
By: 清·鄭燮 (Zheng Xie, Qing Dynasty)
A metaphor for perseverance and inner strength, using bamboo as imagery.

2. Treat raging fire as if it’s nothing at all.
Loosely reminiscent of a line from 文天祥’s 《正氣歌》(Song of Righteousness) or other patriotic poems. Possibly imitating classical tone to express fearlessness in hardship.

3. When mountains pile, rivers twist, and no road seems ahead, a village appears through the shade of willows, bright and new.
From: 《遊山西村》 (Strolling Through the Village of Western Hills)
By: 宋·陸游 (Lu You, Song Dynasty)
Describes a sudden sense of hope and discovery after feeling lost or trapped.

4. Walk to where the stream ends and sit watching the clouds rise.
From: 《終南別業》 (Retreat in the Zhongnan Mountains)
By: 唐·王維 (Wang Wei, Tang Dynasty)
A famous couplet that suggests a peaceful, Daoist outlook—serenity in uncertainty.

All thanks to gpt for helping me finding the poems fast ><

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       Qin Aihua felt deeply ashamed. Ignoring Qin Mu’s protests, he went to the school and filed a leave of absence on his son’s behalf, claiming it was for medical treatment.

       Zheng Yan even stopped going to work altogether and dragged Qin Mu through every major hospital in K City. When she was told that homosexuality couldn’t be ‘cured’, she lashed out. She jabbed a finger at the doctor’s nose and shouted, “What do you mean it’s not a disease? He’s not like everyone else—how is that not a disease? How can you call yourself a doctor if you can’t cure it?”

       She kept yelling until the security guards forcibly threw her out. Still not giving up, she turned to shady traditional medicine clinics tucked away in back alleys, clinging to every ‘miracle doctor’ and their concocted ‘remedies’. She brought these so-called prescriptions home and force-fed them to Qin Mu, one bowl at a time.

       Qin Mu stayed silent, letting her do as she pleased—he drank whatever she gave him, listened when she cursed him, and endured when she hit him. And yet, every day, he still quietly kept up his self-study and exam prep. He believed that one day, his parents would come around. And when they did, he would be able to return to school.

       He did his best to suppress his inner panic, repeatedly going over in his head all the possible situations he might face when he returned. He tried to comfort himself; the worst that could happen was everyone treating him like a freak and ignoring him. But he hadn’t had many friends to begin with—he was used to being alone. Once he got into K University, he could leave all this behind and start fresh.

       In the dead of night, when everything was quiet, he couldn’t help but think of Han Zhang. His heart filled with guilt—he had dragged Han Zhang into this mess for no reason, and he had no idea how to make things right.

       While Qin Mu was thinking of Han Zhang and trying to plan for his future, just one wall away, Zheng Yan was tossing and turning. She was tormented by her son’s ‘illness’. Beside her, Qin Aihua had already fallen asleep watching TV. His snores was uneven and raspy, like he might stop breathing at any moment. Annoyed, she yanked the remote control from his hand and was just about to turn off the TV—when she froze.

       Leaning forward, she stared at the midnight commercial on the screen. It was as if a terminally ill patient had just discovered the elixir of immortality—every cell in her body lit up with excitement.

       In that silent moment, fate drew a hard pause. Dipped in heavy ink, the pen turned sharply, veering off in a completely different direction.

 

       Qin Mu remembered it was a Wednesday, and the weather was cold.

       Zheng Yan took him out early in the morning. The destination was far—they had to transfer three times. Finally, bus No. 598 left the city and rumbled its way into a remote, unfamiliar county on the outskirts.

       After getting off the bus, a lanky young man in his early twenties came up to them and asked, “Are you Ms. Zheng?”

       “Yes, yes, that’s me,” Zheng Yan replied quickly, giving Qin Mu a push forward. “This is my son.”

       The young man had deeply tanned skin and a face covered in acne. He looked Qin Mu up and down with an unreadable expression, pursed his lips, and threw out a curt, “Get in the car,” before turning and walking off.

       Zheng Yan and Qin Mu followed him into a bronze-colored van parked by the roadside. Though old, the van was scrubbed clean. In the driver’s seat sat a burly man who grinned at them, revealing a mouth full of teeth yellowed from cigarette smoke. “Hold on tight,” he said. “The road’s rough from here.”

       The van drove out of the county and into increasingly desolate terrain. Ramshackle buildings faded from view, replaced by barren hills.

       Qin Mu began to feel uneasy. He couldn’t help but ask, “Where are we going?”

       “To cure your illness,” Zheng Yan replied flatly.

       The driver with the yellow teeth chuckled. “Almost there, don’t worry.”

       The acne-faced guy in the front seat glanced back at him, as if about to say something. Their eyes met only for a fleeting second, and Qin Mu couldn’t read anything in it.

       After a long, jarring ride, the van finally came to a stop.

       In front of them stood a massive iron gate flanked by tall walls. The tops of the walls were lined with broken glass and several coils of barbed wire. A heavy padlock hung on the main gate, clearly not meant to be opened casually—only a small door at the bottom right was used for entry. Four men stood guard at the gate, each with a metal baton strapped to their waist. Hanging beside the entrance were several white signs with black lettering. One of them read, “Yongning Behavioral Correction School for Adolescents, K City.”

       Just as Qin Mu was still unprepared, the van driver suddenly gave him a hard shove in the back. He lost his balance and stumbled through the gate. The four men immediately surrounded him, half-coercing and half-shoving him forward.

       Panic-stricken, Qin Mu struggled, only to be firmly restrained. He twisted his head around with all his strength in disbelief—and saw Zheng Yan’s emotionless face.

       “MOM!” Qin Mu shouted.

       Zheng Yan stood still like a clay statue. She was not speaking or moving, just looking at him silently.

       “When it comes to raising kids,” the yellow-toothed driver said with a grin, “you parents can’t go soft. Go soft, and the kid’s ruined. The ones who come out of here? Each one’s better behaved than the last. No matter how rebellious, we straighten them out. Your son’s got a mental issue—don’t worry; we’ve already worked with professionals to design a one-on-one correction plan. Guaranteed results.”

       Zheng Yan nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. She forced herself to look away and asked, “Where do I pay the tuition?”

       “No rush. Our school policy is to charge only after we see results.”

       “Good, good,” Zheng Yan nodded repeatedly, pulling a pack of Red Pagoda Mountain cigarettes from her bag and stuffing it into the driver’s hand. “I’ll leave it all to you… I’m counting on you.”

       

       How could one make someone obedient in a short amount of time?

       For teenagers who were entering adolescence—those with a certain level of knowledge and already forming their own thoughts—there wasn’t enough time to reprogram them. The most effective method, then would be violence. By instilling fear, they could make them ‘obedient’ out of terror.

       What kind of torture was painful enough, yet wouldn’t leave visible marks?

       The perfect choice was electric shocks.

       When the small door behind him closed, Qin Mu still didn’t know what kind of torment awaited him. He naively thought this place was just a strictly closed-off school, and that the teachers here were like those outside.

       That illusion was quickly destroyed by the electric current that pierced into his brain.

       Electricity surged in from his temples, traveling through his entire body like a serrated rasp desperately scraping through his bones and flesh. Just a few seconds were enough to make him convulse and cry out in unbearable pain.

       He was strapped to a steel-framed hospital bed. His head and limbs were bound tight with restraints, unable to move. A mouthguard was jammed between his teeth, reducing his cries to muffled groans. The man in a white coat who was supposedly a ‘professional doctor’ was fiddling with the power switch and casually said, “Don’t worry, ten seconds per round. Let’s start with three rounds.”

       At seventeen, Qin Mu experienced what it meant to wish for death rather than endure life—in just thirty seconds.

       After the shocks, the man in white removed the mouthguard from his mouth, smiling as he said, “Now I’m going to ask you a few questions. Think carefully before answering. If you don’t answer well, you’ll be punished again. Do you understand?”

       Drenched in cold sweat and trembling, Qin Mu nodded. He was already broken under the terror of the shocks.

       The man pressed record on a nearby recorder and asked, “Do you know why you were sent here?”

       Qin Mu tried to guess the answer he wanted and replied, “Because I’m sick.”

       “What illness do you have?”

       “A mental illness.” Seeing the displeasure on the man’s face, he hurriedly added, “The illness of being homosexual.”

       “And? Are you disobedient and unfilial to your parents?”

       “…Yes.”

       “Do you want to stay here and learn to correct yourself?”

       Seeing the warning in the man’s eyes, Qin Mu hesitated for a second, then, tears welling in his eyes, said, “Yes.”

       The man in white nodded, satisfied, and hit the stop button. He handed the recorder to his assistant, who then delivered it to the parents.

       Zheng Yan listened to it over and over again, tears of joy streaming down her face. She thanked them profusely and paid the full tuition of 45,000 yuan.

       Her sick son was finally saved.

       She loved him so much—so much that she was willing to give everything for him, even her entire life savings.

 

       Qin Mu nearly collapsed from the iron bed, his legs trembling as he knelt on the ground.

       What awaited him was a new life of ‘correction’.

       In the first few days, he was locked in a small windowless room at the end of a corridor, where he was given only one meal a day. Five senior students took turns teaching him the ‘school rules’. They recited one rule, and he had to repeat it. If he didn’t, he would be beaten. The ruler in the teacher’s hand was thick and long, and if it hit too hard, it could cause bleeding.

       There were fourty school rules, including things like students could not speak to each other for more than ten seconds, they couldn’t close the door when using the restroom, they couldn’t show resistance in their words, they couldn’t slack off during study time, and they couldn’t say they wanted to leave when meeting their parents, etc. The school also set up a points reward-punishment system, where violations would result in point deductions, and reporting others could earn extra points. If the score dropped below sixty, the student would be punished with electric shocks.

       On the third day, after memorizing the school rules, Qin Mu was assigned to Room 213, where eight students shared the room, and his bed number was 1607, the lower bunk. The youth with pimples on his face was facing him.

       Every morning at 6:30 AM, all students had to get up, pack their belongings within ten minutes, fold their blankets into neat squares, and then run for an hour on the sports field. This was followed by self-reflection time, where each student had to speak. If their self-criticism was not deep or thorough enough, they were punished with frog jumps on the field. There were also mutual criticism meetings, where students pointed out each other’s faults and improper behaviors. Reporting others could earn points, so students eagerly participated in this, becoming expert informants, eager to catch others in disobedience and accuse them of ‘not following the rules and being dissatisfied with the teachers’. Then, everyone would watch as the ‘bad student’ was punished, setting an example to deter others.

       In the afternoon, there were Chinese classics lessons, where they recited lines like ‘When parents call, answer without delay; when parents command, act without laziness. When parents teach, listen respectfully; when parents scold, accept with obedience…’ 

       In addition, students were divided into groups based on their ‘flaws’, such as internet addiction, gambling, learning encouragement, and filial piety groups. Qin Mu’s situation was unique in the school, so he had one-on-one sessions with a teacher.

       The teacher was the driver of the van who picked him up that day, the man with yellow teeth. He had Qin Mu take off his shirt and stand in front of a mirror while swinging a ruler, demanding responses. Any hesitation would be met with punishment.

       “You’re a boy or a girl?”

       Qin Mu answered, “A boy.”

       “Do you like boys or girls?”

       “Girls.”

       “A man liking a woman, and a woman liking a man is natural, it’s the law of nature. Liking someone of the same sex is perverted, it’s a mental illness, do you understand?”

       “Understand.”

       “Say it!”

       “I was wrong. I am sick. I like women.”

       “Say it again!”

       “I was wrong. I am sick. I like women!”

       For an hour, similar dialogues repeated many times. Qin Mu went from crying out in anguish to responding numbly, forming a conditioned reflex.

       At night, there was dormitory night study, where everyone wrote a diary to record the day’s learning and activities. Afterwards, they placed their diaries in a mailbox in the room, which the class monitor would collect and hand to the teacher. The teacher would select the best ones to send to parents as proof of progress.

       The school was full of spying eyes, and no one was to be trusted. After being reported several times, Qin Mu learned to hide all his emotions. He trembled as he complied with the teacher’s demands to be a good, obedient student.

       After one month at the school, he witnessed a student jump from the roof. The building was only two stories tall, and the student didn’t die after the fall. Fearing that it would cause a scandal, the school didn’t call an ambulance immediately. Only after seeing the blood streaming from the student’s head was he sent to the hospital. The student never returned.

       Qin Mu leaned on the railing and looked down, hearing someone beside him whisper, “It’s an escape; it’s not so bad.”

       He froze, turning to look into the eyes of the youth with pimples beside him, and saw the same look in his eyes as the one he saw on the driver’s face when he picked him up that day.

       Only then did he understand.

       It was a pity.

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T/N:
I know Qin Mu will have a hard past… But I didn’t expect it’ll be this hard.. HOLY HELL???!
All those correction centre stories in other novels are like this too and what’s worse is that it really exist…

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       Qin Mu was born into a very ordinary family.

       His father, Qin Aihua, worked a nine-to-five job at a cable manufacturing company. Apart from some basic mechanical repair skills, he had little else to his name. He was submissive outside the home and silent inside the home. Like many men around him, Qin Aihua rarely took any initiative when it came to family responsibilities. Most of the time, he would only act when prompted by his wife, Zheng Yan. The rest of the time, he sat drinking or lay around watching TV.

       Qin Mu’s mother, Zheng Yan, was the second child in her family and had a fiercely strong-willed nature. In her younger years, she had rejected one suitor after another, finding fault with each of them. Eventually, age caught up with her, and at thirty, she reluctantly married Qin Aihua—a man who could barely string a few words together.

       From the bottom of her heart, she looked down on this mediocre man with no ambition. But under mounting pressure, she quickly decided to have a child. However, the mother-in-law who had promised to help with childcare suddenly changed her mind, and Zheng Yan’s own mother was too tied up looking after her biological grandson to help. Left without any experienced hands to support her, Zheng Yan was thrown into anxiety. And just then, her husband Qin Aihua decisively bowed out.

       The initial cuteness of the newborn quickly wore off amidst the constant crying and exhaustion. After only two nights, Qin Aihua, claiming that he couldn’t sleep and it was affecting his job, took his blanket and moved to the living room sofa. He grew impatient with Zheng Yan’s complaints and said, “It’s a woman’s duty to take care of the child. You’re on maternity leave, not working—what are you whining about?”

       Cradling a relentlessly crying infant through the night, Zheng Yan, weak and all alone, finally lost all hope in the man she had married.

       The confusion of being a first-time mother, a husband who offered no support, an unmanageable child, and the chaos of postpartum hormones all formed a crushing psychological pressure that nearly broke her. More than once, she even had the urge to smother little Qin Mu just to make it all stop. The only thing she could do was repeatedly brainwash herself with, “All women go through this, don’t they?” And so, she forced herself to survive the postpartum month, then braced for the long years of motherhood to come.

       Qin Mu became Zheng Yan’s entire hope in the face of a life full of disappointment and disillusionment. Unwilling to admit her life was a failure, she bet everything on her son, wrapping tighter and tighter around him like creeping vines as he grew. She arranged every detail of his life—what he wore, what he ate, where he lived. She spent money on various extracurricular classes, kept a constant watch over him, and forbade him from doing anything she deemed a ‘waste of time’, including spending time with kids his own age.

       And that still wasn’t enough. She constantly belittled his father in front of him and used her own suffering to guilt-trip him into obedience.

       “I only put up with that useless excuse for a father of yours because of you.”

       “If it weren’t for you, why would I be living so frugally?”

       “I’ve given everything to you. I don’t ask for anything in return—just that you study hard. Is that so much to ask?”

       “Only through good grades can you rise above others. We’re poor because your father lacked ambition and didn’t study. You must never be like him.”

       Zheng Yan put heavy shackles on her son, one after another, and watched with satisfaction as he grew according to her expectations. Qin Mu’s academic excellence made her deliriously happy—it proved that all her sacrifices hadn’t been in vain. He was her flesh and blood, born from her very body; their lives were supposed to be one. His success was hers. One day, she would stand proudly at his side and make all the people who had looked down on her lift their heads to look up.

       What Zheng Yan didn’t know was that the mighty ship carrying all her hopes and dreams was quietly heading toward a massive iceberg hidden beneath the surface.

       Children who grow up in such families are bound to mature early. Qin Mu developed a precocious mind from a young age. He was used to his mother’s sudden, inexplicable outbursts of anger and his father’s cold indifference whenever things didn’t go his way. Early on, he learned to read the room and to gauge his parents’ moods before saying or doing anything.

       He knew what not to ask for and what couldn’t be said. When he spoke, he carefully measured his words. Over time, he cultivated a kind of calm detachment, burying himself in books and tuning out the world around him.

       But that calm was really just a child’s way of escaping a toxic home.

       As a boy, young Qin Mu would shut himself in his room and pour all his attention into his studies. As long as he was absorbed in reading, the chaos outside faded away. He was sensitive, introverted, and carried a quiet sense of inferiority—like a tree growing in the shadows, its stunted branches heavy with gloom.

       And like any such tree, he instinctively longed for sunlight. That’s why Qin Mu couldn’t help but be drawn to Han Zhang.

       Han Zhang came from a well-off family, had a striking personality, a handsome face, and a large circle of friends. At first, Qin Mu only watched him from afar, full of silent admiration. Then, by chance, they became desk mates when the seating chart changed. Han Zhang took the initiative to borrow his notes, and before long, they were on friendly terms. Han Zhang was sociable and generous—he would treat Qin Mu to a drink after borrowing notes, invite him to eat at the cafeteria, and give him rides home after school on his electric scooter. Through Han Zhang, Qin Mu was pulled into a small circle of friends. Slowly, he began to open up. Han Zhang became a bridge connecting him to the normal social world, a way for Qin Mu to touch the edges of life beyond his own.

       Under Zheng Yan’s strict control, Qin Mu had never experienced real social interaction. So when Han Zhang unknowingly became the most important person in his life, Qin Mu believed it was that rare, precious friendship people praised in books.

       But he soon realised he wasn’t like Han Zhang’s other close friends.

       When Han Zhang was chasing a girl, the others were all eager to offer advice. Qin Mu, on the other hand, just felt deeply uncomfortable. When Han Zhang went on dates, and the others cheered him on with loud whistles, Qin Mu could only swallow the sourness in his chest. When Han Zhang officially got into a relationship and celebrated publicly, Qin Mu trailed behind, gloomy and silent. Han Zhang’s love life became Qin Mu’s torment. For the first time in his academic life, he fell out of the top five in his class.

       Qin Mu felt like he was losing control.

       He borrowed a few psychology books from the library, hoping to understand himself. After much reading, he managed to half-convince himself that his behaviour was a projection of emotional deficiency. But then a sudden, vivid spring dream¹erotic dream shattered that fragile illusion. In his dream, his brain conjured an intimate scene between him and Han Zhang—and he had a wet dream.

       Terrified, he threw his underwear into the trash and sat in front of his English textbook for a long time, not absorbing a single word. The terms he had deliberately avoided in the psychology books kept flashing through his mind

       —Homosexual: refers to someone who experiences romantic or sexual attraction only to people of the same sex.

       At the time, the internet wasn’t yet widespread, and books on that subject were rare. People’s concepts were outdated, and they were closed-minded. Most people believed homosexuality stemmed from ‘not having tried the opposite sex’, that it was a sign of a ‘twisted’ psyche, a deviation from normal, a kind of illness. Though Qin Mu had acquired some understanding, he couldn’t bring himself to accept this version of himself. He couldn’t turn to his family for help. He had no one to talk to. There was no one he could share his unease, anxiety, or fear with. He had to bear it all alone.

       At seventeen, Qin Mu made what now seems like a painfully absurd decision—he decided to get a girlfriend.

       He was desperate to prove he wasn’t gay.

       Qin Mu was actually quite popular among the girls. He had good grades, a nice appearance, and polite manners. Aside from being a little quiet, he had no obvious flaws. Quite a few girls had written him love letters. He chose one with neat handwriting and wrote a reply, asking the girl to walk home with him after school.

       The girl was from the next class over; her name was Li Xiaomo. She had liked Qin Mu for a long time, and when she received his letter, she was so happy she nearly floated off the ground. They soon entered a relationship. But as they spent time together, Li Xiaomo sensed something was off about her boyfriend.

       He made time for her but always seemed distracted. He listened to her but never opened up himself. He tried to fulfil her requests but never asked anything of her in return. He would occasionally lean in closer but always found some excuse to avoid intimacy. Li Xiaomo assumed he was simply shy because it was his first relationship, so one night after self-study, she mustered her courage and kissed him.

       What she saw next was a face completely devoid of surprise—if anything, he looked startled and confused.

       Li Xiaomo suddenly realised that he didn’t love her. But she couldn’t figure out what she had done wrong. She tried to analyse it from every angle, ruled out each possible cause, and fell into a fog of uncertainty.

       The answer came soon enough.

       One day, they were studying in the library. Qin Mu had gone to find a book, and a group of students roughhousing nearby knocked over his backpack, spilling its contents across the floor. As she helped him gather his things, Li Xiaomo caught a glimpse of her name inside a densely written grey notebook.

       Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it.

       It was Qin Mu’s diary, filled with his suppressed emotions. To prevent his mother from snooping, he didn’t use a conspicuous lock-and-key diary—he disguised it as a weekly journal and kept it with him at all times.

       The truth shattered her.

       Li Xiaomo was stunned. The anger of being deceived overwhelmed her sense of reason. With burning hatred, she tore out the pages that revealed Qin Mu’s complicated feelings for Han Zhang. Then she stormed off, threw Qin Mu aside, and walked alone through the crowded classroom toward a bewildered Han Zhang. Slamming the crumpled pages into his hands, she shouted, “Take a look! See how much your good friend loves you! You didn’t know? Qin Mu is gay! He’s so in love with you, he’s practically gone mad!”

       The once-noisy classroom fell into sudden silence. Every pair of eyes locked onto the flimsy sheets of paper. Han Zhang glanced at them, then angrily crumpled the pages into a tight ball in his fist.

       “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped. “Get back to your class!”

       Li Xiaomo, eyes red and teeth clenched, hissed, “You knew, didn’t you? Judging by how you’re acting, you’re probably gay too! You disgusting freaks—using girlfriends as a front while doing dirty things behind everyone’s backs!”

       Han Zhang stood up, face grim. “Say one more word, and I’ll hit you.”

       “Go ahead! Call your lover Qin Mu over too and hit me together!” she screamed, nearly hysterical.

       Han Zhang shoved her. She hit the edge of a desk and fell, wailing on the floor in tears. Boys from her class rushed over when they heard she’d been hit. The two classes erupted into a brawl. It was total chaos and eventually drew the attention of the discipline officer.

       In the end, the discipline officer called Zheng Yan.

       That evening, Qin Mu walked home behind his mother. Her frail back trembled, as if she might melt into the twilight at any moment.

       “Mom,” he called out softly.

       She didn’t respond. When they reached the door, she fumbled with the keys, trying several times but failing to slide one into the old security lock.

       “Let me,” Qin Mu offered, reaching out. But as if repelled by even the thought of touching him, she swung her hand and flung the keyring at his forehead. It hit him hard, splitting the skin and drawing blood.

       “Why did I give birth to a freak like you?” Zheng Yan gritted her teeth, tears welling up. “What did I do to deserve this punishment from the heavens? I have nothing left… nothing!” All her hopes and dreams had crashed into an iceberg and shattered into ruins. And that iceberg was the very child she’d once been so proud of.

       She collapsed in front of the door, sobbing in despair.

       Qin Mu stood frozen, unmoving. Blood dripped slowly from his forehead, running down his face trailing past the corner of his eye like a line of red tears.

---

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       This was outright flirtation.

       Qin Mu stiffened his face and said sternly, “Do you need me to explain Article 238 of the Criminal Law to you?”

       Shen Liu chuckled lightly. “Given the eight shrimp dumplings, charging me with unlawful detention doesn’t seem quite right, does it? Why not call it management without cause?” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got something to take care of. See you tonight.” As he spoke, he raised his hand and patted Qin Mu on the head.

       It was a subconscious gesture—his hand moved with practiced ease, and only afterward did his mind slowly come to realization that it was ‘inappropriate’. Shen Liu’s hand paused as he realised Qin Mu hadn’t dodged.

       The sudden sense of familiarity threw Qin Mu off. The hand resting atop his head was warm and gentle, just like in the past, making him forget to react.

       It was as if someone had hit the pause button. Both of them froze.

       The next second, Qin Mu slapped Shen Liu’s hand away. Shen Liu rubbed his wrist where he had been hit, now reddened, and said with a laugh, “Wait for me, and we’ll have dinner together tonight.”

       Once Shen Liu left, Qin Mu let out a muffled breath. He closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. If one looked closely, you could see a faint blush creeping up his ears, entirely at odds with his stern expression.

       Dealing with Shen Liu was truly exhausting.

       Qin Mu was normally calm and composed. He thought carefully before he spoke and made plans before he acted, going through each day steady and unshaken, like a clay Buddha statue—an unmoving observer of others’ joys and sorrows. But this time, for Teacher Xiao’s case, he had acted on impulse for once, only to immediately run into Shen Liu, this monstrous whirlwind who abided by no rules, refused to be reasoned with, and stirred up trouble in his otherwise tranquil world, wrecking his self-discipline.

       Now the files were gone and he himself was detained—what was he supposed to do next?

       Escape?

       This was Shen Liu’s base of operations. He had already seen the layers of checkpoints on his way in. Surveillance cameras were everywhere, even in the corners of the courtyard. Not to mention the people inside… Qin Mu recalled the group who had escorted him last night. Judging by their coordination and reaction time, they had likely undergone professional training. There were probably more like them in the house. The whole villa was essentially an iron fortress—he wouldn’t be able to fly out even if he had wings.

       Besides, his computer and files still hadn’t been recovered.

       Now, with his personal freedom restricted and his job effectively lost, Lawyer Qin was stuck in a dilemma, racking his brain for a solution when he caught sight of a familiar face at the entrance of the dining room. As he racked his brain for a way out, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face at the dining room entrance.

       It was the guide from last night.

       “Good morning,” the man greeted him with a smile. “Things were a bit rushed last night, so I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Tao Ze, President Shen’s personal secretary.”

       “Qin Mu.” Qin Mu extended his hand for a handshake.

       “President Shen specifically instructed me to make sure you’re well taken care of. If you need anything at all, feel free to let me know.”

       Qin Mu thought for a moment and said, “Show me around.”

       “Sure. Let’s start from the basement and work our way up.” Tao Ze led him toward the elevator.

       As a lawyer specialising in financial cases, Qin Mu often dealt with the wealthy and powerful and had been invited to more than a few luxury homes. But only after walking through Shen Liu’s lair did he realise after Wang Kai came Shi Chong¹both were prominent politician in Jin Dynasty, and they were one another’s rival—there was always a higher mountain. When it came to extravagance, there was no such thing as the ultimate.

       This big house that looked ‘nothing special’ from the outside, had a display of the owner’s aesthetic taste and fresh creativity inside, all while maintaining peak functionality and human-centric design in both its layout and its finer details.

       The second basement level was a garage. The first basement housed a heated indoor swimming pool, a Korean-style sauna, a spa room, and a small wine cellar. The first floor was a reception area with both Chinese and Western kitchens and a bar. The second floor contained a multi-purpose activity room, guest bedrooms, a mahjong room, and a gym, with two large trees growing in the atrium. The third floor’s study was enormous, connected to a meeting lounge, and included a small home theater on the side.

       As they walked, Tao Ze said, “If you need a personal trainer or a mahjong partner, I can arrange that for you.” He stopped at the stairs leading to the fourth floor. “The fourth floor and above are President Shen’s private quarters. Other than a few designated housekeepers, no one is allowed access—not even me. So this is as far as I can take you.”

       Qin Mu was taken aback. “Isn’t the fourth floor the guest room?”

       “It’s President Shen’s master bedroom,” Tao Ze replied with a smile.

       Qin Mu: “…”

       What was wrong with Shen Liu, seriously? In such a massive house, he insisted on making him sleep in his own bedroom?

       Qin Mu asked, “Where did he sleep last night?”

       “The small bedroom at the end of the third floor.”

       Alright then. That ‘small’ bedroom couldn’t be all that small anyway. Since he was the guest, he would follow the host’s arrangement—he didn’t really mind.

       “Did he place any restrictions on where I can go?” Qin Mu changed his wording, making his question more direct. “Is there anywhere in this house that I’m not allowed to access?”

       “No,” Tao Ze replied. “President Shen said, as long as you don’t leave the compound, you can go anywhere you like. Those were his exact words.”

       At that, Qin Mu actually felt a bit disappointed. Shen Liu hadn’t restricted his movements—which meant his luggage wasn’t in this house. He was still thinking about what to do next when he heard Tao Ze carefully ask, “Lawyer Qin, may I borrow a few minutes of your time?”

       “Hm?”

       With a professional smile, Tao Ze pulled out an iPad tucked under his arm and raised a stylus. “To better organize your daily life, I need to understand your personal preferences. What flavors do you like? Are there any ingredients you avoid? Any preferences when it comes to clothing? Do you like cotton, or some other material? What about colors? What brands of clothes and shoes do you usually wear? What’s your general size? Underwear? What temperature and humidity do you find most comfortable…”

       Qin Mu: “…”

       The people who worked for Shen Liu were just as difficult as Shen Liu himself. After finally making it through the barrage of questions from this overly attentive personal assistant, Qin Mu felt like hornets had just swarmed him—his head buzzing, ears still ringing.

       It was only when he returned to the fourth floor that peace returned. Just before pushing open the door, he noticed a band of light at his feet.

       The gentle light spread across the floor like a soft, dense velvet carpet, guiding him toward the end of the corridor.

       He didn’t know when the rain had stopped. Wispy clouds meandered lazily in the sky, half-concealing the bashful sunlight. Compared to K City’s lingering and drizzly rain, J City’s showers were more like heartless men—arriving in haste, leaving just as quickly.

       Outside the hallway was a glass conservatory. Though it was already late autumn, the space was lush with plants. Vines had climbed the trellises all the way to the ceiling, casting dappled, shifting shadows in the filtered light. At the center, there was even a small vegetable plot. The small chili peppers had already ripened, like mischievous children hiding behind leaves, secretly poking out their red little heads.

       Qin Mu crouched down, plucked a small chili, and examined it for a moment before taking a bite. The fiery sting instantly numbed his tongue, then exploded in his mouth, swiftly charging down his throat and up to his scalp. Sweat broke out in an instant. Even his tear ducts were triggered, moistening the corners of his eyes.

       Qin Mu gave a wry smile and thought: What variety is this?

       Then added: Good thing I only took a small bite.

       He swallowed the fiery heat, drew in a couple of deep breaths to ease the burn, and turned his head to see a hanging chair. The spot seemed carefully chosen—the sunlight was just right, warm but not blinding. A shelf nearby held a copy of Common Vegetable Growing Techniques from an agricultural publisher, along with a notebook. He picked them up and flipped through them, unable to stop a small smile from forming.

       There were notes and underlines in the book. Shen Liu’s bold and sweeping handwriting was sandwiched between lines of printed text, looking oddly restrained.

       These chilies were actually grown by him.

       From the records in the notebook, he had also planted greens, pumpkins, potatoes, and eggplants. He’d carefully documented the temperatures, humidity levels, germination times and even included his own little tips.

       Was this just a way to kill time, or…?

       Qin Mu closed the book, as if trying to shut away the absurd thought forming in his mind. But his brain betrayed him, pressing play on its own. Rusted gears creaked to life, clicking together in motion, slowly opening the sealed gates of memory.

       The stars were flowing, and they were wrapped in each other’s arms, talking about a future they knew nothing about—

       “Wood, what kind of life do you want to live?”

       “A simple countryside life. A small vegetable patch, self-sufficient. Harvesting in autumn, storing in winter. No need to deal with people. Just pick vegetables when you feel like eating. What about you?”

       “I want to live the life you want.”

       “…So cheesy.”

       The youth’s smile was like an arrow piercing through the sky and driving deep into the rusted seal. The rust of the years cracked a little, and fragments of broken memories surged forth from the fissures like a flutter of butterflies, completely shattering the seal. From the depths of a dark abyss, a colossal beast let out a sky-shaking roar, revealing its fierce and grotesque face.

       Qin Mu closed his eyes. Through the sliver between his eyelids, the sunlight painted a lingering streak of red.

       Chu Yu had once said that Xu Ye was the love of his life.

       Fang Mingyan had once said that he would hold Zhuo Yue’s hand until death parted them.

       To be able to find someone among millions who truly understands and loves you, and to grow old together—what an extraordinary stroke of luck.

       But for Qin Mu, perhaps his luck had already run out the moment he met Shen Liu. It came too early and left too soon, leaving him with no choice but to surrender to fate as it let go of his hand.

       The name ‘Shen Liu’ became a knot in his heart that was impossible to untangle, to cut, or to erase. All he could do was lock it away with forgetfulness and pretend it had never existed.

              He met Shen Liu when he was seventeen, a second-year student at K University’s affiliated high school.

       Like all high schoolers, seventeen-year-old Qin Mu’s daily duties were to go to school on time and finish his homework diligently—a life that was plain and ordinary. His grades were good and he ranked within the top ten in his year. He was the kind of child parents bragged about, teachers favored, and others envied as the ‘model student’.

       The affiliated school was prestigious, and to maintain its high university acceptance rate, it gathered top students and enforced strict discipline. But a school was no monastery, and kids that age were already well into adolescence—curious about things their parents wouldn’t discuss and teachers wouldn’t teach, learning by whatever means they could. Boys passed around p0rn videos in secret, ‘learning from experience’. while girls huddled together, gossiping and ‘exploring relationships’. Young love sprouted vigorously right under the teachers’ noses, lush and thriving.

       But Qin Mu lost his way in that spring-blown meadow.

       He gradually realised that he was developing feelings—something like ‘liking’—but that arrow of affection landed crookedly… on a boy.

       The boy’s name was Han Zhang. He was their class sports committee rep and played a mean game of basketball.

———

Article 238: Crime of Unlawful Detention

Whoever unlawfully detains another person or deprives another of their personal freedom by other means shall be sentenced to fixed-term imprisonment of not more than three years, criminal detention, public surveillance, or deprivation of political rights. If the circumstances involve beating or humiliation, the punishment shall be increased accordingly. (Omitted thereafter)

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T/N:
Wood (木頭 Mu Tou) seemed to refer to Qin Mu and was his nickname from Shen Liu, so I guess the dream of growing vegetables and eating them as they want seemed to be Qin Mu’s dream that Shen Liu ended up doing
edit: Previously I translated it as blockhead but then as I read forward I realised the nickname sounds so harsh and decided to change it

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       At the same time, Zhao Jinchuan stepped out from the inner room in his robe, face dark as he sat down on the sofa. He asked coldly, “What happened?”

       The man in the dark suit stood stiffly, tension evident in his posture. “Around dusk, Baldy and his men took three guys to the Hyatt…”

       “Is it time for bedtime stories now?” Zhao Jinchuan held a cigar between two fingers. His secretary, Huang Jing, leaned in to light it. Zhao Jinchuan raised his brows and snapped, “Stick to the important part!”

       “…Okay.” Rattled, the man sped up. “At first everything went smoothly. That lawyer got scared and promised not to cause trouble. But just as Baldy was about to cut off his finger, sirens suddenly blared. The guys all have criminal records, so they had to retreat first. Later, we checked the security footage and realised it was a setup. There were no cops—just six people who took the lawyer and drove off in a car with fake plates.”

       Zhao Jinchuan took a drag of his cigar. “Did you chop off the finger?”

       “…Didn’t get the chance.”

       “Who intercepted him?”

       “For now… We don’t know yet.” He tightened his back, “We got an ‘insider’ to pull regional surveillance. The car stayed at an abandoned warehouse in the southern suburbs for a bit, then went southwest. Probably got repainted after that and we lost track.”

       “The job was not done well, the target’s gone, and you can’t even figure out who took him,” Zhao Jinchuan said, eyes narrowing. “So you came all the way here in the middle of the night just to tell me that you’re all useless pieces of shit?”

       Cold sweat broke out on the man’s back. He lowered his head, too afraid to make a sound.

       In the haze of cigar smoke, Zhao Jinchuan’s face took on the eerie calm of a temple deity—aloof and unreadable. He spoke casually, “I told you to leave him one pinky. Since his can’t be chopped off, I’ll chop off yours.”

       As soon as the words fell, two men stepped forward and grabbed the suited man by the arms. His scalp went numb, and his legs buckling as he dropped to his knees, face ashen.

       “Young Master Chuan… please, just give me one more chance. Just one day, tomorrow—I swear I’ll find out everything!”

       Zhao Jinchuan’s mouth curled into a smile. “You’ve been with me for a while. I always thought you were steady; I figured it was time for you to experience things. But this job—was it so hard?”

       He held up a pinky finger and wiggled it. “Just a little lawyer. Just a little finger. I could have pulled some punks off the street, and they could have done better. I feed you, protect you, and now I have to clean up your mess? Are you taking me for a fool?”

       A layer of rage appeared on his face, and he said coldly, “Chop it off!”

       The two guards moved at his command. One slammed the man’s hand to the floor, the other swiftly drew a knife. With a flash of cold steel and a bloodcurdling scream, the pinky was severed. A small finger was cut off, with some flesh still attached to it. The blade cut it into two.

       The ten fingers were all connected to the heart. The man writhed on the floor, clutching his hand and howling in agony.

       Zhao Jinchuan lazily tilted his chin. “I’ll give you one more shot. If you’ve figured it out by the time I wake up, it’s fine. But if you still don’t know anything—then you won’t be needing that right hand anymore.”

       The man was ghost-pale, sweat streaming down his face. He trembled and choked out, “I understand.”

       Zhao Jinchuan flicked the half-smoked cigar into the ashtray Huang Jing held out for him, then rose and returned to the bedroom. Huang Jing quietly closed the door, sealing off the woman’s giggles and gasps within. As he turned back, he saw blood still dripping between the man’s fingers.

       He frowned. “Go to the hospital and get that handled.”

       Then, he turned to the others still standing nearby and said coldly, “You all know what kind of temper he has. Today’s incident was strange—things must be explained even if you digs three feet deep. That guy’s already useless now. If this drags on, any one of you could be next. So stay sharp. Stop wasting time tripping each other up and laughing behind backs. Why would that car stop in the southern suburbs? Why would it vanish? Whose turf is down south? You’d better start thinking.”

       Everyone hurried out with tense nods. The small sitting room emptied. Huang Jing pushed open the window, letting a gust of cold and damp air rush in and clear the room of lingering smoke.

       He stood by the window, staring at the dark sky in a trance.

              Qin Mu woke up in the dark. He had tossed and turned for hours before finally falling asleep, only to be caught in one strange dream after another, each more bizarre than the last. His brain had seemingly triggered some sort of ‘divergent thinking’ mode, keeping him up all night. Now, he felt groggy and dazed.

       It was raining outside, and the raindrops tapped softly against the windows. K City was always raining—like a devoted woman weeping endlessly, soaking everyone to the bone. If one stayed here long enough, mushrooms might sprout from your head.

       Still halfway between sleep and wakefulness, Qin Mu stared at the ceiling for a long time in the familiar sound of rain before realising that this was not his home.

       The alarm he had set for 7:30 had been turned off—by some meddling bastard with quick fingers—and now it was almost 9:30. The closet was full of clothes, seemingly all Shen Liu’s. Qin Mu picked out a loose gray sweater and threw it on. After a quick wash, he headed out and found the owner of the house in the upstairs dining room—munching on a pineapple bun while watching TV.

       On the wall-mounted screen, a variety talent show was playing. A group of well-dressed young women were dancing, all curves and creamy white thighs.

       “Good morning.” Shen Liu seemed to have eyes on his back, and he knew he was here without turning his head. “Did you sleep well last night?”

       “Pretty well.” Qin Mu sat at the round table with a chair between them. The housekeeper served Cantonese-style dimsum. Plump hargow wrapped in translucent skins, bursting with juicy flavour—on par with anything a five-star restaurant could offer. He ate three in a row. Just as he picked up the fourth, he noticed Shen Liu watching him.

       Qin Mu looked up and asked, “Should I be worried about a bill?”

       Shen Liu smiled. “No need.”

       “Then maybe focus on the TV. I’m prone to indigestion if you stare at me like this”

       “A bit full of yourself, aren’t you?” Shen Liu leaned his head against his hand, still watching him. “I was clearly looking at the hargow. Lawyer Qin, is it a crime to admire shrimp dumplings?”

       Qin Mu knew all too well that with Shen Liu’s shameless logic, he could spin a thousand ‘perfectly reasonable’ excuses in seconds. So he didn’t bother arguing—just lowered his head and continued eating.

       He wasn’t bothered by other people’s gaze.

       He didn’t care about the gazes of others; in fact, whether during courtroom debates or in private moments of playful ‘intimacy’, he was accustomed to commanding people’s attention, relishing the sensation of being watched. 

       But Shen Liu’s gaze was different.

       It was bolder, more intense—carrying a kind of unavoidable aggression. Like a lion that had wandered in uninvited, baring its fangs in a display of dominance, testing his limits.

       Qin Mu was so uncomfortable being looked at. He finally snapped and put his chopsticks down with a thud.

       But Shen Liu, ever thoughtful, slid a bowl of ginger milk pudding over to him. “Try this—made especially for you. The chef’s a master at this dish.”

       Qin Mu, chopstick tips still pressed to the table and on the verge of storming off, “…”

       He hesitated between storming off and continuing to eat. After half a second, he picked up the spoon. He was still hungry, and truth be told, it was really good.

       Shen Liu, having succeeded in his ‘feeding mission’, watched him eat with satisfaction, and couldn’t resist grabbing a bowl for himself.

       Trying to make small talk, he asked, “So what do you usually do in your downtime?”

       “Read. Work out. Play games.”

       Shen Liu perked up. “What kind of games? PUBG? Honor of Kings? Or…?”

       “Candy Crush.”

       Shen Liu: “…”

       Clearly sensing the judgment, Qin Mu lifted his eyes and said, “What?”

       “Nothing. Healthy hobbies. Positive and uplifting. A model youth of the new era.” Shen Liu replied insincerely, giving him a thumbs-up.

       Qin Mu returned the weighty sarcasm right back, word for word, “Still not as passionate as your idol-chasing. Youthful spirit in an aging body—truly touching.”

       “Everyone appreciates beauty. Young bodies are like freshly ripened fruit hanging on a tree—bright, plump, bursting with life. That’s when they’re most tempting.” Shen Liu smiled, unbothered. “I’m only looking. No intention of picking or… playing. Don’t worry.”

       The final two words dangled like a soft, furry cat’s tail, brushing suggestively across Qin Mu’s skin—provocative, teasing. It sparked an itch, subtle and elusive. But if he made a fuss about it, it would only seem petty.

       Qin Mu acted like he hadn’t heard, calmly finishing the last spoonful of pudding. Then he put down his spoon and asked, “Where’s my luggage?”

       “Missing anything? I’ll have it prepared.”

       Qin Mu stared at him without expression.

       “I had someone check your room yesterday. Didn’t find it.” Shen Liu’s face was all earnestness.

       Qin Mu lowered his gaze and said, “There is no need for us to beat around the bush. You know why I came and what I want to do.”

       He had already considered the whole picture. If not for a prior warning, even the powerful Shen family couldn’t have swooped in at that exact moment and rescued him, much less orchestrated such a clean exit strategy.

       Chu Yu must’ve been worried that the Golden Eagle group in J City couldn’t keep him safe, so they had brought in Shen Liu—the local powerhouse—to intervene. And once Shen Liu caught wind of it, he would’ve investigated everything.

       “Whatever reason you came here for—it ends now.” The smile vanished from Shen Liu’s lips, replaced with rare seriousness. “The Zhao family isn’t something your righteous fervor can shake. You can’t win this case.”

       Qin Mu said calmly, “We haven’t even stepped into court yet. Isn’t it a little early to say that?”

       “Some outcomes are obvious.” Shen Liu idly spun the spoon in his bowl, his dark brown eyes resting steadily on Qin Mu’s face. “Do you know why lions can’t deal with hyenas? Because hyenas come in groups and are hard to guard against. They have no rules and ignore fairness. They’ll scrap over rotten meat with no shame or bottom line, and use the filthiest tricks over and over again. Those people are the same. Their battlefield isn’t the courtroom. Their goal isn’t to win the case. It’s to eliminate the problem—or the person who raises it. The law means nothing to them.”

       Silence in the face of evil is no better than letting it thrive,” Qin Mu replied calmly, “Law only stands for justice because people fight to uphold it. Even if they control the skies, someone still has to light the first lantern in the dark—”

       “Whoever wants to light it can do it, but not you.” Shen Liu cut him off, his patience completely gone. Usually, he wore that lazy and affable smile that made him seem easy to get along with. But when his face turned cold, the air around him sharpened like ice—like a fully cranked AC unit chilling the room in seconds. He rarely persuaded someone with such earnest words at length, but this time he had. And the man across from him hadn’t listened to a single damn word.

       With all his heartfelt concern thrown to the dogs, Lord Shen ditched the nice-guy act and let a rough edge creep into his tone. “I’ve confiscated your luggage, and you’re not leaving. This is my turf. I make the rules.”

       Qin Mu was silent for a moment.

       “I understand your good intentions, and I’m grateful you stepped in to save me. Before I came here, I had already considered the worst-case scenario. Sometimes in life, there are moments you simply can’t back down from. Even if I don’t get a good outcome, I at least want to live with a clear conscience.”

       He met Shen Liu’s eyes. “You’re part of the Shen family, and right now, things are too politically sensitive for you to be dragged into this. I’ve contacted friends in J City. I’ll be careful from now on. You don’t need to worry.”

       “Well aren’t you considerate,” Shen Liu let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “So what—you want me to just stand by and watch you walk straight into the fire? You really think if Teacher Xiao had any say from the afterlife, he wouldn’t throw down a lightning bolt and zap some sense into that thick skull of yours?”

       “Shen Liu—”

       “There’s nothing more to say.” Shen Liu stood up.

       “As of now, this case has nothing to do with you. Until things blow over, you’re staying here where it’s safe. You can try to run if you want—but my advice? Don’t even think about it.”

       Qin Mu grabbed his wrist, frowning. “I’m not joking around with you—”

       “Neither am I.” Shen Liu leaned down, radiating a powerful, dominant pressure. He braced one hand against the back of Qin Mu’s chair and deliberately softened his voice—like a whisper of something too close, too intimate.

       “Disobedient boys get tied up and spanked. So be good, hmm?”

---

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       Qin Mu’s empty hand dropped back down. He spoke coolly, “If Mr. Shen doesn’t want to lend it to me, you can just say so.”

       When he grew serious, there was a kind of cold, sharp aura about him—like a blade unsheathed, glinting with the chill of snow and moonlight.

       “‘Mr. Shen’.” The man rolled the name over his tongue with amusement, lips curling into a teasing smile. “First time I’ve heard you call me that. Feels… fresh.”

       Qin Mu was thoroughly exhausted after all the torment had happened today, and now being toyed with like this only stoked his frustration. He couldn’t help the sarcasm, “Your hospitality is just as fresh, I must say.”

       “So you’ve already decided you’re a guest here?” the man said, half-laughing.

       “I had no intention of imposing,” Qin Mu replied. “You were the one who took the initiative to bring me here.”

       The man let out a short laugh. “Are all lawyers this unreasonable? Instead of thinking how to repay a life-saving favor, you’re too busy acting like I’ve sullied your reputation—desperate to draw a line and keep your distance.”

       The ‘petty’ Lawyer Qin, choosing to go all in, nitpicked the wording and argued back,

       They weren’t trying to kill me. Calling it a life-saving favor is a bit of a stretch.”

       “All right then,” the other man said, magnanimously conceding a little, “even if I’m not your savior—shouldn’t old lovers at least greet each other with a bit less… formality?”

       Those three sudden words—old lovers—caught Qin Mu off guard. His ears burned uncontrollably. After a pause, he said, “Did you bring me here just to reminisce?”

       “What, not in the mood?” The man studied him, his gaze intense and simmering, trailing across Qin Mu’s face until it landed on the small cut near his eye.

       “You’re hurt…” He raised a hand to touch the corner of Qin Mu’s glasses, but was immediately caught mid-motion.

       Tension flared, turning the whole reception room heavy with static.

       Qin Mu stood motionless, eyes holding a clear warning. But the man ignored it, stepping closer provocatively. The grip on his wrist tightened sharply, but he just smiled more.

       The distance at this moment exceeded the limit of being strangers, and the invisible sense of oppression that followed made Qin Mu tense up. He hated this out-of-control feeling, and even more, he didn’t want to show weakness in such a tug-of-war. However, the person in front of him, the relative posture, the voice of the person speaking… was like raindrops falling into the deep well of memory, rippling across its surface and loosening a long-buried seal at the bottom, threatening to wake some ancient beast from sleep.

       Qin Mu didn’t want to keep entangling like this. Wearily, he let go and lowered his gaze as the man took the glasses from his nose. A moment later, the man’s fingertips lightly brushed the scr4p3 at the corner of his eye, leaving behind a warm and lingering touch.

       Qin Mu let out a soft sigh, helplessly murmuring—

       “…Shen Liu.”

       “Not calling me Mr. Shen anymore?” Shen Liu teased.

       “I’m tired.” Qin Mu closed his eyes briefly and said, “Can I borrow your phone now?”

       “Of course,” Shen Liu replied, but showed no intention of actually handing it over.

       Left with no choice, Qin Mu reached into the pocket of his robe. “Password?” he asked.

       Shen Liu looked at him, amusement playing in his eyes, but said nothing.

       They locked eyes for two seconds, and Qin Mu’s brow twitched slightly. His fingers, as if bewitched, drifted over the keypad to tap out the digits 3-1-4-1-5, but hesitated just above the 9, faltering at the last step. The little device suddenly felt like a scorching hot potato—impossible to hold, yet too dangerous to let go. He could only bite the bullet and carry on.

       The moment his fingertip touched 9, the lock screen vanished.

       And in that instant, it felt like something else had also unlocked. They scrambled up from the depths of memory, one after another, revealing hazy outlines—a dusky evening, the library, a young man holding a Calculus textbook…

       Qin Mu pressed his lips into a tight line, forcing his emotions into check, pretending nothing had happened as he dialed Gangzi’s number. When he heard the ‘The number you’ve dialed is powered off’ message, he looked up at Shen Liu.

       The man was leaning lazily against the sofa, peeling an orange. “Need him to warm your bed?” he asked.

       “He’s a bodyguard,” Qin Mu replied.

       Shen Liu scoffed. “A bodyguard who lost you right under his nose? I thought that second son of the Chu family might be somewhat useful, but turns out he couldn’t persuade you and sent over a damn fool to embarrass himself.”

       His words were sharp, but his hands worked with practiced ease, stripping the white pith from the orange slices as if the cruelty in his voice was nothing out of the ordinary.

       Qin Mu frowned. “Where is Gangzi?”

       “Chopped off his pinky and tossed it in Wanan Lake.” Seeing Qin Mu’s expression shift, Shen Liu smiled. “Relax, I’m kidding. Why so nervous? I had him packed up and sent back. He’s probably on a plane dreaming his little dreams right about now.”

       He took back the phone and stuffed the peeled orange into Qin Mu’s hand. “I’ve already sent word to Second Young Master Chu—no need for you to worry. Come on, you’re a guest from afar. Let me play the gracious host.”

       Qin Mu glanced down at the thoroughly peeled orange, popped a segment into his mouth. It was sweet and juicy, surprisingly good.

       Shen Liu led him up to the fourth floor. The guest room arranged for him was a three-room suite, elegantly decorated, complete with a few oil paintings from renowned artists. Two maids came in quietly, one carrying a tray of food and the other a stack of clean clothes. They set things in place with soft movements, then exited without a word.

       Shen Liu used a spoon to stir the steaming small clay pot and said, “It’s still hot. Go take a shower first—you look like you just crawled out of a mine.”

       Qin Mu nodded and headed into the bathroom, washing off the layer of dirt and dust. He hadn’t sustained any major injuries—just some bruising around his ribs and lower back, along with scr4p3s on his spine, elbow, and the corner of his eye. Just as he was checking the wounds in the mirror when the bathroom door opened.

       Shen Liu came in, completely at ease, carrying a small first-aid kit, and said, “I’ll put some medicine on for you.”

       Qin Mu: “…”

       He remembered locking the door from the inside.

       “Oh, the lock’s broken,” Shen Liu lied without batting an eye, bringing over a pair of tweezers holding an alcohol swab.

       Completely naked, Qin Mu looked at him without expression. “As the host, the least you could do is respect your guest’s basic right to privacy.”

       Shen Liu’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “As the host, the only thing I brought in wasn’t just a first-aid kit.”

       Qin Mu was momentarily silenced by the remark. He knew arguing further would only make things more awkward, so he shot him a look and reached for the bathrobe hanging on the rack.

       “Put that on after the medicine,” Shen Liu said, catching his hand. But when Qin Mu swept him a cold glance, he immediately let go. Shen Liu raised his hands as if to show he meant no harm. “I’m just here to help apply some medicine. My intentions are pure, I swear. I won’t lay a finger on you.”

       Seeing that Qin Mu still didn’t move, he chuckled, “If you’re shy, I can close my eyes?”

       Qin Mu stared at him blankly for a moment, then finally gave in with a sigh of resignation and slipped off the robe.

       The alcohol stung like hell on the wounds, but he remained stoically silent, as if he didn’t feel a thing. Shen Liu’s hands were gentle and careful. After disinfecting the abrasions, he rubbed medicinal oil into the bruises.

       Just as he’d promised—he didn’t cross any lines the entire time. By the time Qin Mu came out of the bathroom with his robe tied, the millet porridge had been served.

       He was already starving and devoured two bowls in a flash. Shen Liu was tempted by the sight and joined in, having a bowl himself.

       After dinner, they sat in quiet silence for a while.

       Qin Mu finally said, “Thank you.”

       But Shen Liu didn’t respond with equal formality. He leaned lazily back against the soft cushions and teased, “That’s all? Just a thank-you? Nothing else you want to say to me? Like… you’re scared to sleep alone and want me to stay over or something?”

       Qin Mu was quiet for a moment. “I do have a question.”

       It seemed Shen Liu had already guessed what he was about to ask. He gave the answer before Qin Mu could even speak. “Yes, the ‘Shen’ in Shen Liu is that Shen. The bastard who broke my leg back then? Shen Lan. My father. Anything else you want to ask?”

       Qin Mu had suspected as much. Now that it was confirmed, he didn’t seem all that surprised. He shook his head. “No more questions.”

       After the maids came to clear the dishes, Shen Liu finally stood and said lazily, “Get some sleep. Good night.”

       The room fell quiet. Qin Mu rubbed his brow tiredly. As he turned, he caught sight of a phone placed by the pillow.

       It was his phone. Clearly it had already been retrieved, but the man had deliberately withheld it, forcing him to lower himself to ask for it. When Shen Liu decided to be difficult, he really knew how to get under his skin.

       He unlocked it with his fingerprint, and several WeChat messages popped up. All from someone named ‘Call me gege and I’ll give you candy’.

       Qin Mu’s WeChat contacts were mostly work-related: partners, clients—all neatly labelled with real names, job titles, and project details, organised into categorised groups.

       Who the hell was this person?

       Message one.

       Call me gege and I’ll give you candy:

       Lawyer Qin sure is sentimental. Still using the same old password after all this time.

       Message two.

       Call me gege and I’ll give you candy:

       For your safety, I installed a tracking app on your phone. Just letting you know upfront—don’t accuse me of violating your privacy.

       Don’t even think about deleting it—you can’t.

       Message three.

       Call me gege and I’ll give you candy:

       Go to bed early. Thinking too much and staying up late both age you faster.

       Well, even if he only used his toes to guess, he would know exactly who it was. Qin Mu fought the overwhelming urge to chuck his phone out the window, then lay down on the bed. He thought that after such an exhausting day, he would fall asleep quickly—but his mind had other plans. It broke free and wandered off without reins, drifting deeper and deeper into the canyon of memories.

       314159.

       The first six digits of π.

       Also the password he had been using since his youth.

       The time roared in reverse like a surging tide. A nervous and timid young man climbed the winding staircase, walked past rows of neatly aligned bookshelves, and found the person he’d been searching for by the window. Gathering every ounce of courage, he asked—

       “What am I to you?”

       “π.”

       “…What?”

       “In every circle hides a mischievous and fascinating infinite, non-repeating decimal. It’s an intrinsic constant, yet nearly impossible to calculate with precision. It demands endless deduction and contemplation… just like someone you secretly hold in your heart.”

       The scene gradually came into focus, emerging from a blur of muted colors.

       Outside the window, crimson clouds shimmered with golden light. That profile bathed in soft glow, the yellowed pages of a book in hand, a heartbeat spiraling out of control, the clean scent of a school uniform, and lips—warm, soft, and slightly damp…

       Everything he once thought forgotten came alive again through the smallest details. That dazzling, dreamlike twilight from years ago returned, like a watercolour painting redrawn and recoloured—every stroke lush and vivid, tracing out a young, tender, yet unforgettable love.

       Shen Liu.

       Qin Mu opened his eyes with a faint look of irritation, staring blankly at the wall lamp for a while.

       The memories and the person he had carefully locked away in a high shelf of his mind had broken loose, stirring up chaos in his heart and thoughts, making it impossible to sleep.

       It was all just too much.

       He made up his mind to leave first thing in the morning. But before he left, he had to find his luggage. It contained many essential documents related to the Baolijian case. Since his phone was back, it meant Shen Liu had already sent someone to the hotel. Given his style of doing things, he had probably searched every corner, rolled up the carpet, and brought the luggage back too. Shen Liu just didn’t feel like handing it over to him so easily.

       Trying to force him to beg again?

       Qin Mu shut his eyes and let out a heavy, muffled sigh.

---

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       They didn’t seem to be in a rush to arrest anyone. Only two of them went to check the rear exit, while the rest surrounded Qin Mu. Noticing Qin Mu’s guarded expression, the tall, thin man with a long face who was helping him took the initiative and said, “We’re friends of Dai Gang.”

       Dai Gang was Gangzi’s full name.

       So they were Chu Yu’s people.

       Qin Mu temporarily eased up and followed them out. He noticed one of them holding a police siren with flashing red and blue lights. In a split second, a jumble of laws flashed through his mind—Criminal Law, Police Law, Public Security Administration Punishment Law, Road Traffic Safety Law—and he instinctively began to consider how such illegal behavior could be argued as ‘righteous intervention’ in court.

       Fortunately, his professional reflexes hadn’t completely taken over his brain. A few seconds later, his thoughts veered back on track—the bald thug wasn’t one to let things slide. If he realised the people who rescued him weren’t actual police, there was a good chance he’d come back to cause trouble. Qin Mu still felt uneasy and asked, “Where’s Gangzi?”

       Gangzi had been personally appointed by Chu Yu as his bodyguard. If something had happened, he should’ve come looking immediately. It didn’t make sense for him to stay back and wait for news. Besides, these people…

       Qin Mu glanced sideways. The long-faced man seemed incredibly sensitive to his gaze and he turned to look back right away. The other five men in black flanked them—two in front, one to the side, two behind—intentionally or unintentionally forming a protective formation. They didn’t speak to each other, but seemed to communicate purely through glances, as if they could read one another’s minds. Their coordination was so seamless, it was almost like…

       “He’s waiting for me at the Marriott?” Qin Mu asked again, deliberately naming the wrong hotel.

       The long-faced man replied with a quiet “Mm.”

       A chill ran down Qin Mu’s spine, and goosebumps rose on his skin.

       They weren’t Chu Yu’s people.

       The moment his expression changed, the other man noticed. The air instantly grew tense.

       The long-faced man stopped in front of a black GL8 van. “Mr. Qin, please get in.” Though his face remained expressionless, his tone was still polite. Qin Mu hesitated for a moment, then got in. He was placed in the back seat, squeezed between two men like the ham in a sandwich.

       The car door shut with a crisp thud. The long-faced man handed him a bottle of mineral water. “We’ll take you somewhere safe, then contact Dai Gang to meet us. We may need to switch vehicles midway. Please cooperate.”

       Qin Mu accepted the bottle but didn’t drink. “Can I borrow your phone?”

       “Sorry.” The man refused without hesitation, but gave a reassurance, “We mean you no harm. Please don’t worry.”

       Qin Mu forced a smile. “Alright.”

       He didn’t trust them—but he wasn’t the reckless type either. After years of hardship, he had grown into someone who always thought things through before taking action. Right now, their objective was unknown, the personnel were unknown, and the outcome was unknown. Even thinking about it felt futile. Outnumbered, he had no way to escape. All he could do was skid along like standing on a watermelon peel—wherever it slid, that’s where he would go. Even if it led to the gates of hell, so be it. As the saying goes, when the soldiers come, send generals; when the water comes, build a dam. That just how life was—if someone wanted it, let them have it.

       With that thought, Qin Mu actually felt a bit more at peace. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes to rest, as a question drifted across his mind—

       If he were to die now, would he have any regrets?

       He had close friends he could confide in, enough money for a comfortable life, a career he loved, had eaten all kinds of good food, traveled to many places, even cuddled a few cats—there didn’t seem to be much left to regret. If he had to name something, maybe it was the absence of a lover.

       But true love was like encountering a ghost on a night road—people talked about it vividly, but those who really ran into one were few and far between. Back when he was young, he had stumbled into it by sheer dumb luck, like a blind cat catching a dead mouse. But it ended bitterly, and now when he looked back, all that remained was a vague sense of emptiness and melancholy. Maybe he had used up all his luck in love back then, because nothing ever came after. Love was something that could be chanced upon but not forced. A beginning doesn’t always lead to an end. Thinking of it that way, maybe it wasn’t such a big regret after all.

       Just as Qin Mu was trying to reach some kind of peaceful truce with himself, the car pulled into a remote repair shop on the outskirts of the city. The long-faced man led Qin Mu and two of the black-clad men to switch into a Mercedes, while the others stayed with the GL8 and drove off first.

       The two vehicles headed in different directions. The Mercedes made a wide loop around the outskirts, weaving through streets and alleys, even changing license plates midway. Eventually, they entered a bustling, high-end district. Based on the towering landmark building in the distance, Qin Mu guessed they had arrived at the famous Dongping District.

       J City was one of the most prominent metropolises in the country, and Dongping District had the most expensive land in all of J City. It was home to the city’s elite—the ones perched at the top of the pyramid, looking down at the masses and shaping countless futures with the flick of a finger.

       For personal reasons, Qin Mu had never liked this city. He had only been here a handful of times, and never lingered except for official business. This was the first time he was taking a closer look at this land where every inch was as precious as diamond. Outside the car window, the dark night was tinted with dazzling neon, forming a shimmering mist—like the enchanted breath of some mythical creature, subtly bewitching everyone who passed through.

       Qin Mu shifted slightly, trying to ease his sore back, and asked, “How much farther?”

       “Almost there,” the long-faced man replied.

       Qin Mu didn’t bother asking more. He was too tired. After everything that had just happened, all he wanted was to lie down and sleep—anywhere would do, even under a bridge.

       The car drove along Jinghu Lake for a while, then turned onto a smaller side road. The paved path climbed along the slope of a hill, lit on both sides by orderly, floor-level guide lights. At one turn, the headlights swept over a sign that read:

       Private Property – No Entry

       They passed through two electronic gates without obstruction and finally arrived at a brightly lit estate, glowing like the moon surrounded by stars.

       The courtyard was massive, with a four-story main building flanked by two symmetrical two-story wings. The car drove straight into the underground garage, where a row of flashy sports cars sat parked in perfect order.

       Someone was waiting at the entrance. He opened the car door and gave Qin Mu a quick once-over with a probing gaze. He then turned to the long-faced man and said, “You guys can go.”

       The long-faced man didn’t say much. He nodded in response, got back in the car, and drove away.

       The man at the entrance smiled at Qin Mu and said, “Mr. Qin, please come with me.”

       Qin Mu knew the answer to the mystery was near. He didn’t ask anything and followed him into the elevator. When they reached the third floor, the man gestured for him to exit. The moment he stepped out, the elevator door slid shut and descended smoothly.

       Only Qin Mu was left standing there alone.

       It was a reception room with a double-height ceiling and a lavish European-style décor. Looking up, one could see a large arc-shaped balcony. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling was made of countless irregularly arranged crystals, like a shower of glimmering snow. Two walls of bookshelves were packed tight with books, almost like a small library. The spines, in different colours, added a unique visual texture to the space. Near the floor-to-ceiling windows stood a tree of some unknown species, its branches full of clustered pink and white blossoms.

       Someone was sitting on the sofa in the center. At the sound of movement, he closed the book in his hands and slowly stood up.

       His chestnut-brown hair was slightly long and casually tied back in a small, loose ponytail. He was tall and slender, wearing a dark robe carelessly knotted at the waist. When he turned around, the loose neckline revealed a glimpse of his firm chest muscles, which naturally drew the eye.

       The moment Qin Mu saw that face, both his heartbeat and his breath abruptly stopped for a beat.

       Outside, the night was cold. Inside, the lights were warm and soft. That face, caught in the shifting glow and shadow, seemed to overlap with countless moments in his memory, becoming something between illusion and reality. He stood there, stunned, and only after a long pause managed to let out a breath that had been held in so long it stung the corners of his eyes.

       To meet an old acquaintance now—

       He couldn’t tell if he was feeling joy or sorrow.

       Someone he thought he would never see again in this lifetime had appeared, just when he was at his most disheveled, with no warning at all.

       A strong emotional fluctuations that he had not experienced for a long time came up like a tide, knocking his seemingly steady heart off balance and drenching it through and through. The feeling was so unfamiliar it felt alien—like drinking coffee spiked with herbal medicine, strange and bitter all the way from the throat to the chest. Thankfully, his professional mind was still functioning, desperately trying to gather the scattered fragments of rationality amid the emotional flood, searching for an appropriate response.

       Mountains and rivers now separated the past, and bygone days had long turned to dust.

       Both of them had shed layers of tenderness over time, tempered by life into people who were hardened, worldly, and distant. The sentiments of the past were now far away, leaving only a trace of deliberately ignored longing—like a small flame hidden deep in the heart where neither wind nor rain could reach. With time, he had almost forgotten it himself.

       —Just a somewhat familiar stranger, that’s all.

       Qin Mu repeated this to himself once.

       And again.

       He thought he was ready. But just as he was about to speak, the man opened his mouth.

       “Qin Mu.”

       The clear, resonant voice was like a sudden mountain breeze, carrying the echo of time long gone. It blew away the carefully worn mask of indifference on Qin Mu’s face, revealing for a brief instant a fragile, unguarded confusion. He forced himself to regain composure quickly, instinctively pushing up his cracked glasses, and said calmly, “Didn’t expect it to be you. Thanks.”

       It was a polite and diplomatic phrasing—every word carried an unmistakable sense of alienation.

       The gaze fixed on Qin Mu wavered slightly. The man’s expression held a faint trace of ‘just as I thought’, as if this reaction had been expected. “Were you hurt? Come here, let me take a look.”

       Qin Mu didn’t move. “Just a scratch, nothing serious,” he said. “Can I borrow your phone? I need to contact a friend.”

       He wanted to escape this awkward situation—so much so it came off as almost desperate.

       “Of course.” The man curved his lips slightly, reached for the phone on the coffee table, and lifted his hand as if to hand it over—but his feet didn’t move.

       Qin Mu had no choice but to walk over. Just as his fingers were about to touch the phone, the man casually turned his wrist and pulled it back, slipping it into the pocket of his robe.

       Clearly, he was doing it on purpose.

---

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       Gangzi had always showered quickly—he lathered up head to toe with shampoo and body wash, rinsed off, and that was that. As he reached for a towel, he happened to glance at the mirror and suddenly sensed something was off.

       He vaguely remembered that when they left in the morning, he had casually placed his used razor on the shelf beside the mirror. Since he was left-handed, the razor’s handle naturally pointed left.

       But now the handle had shifted slightly to the right.

       His pupils contracted sharply. He pushed aside the bottles and jars cluttering the shelf. A tiny pinhole camera peeked out from the corner.

       A chill instantly shot down his spine and spread through his body. Gangzi quickly threw on his bathrobe and rushed out of the bathroom in three strides, shouting, “Lawyer Qin!”

       No response.

       His gaze swept across the carpet near the window—Qin Mu’s phone was lying there. His blood practically froze.

       Qin Mu was someone entrusted to him directly by the second young master. All along this journey, he had been hyper-vigilant, cautious to the extreme, guarding Qin Mu more closely than the Monkey King guarded Tang Sanzang¹reference from Journey to the West. Who would’ve thought he had still manage to lose him right under his nose?

       These people had silently entered the room, installed a camera in the bathroom, and then found the perfect moment to abduct someone brazenly. Their methods were so bold and rampant it sent shivers down the spine.

       Gangzi called the police as he dashed out of the hotel. Outside, traffic was bustling, and there was no way to tell which car was suspicious. He hurriedly negotiated with the hotel to view surveillance footage, but they insisted he wait for the police to arrive—and couldn’t explain how those people had a spare room key.

       When the police finally arrived, they spent some time reviewing the footage and eventually spotted Qin Mu in the hallway, the elevator, and at the lobby exit. His head was lowered under a gray hat, and two men flanked him, dragged into a black sedan with the license plate JXX43C.

       The police tracked traffic and intersection cameras and found that the vehicle had traveled through the old city area, where it stopped for nearly ten minutes in a blind spot before continuing.

       By the time the car was pulled over, only the driver was inside. At first, the driver thought he was being busted for operating an illegal taxi and begged, “I’m just a low-level employee doing some side gigs—please don’t tell my boss.” But once he realised the passenger was the problem, he panicked and hurried to explain, “I don’t know them. These guys were referred to me by Erhei. After getting in the car, they said they were picking up a drunk friend and asked me to wait outside the hotel. Then they came out with the guy. The three of them got off at Xietang Alley.”

       Erhei was a small-time thug. According to him, a few days earlier, during a drinking session with friends, the topic of moonlighting as a black cab driver came up, and he recommended the driver he often used. As for the ‘friend’ who needed the ride, he couldn’t remember who brought him along. Everyone mixed got along so casually, and he didn’t even care what the other guy did for a living. After thinking for a while, he recalled that the drinking session had been arranged by someone named Houzi.

       Houzi didn’t answer his phone for ages. When he was finally dragged out of his home, he reeked of alcohol. After the police patiently questioned him for a long time, he finally slurred out that it was some friend of an ex-girlfriend or something. This roundabout mess unraveled a whole string of small-time thugs, and it was obvious someone among them was lying to muddy the waters. Even if the truth could be uncovered eventually, it would take time—and Gangzi couldn’t afford to wait.

       The moment the incident happened, he reported directly to Chu Yu. Chu Yu’s expression turned grim, and he immediately cut short his meeting and returned to his office to make a phone call.

       At this moment, Qin Mu knew nothing of the outside world. He was unconscious, as if trapped in a bizarre and surreal dream.

              He dreamed he was standing at the edge of a school rooftop, with countless snakes slithering toward him from behind and their ghostly green eyes fixed on him with chilling intensity. Below the building stood many people—his parents among them—but none of them had faces. When they looked up, it was just a mass of pale blankness. A mix of eerie laughter and whispering blended with the snakes’ hissing—it was hard to tell whether the voices belonged to humans or serpents. The venomous snakes closed in, their cold and slick bodies sliding across his feet, coiling up his legs. He saw their sharp fangs and tried to call for help, but no sound came out. Suddenly, he toppled from the rooftop.

       He plunged into hell.

       Someone seized his arms and legs and hurled him into a damp, cold, and gloomy room. It was dark inside. The tightly shut door had only a small iron-barred window. Outside that window was a horrifying face, wrinkled and hairy, with gray vertical pupils that turned slowly as they peered in. A hoarse voice, like a broken radio, repeated over and over again, “You were wrong. You were wrong. You were wrong…”

       When those gray eyes finally closed, the door creaked open. A beautiful deer appeared, leading him barefoot through snow and ice in a desperate run—so fast it felt like his heart was going to explode. And then he saw—

       A blinding, dazzling light—so bright it felt like it could melt him.

       Qin Mu woke up.

       The initial moments were sheer agony. His vision was blurred, his head splitting with pain, his body numb and immobile. Then came the waves of nausea and dizziness. His mind spun like a runaway train, utterly unable to focus or think clearly. Someone was speaking, but he couldn’t make out a single word. Everything in front of his eyes swayed and shifted, as if he had been thrown into a giant kaleidoscope with flickering and disjointed patches of color everywhere. He tried to reach out, but his limbs were too numb to move.

       It took a long time for Qin Mu to crawl out of this disoriented, powerless state, blinking groggily at his surroundings.

       It was an abandoned factory. The light overhead glowed dim and cold. A few rust-covered machines stood not far away. He was lying on the floor, and he could smell instant noodles.

       “Go check if he’s awake,” a gruff voice said. Footsteps approached. Someone yanked his hair up roughly, studied him for a moment, then said, “Yeah, looks about right.”

       “Get him up. Be civil about it,” the first voice spoke again—he seemed to be the leader of the group.

       Qin Mu was hauled up and shoved onto a chair that was missing a leg. He barely managed to sit upright.

       Opposite him sat a burly man—bald, scarred, with a thick, muscular torso. A tattoo peeked out from beneath his collar.

       Qin Mu’s clothes were covered in dust, and his limbs were too weak to support him; he could only lean against the chair, looking rather disheveled. The temperature had dropped sharply in the late autumn night. He had only a sweater on, and as the numbness wore off, the cold started to seep in. Still, he tried to maintain a composed expression, quietly observing the man through his glasses.

       “You don’t seem scared,” the bald man said after sizing him up for a while.

       “I am,” Qin Mu replied, his voice hoarse. “Maybe the drugs haven’t worn off completely—so it’s not showing.”

       “Got any last words before you die?”

       Qin Mu was silent for a moment, then said, “Haven’t thought of them yet. Mind giving me a bit more time?”

       The bald man laughed. When he laughed, the scar on his face twisted, looking like a centipede clinging to his cheek—gruesome and terrifying. “Sure. You can guess how I plan to kill you. Get it right, and I’ll give you a bit more time.”

       Qin Mu glanced around the room, finally resting his eyes on the knife the bald man was toying with. It was sharp, the tip catching the light and reflecting a faint cold blue. He steadied himself and said slowly, “You guys were able to sneak into the hotel room without anyone knowing. Poisoning me or assassinating me quietly would’ve been easy. There’s no reason to go through all this trouble just to bring me here. And for Baolijian, the last wave of public backlash has just been suppressed. If the lawyer involved in the case dies now, it would be a huge blow. So I’m guessing… you won’t kill me.”

       He tried to press down on the edge of the chair, but still didn’t have enough strength in his hands.

       The bald man narrowed his eyes. “I like dealing with smart people. Since you figured that out, then you should also know what we want.”

       “I’m dropping the case. I’ll buy a plane ticket and fly back first thing in the morning.”

       Knowing when to back down is a mark of wisdom—Qin Mu’s capitulation was clean and decisive.

       “So Lawyer Qin is quite easygoing after all.” The bald man curled his lips, his expression cooling. “What a pity… lawyers’ mouths are just too unreliable. With a flick of the tongue, black becomes white. Makes it hard to trust you wholeheartedly. To make sure you keep your word—and as a little punishment for upsetting my boss—I need a small guarantee.”

       As he spoke, he flicked the knife upward. Two men dragged Qin Mu up and forced him over to a machine.

       Sensing danger, Qin Mu started struggling. He took several hard punches to the gut, pain arching his back. A blond-haired guy yanked Qin Mu’s right hand over and pressed his palm down against the flat control panel of the machine.

       The shiny blade danced mockingly between his fingers. The bald man taunted him like a cat playing with a mouse. “Lawyer Qin, I’ll leave you just one pinky. If you keep squirming and I accidentally slice off more than one, don’t blame me.”

       Qin Mu’s scalp tingled as he fought to stay calm, bargaining with him, “I’ll pay for this finger, and everyone present today will have a share. You can name your price.”

       The bald man grinned, tightening his grip on the knife with a bloodthirsty sneer. “So sorry—I’m not interested in money.”

       Panic surged in Qin Mu’s chest as he struggled again, only to be pinned down hard. Just as the sharp blade was just about to fall, a piercing police siren suddenly ripped through the air.

       Everyone froze in surprise. The bald man halted, seemingly trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound.

       “Cops!” someone shouted.

       Panic erupted in the workshop. Qin Mu took the chance to slam his shoulder into the blond guy’s gut. Caught off guard, the blond lost his grip. As he lunged again, Qin Mu fought him with every ounce of remaining strength.

       “Go! Leave him— Go out the back door!” the bald man shouted through gritted teeth.

       The blond thug snarled but shook off Qin Mu and bolted. All of them had criminal records—getting caught meant real trouble. Their goal had been to intimidate and threaten, and they had accomplished that. No need to risk everything. They could cut off a finger any time.

       Qin Mu collapsed in a corner, panting heavily, covered in dust and grime. Someone rushed over to help him up. He raised his head and his brow furrowed slightly.

       These ‘police’ weren’t wearing uniforms.

---

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       Qin Mu and Wu Guangming arranged to meet the following morning.

       Wu Guangming’s family lived in a suburb far from the city center. Three years ago, in order to ease the issues of traffic, housing, and population concentration caused by the overloaded city, the government had drawn a big circle on the map and merged several shabby county towns into a new district, bringing them under J City’s jurisdiction. Although the name ‘new district’ sounded grand, the basic investment remained loyally aligned with that of a third-rate rural county. Apart from heating the land market and luring in a pack of ravenous real estate developers, not a single basic supporting facility like schools or hospitals kept pace. Property prices in the new district rose, but compared to J City where every inch of land was worth a lot of money, they were still more humane.

       People who couldn’t afford to buy homes in J City clustered here, commuting three hours by subway every day to clock in at work, then dragging their exhausted bodies back through the night in search of their own bed.

       To treat his mother’s illness, Wu Guangming sold their apartment in the tube-shaped housing of J City and moved here. His parents had both worked at a machine tool factory and were honourably laid off during the tide of reform. His father didn’t have any other skills, spending his days drinking and playing cards at home. One rainy night, after a game, he fell into a ditch with his bicycle on the way home and died.

       His mother raised the still-underage Wu Guangming by washing dishes for others. The image of the short woman hunching her back while sitting on a low stool washing dishes, her hands peeling from the dish soap, and the way she wrapped her waist tight with cloth to continue working when her lumbar pain flared up—these were the carving knives that etched into Wu Guangming’s memory.

       From a young age, his essays consistently expressed his wish to be filial to his mother, and this remained unchanged as he grew older. He was extremely hardworking. After graduating from technical school, he worked as an apprentice in a hotel kitchen for three years. Once he could handle the wok himself, he saved money for several more years, waking early and working late to open a small restaurant. Thanks to the good taste of his food, business was decent.

       Life for the whole family began to look up, and he finally had the chance to fulfill his filial duty properly. That was when the overwhelming advertisements on the internet and television caught his eye.

       They were an ads for a ‘pure traditional Chinese herbal tonic that strengthens the body, detoxifies and dispels dampness, boosts immunity, and supplements calcium to strengthen bones’ and ‘the number one choice of hundreds of millions of elderly people, the best gift for children to show filial piety to their parents’. It was a product broadcast in prime time on mainstream media, endorsed by celebrities and stars. What harm could it possibly have?

       Wu Guangming didn’t know that those red gift boxes he had joyfully and gratefully given to his mother with his own hands were filled with deathly poison. By the time she was taken to the hospital, it was already too late. His mother endured half a year of agony before passing, leaving behind a half-knitted wool vest for her little granddaughter.

       Wu Guangming fell hard into the whirlpool of tragedy, struggling but unable to escape. He sought justice in many places, but was kicked around like a ball, rolling through the mud, and was ultimately slammed into an abyss by the conclusion: ‘insufficient evidence, unable to file a case’.

              Wu Guangming’s family of four lived in a small home of less than sixty square meters. Fortunately, both children were in school; otherwise, it would’ve felt even more cramped with Qin Mu and Gangzi squeezed in there. Wu Guangming’s wife wasn’t much of a talker. Aside from making tea and boiling water, she mostly just sat quietly.

       Wu Guangming explained everything to Qin Mu in detail, taking out the inspection reports for Baolijian, his mother’s medical test documents, and various receipts from relevant departments. Suppressing his rage, he said, “My mom was always in good health. After taking that stuff for half a year, her liver was ruined. So many people got sick from it. It’s obvious that the medicine is the problem, but no one’s doing anything about it. I never wanted compensation from the start. No amount of money can bring my mom back! I’m just furious—does justice even still exist in this world?” As soon as he finished speaking, his phone rang again.

       Since Qin Mu had arrived, Wu Guangming’s phone had already rung four times. Qin Mu politely said, “If something urgent has come up, please go ahead—we can reschedule.”

       “I’m not busy. It’s fine.” Wu Guangming declined the call and tossed the phone aside, muttering under his breath, “These people are seriously like damn flies.”

       To win the lawsuit, the materials in Wu Guangming’s hands were far from enough. As Qin Mu carefully examined them, there came a knock at the door. Wu Guangming’s wife looked through the peephole and frowned, both annoyed and resigned.

       Wu Guangming’s expression darkened as he went to open the door. Outside stood two men—one fat, one thin. The fat one quickly plastered on a forced smile when he saw Wu Guangming. “You’re home? Why weren’t you answering your phone? I thought something had happened.”

       “You’re probably hoping something does happen so I’ll be stuck at home every day,” Wu Guangming shot back coldly.

       The two of them seemed used to his attitude and didn’t take it to heart. The fat one still grinned. “Come on, how could you say that? Of course we’re hoping for good things for you.”

       The thin one chimed in, “Not opening the restaurant today? We were hoping to stop by and order a couple of dishes.” It was only ten o’clock, which was the awkward time between breakfast and lunch. It was clearly just something he said off the cuff. After speaking, he craned his neck to peer inside the house, as if searching for something.

       “I’ll open when I feel like it. If I don’t feel like it, I won’t!” Wu Guangming exploded, suddenly flinging the door all the way open. He roared, “She’s home too! You see her now? Seen enough? Then get lost!” The door banged loudly as it hit the wall.

       The thin man finally spotted Wu Guangming’s wife standing inside and forced a smile. “Don’t be mad, Wu ge, we really didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… we’ve got our tasks, you know? We make our living this way—what can we do? Please understand.” As he spoke, he pulled out a cigarette and tried to offer it to ease the tension.

       Wu Guangming didn’t take it, his face still dark, ignoring him completely.

       The thin man awkwardly stuck the cigarette back in his own mouth, glanced at Qin Mu and Gangzi, and asked cautiously, “Got guests over?”

       Wu Guangming glared at him fiercely and yanked the door shut, nearly catching the fat one’s leg before he could pull it back.

       Moments later, the sound of the two men going downstairs could be heard.

       Wu Guangming sat back down, somewhat irritated, and said to Qin Mu, “Sorry about that, I must’ve made a fool of myself.”

       Gangzi asked curiously, “Are they debt collectors? They don’t really look like it.”

       Wu Guangming waved his hand. “I wouldn’t dare get involved in that kind of stuff. They were sent from above to keep an eye on me. Ever since I went to report the issue, I was labelled as an important surveillance subject. There’s some big, important conference coming up soon, so they’ve been assigned to keep tabs on my wife and me three times a day—morning, noon, and night—afraid I’ll raise complaints again and ‘escalate the conflict, disrupt stability and unity.’ If I’m not at the restaurant, they call. If I don’t answer, they come knocking. If I’m not home, they go looking for me everywhere. Like cats chasing a mouse, they can’t let me out of their sight for even a second. That’s why I asked you two to come to my house instead—saves us all from more chaos.”

       Qin Mu frowned. “Restricting someone’s personal freedom is illegal.”

       Wu Guangming gave a bitter laugh. “One person suppressing a group—that’s a violation of freedom. A group suppressing one person—that’s called putting the bigger picture first. I’ve seen through it now. Freedom and justice—those things are only for the capable. People like me, useless as I am, can’t even get a straight answer when our own mothers die. Oh, right…” He remembered the topic from earlier, took out his phone and tapped a few times before handing it over. “Back when I was defending my rights, I posted some stuff online and got to know a few people who also got sick from taking Baolijian. We made a group chat. You mentioned something earlier about the chain of evidence being incomplete—I don’t really understand that, but maybe you could talk to them, see if there’s anything else that can help?”

       That was of course, a good idea.

       Qin Mu carefully recorded their basic information and contact details. That afternoon, he managed to get in touch with two of them. Both lived in areas surrounding J City. One of them, a woman, was currently undergoing treatment in the hospital. Toward evening, Qin Mu bought a basket of flowers and some fruit and went to the hospital, where he spoke with the patient’s attending physician to get a better understanding of her condition. By the time he came out, the sky was already pitch-black, thick with grayish smog.

       Qin Mu bought a pack of Liqun cigarettes and a plastic lighter from a small street shop. He pulled one out and handed it to Gangzi.

       Gangzi waved it off. “Doesn’t seem like you’re a big smoker.”

       The flame from the lighter flickered unsteadily. Qin Mu held the cigarette between his fingers, placed it to his lips, bent his head to light it, and took a deep drag. Exhaling a puff of white smoke, he said, “Smoked a lot when I was younger. Quit later. These past couple days, I just can’t help but want a few drags again.”

       Gangzi understood why.

       The people they had seen these past two days were all suffering—some struggling at the edge of life itself, some trapped in poverty, isolated and helpless, with nowhere to turn. They were nothing like Qin Mu’s previous clients—celebrities, tycoons, interest groups—people who, even if they lost a case, still had countless backup plans. These people had none. They were already teetering on the edge of a cliff or had already fallen off, clinging desperately to fragile vines as they fought to survive.

       Every pair of eyes longing for justice weighed heavily on Qin Mu’s heart, even more so with the unavenged spirit of the mentor who had once taught him.

       Qin Mu rarely showed emotion. His way of relieving stress was also quiet and restrained—just like now, standing by the car, silently smoking a cigarette. By the time he finished, the tangled mess in his mind had more or less sorted itself out.

       A notification popped up on his phone—it was an email from the testing agency he had commissioned earlier. The sample composition analysis report had arrived.

       Qin Mu stubbed out the cigarette and said, “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

       For safety reasons, Qin Mu and Gangzi stayed in a suite together. While walking through the lobby, Gangzi’s alertness noticeably heightened. Inside the elevator, Qin Mu asked, “What’s wrong?”

       “Those service staff were giving us weird looks,” Gangzi said in a low voice. “Be careful—someone might be out to cause us trouble.”

       “They might just be curious,” Qin Mu replied.

       “Curious about what?” Gangzi didn’t quite get it.

       “About what kind of relationship we have, staying in a room together.”

       Gangzi’s face turned red in an instant. He muttered awkwardly under his breath, “What the hell are they thinking…”

       After they entered the room, Qin Mu’s phone rang.

       It was his dad.

       Gangzi caught a bit of the conversation and found it somewhat surprising. Qin Mu and his father didn’t seem particularly close—their conversation was sparse, one sentence at a time, and mostly just a curt ‘En’ in response. Neither was in a hurry to hang up, and it wasn’t the kind of casual back-and-forth filled with warmth you would expect from a father and son. It was more like dealing with a client. Worried the conversation might turn personal and not wanting to intrude, Gangzi went to take a shower.

       Qin Mu exchanged a few more words with Qin Aihua, then said, “I’ve still got some things to take care of here.”

       “Alright, you go ahead.” Qin Aihua hesitated a moment before adding, “Um… if you have time this week, could you come home for a bit? Your mom misses you a lot.”

       Qin Mu was silent for a moment before replying, “I don’t have time for now.”

       “Alright then, work’s important.” The other party didn’t say anything else.

       Qin Mu ended the call and stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring blankly at the night lights twinkling in the distance. The reflections on the glass suddenly shifted.

       Gangzi done with his shower?

       Just as he was about to turn around, someone covered his nose and mouth from behind. A sharp and pungent scent rushed straight to his brain.

       Ether.

       That was the last thought Qin Mu had before his mind went blank.

---

T/N:
Usually people use chloroform right?
But it’s legit 乙醚, ether/diethyl ether, C2H5OC2H5 (ᵔ́∀ᵔ̀)

---

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       The door finally opened.

       The sky was overcast outside, and the room was dark due to poor lighting. The ceiling was low, making it cramped even for the 1.83m tall Qin Mu, let alone for the nearly 1.9m Gangzi, who had to stoop like he had a cervical spondylosis.

       The furnishings were simple and neat but carried a peculiar smell, reminiscent of medicine, musty smell of damp bedding, or the smell of an old person who’s been cooped up at home for a long time. There were two birdcages hanging on the wall, both empty. The floral curtains hung awkwardly, and the only sign of life was a row of plants on the windowsill.

       “Uncle, you raise birds? Here, let me help,” Gangzi quickly took the trembling teapot from Zhang Wenhua’s hand and poured water for both himself and Qin Mu. The old man, with his frail legs and lack of strength, managed a few steps before sitting down on a rattan chair, leaning on the armrest.

       “I used to. But then I got sick, I have no time to care for them, so I gave them away,” Zhang Wenhua looked at Qin Mu, hesitating before finally asking, “Lawyer Qin, tell me the truth, was Lawyer Xiao… because of my case…”

       “The perpetrator hasn’t been found yet; there’s no conclusion at the moment,” Qin Mu replied.

       Zhang Wenhua lowered his eyes, his thin fingers twisting together as he murmured, “He was kind-hearted, helping me without charging a penny, and now this has happened. I really…”

       “It has nothing to do with you,” Qin Mu said. His eyes were dark in colour, set behind glasses on a straight and high-bridged nose, giving his gaze a sincere and deep look. Due to his professional habit, he made eye contact while speaking, conveying a sense of earnestness.

       “Uncle Zhang, whether it was Teacher Xiao or me, we lawyers are just the blade you use to seek justice. Whether you want to draw that blade, when to draw it, and how to use it once drawn, it’s all up to you.” He paused, slowing his speech, “Going to court with a lawyer is to seek justice, but justice isn’t just a legal standard; it’s also a measure in people’s hearts. True justice is what brings peace of mind.”

       These words struck Zhang Wenhua hard. He furrowed his brows for a long time before saying, “Lawyer Qin, I really… don’t want any more trouble.”

       “I can understand your situation and your feelings, and I can guess the difficulties involved,” Qin Mu looked directly at him, “If you have a better option or can get satisfactory compensation, both Teacher Xiao and I could rest easy, even if this trip was in vain.”

       Hearing this, the old man’s eyes reddened slightly, “Lawyer Qin, I’ll be honest with you. The reason I’m just ‘letting it go’ is because I have no other choice. Us common folk at the bottom don’t have many options when something happens.” He sighed sorrowfully, “Life is hard… there’s the ‘not being able to do things’ kind of hard, and the ‘must not do things’ kind. Young Lawyer Qin, you’re young, you might not understand. This is my second marriage with my wife; xiao Ran was her child from before, already sixteen when she came to me. We weren’t close, and she had a falling out with her mother, and became independent early on. My wife had high blood pressure, had a stroke, and was bedridden for over three years until she passed away. I was terrified of ending up alone in my old age, so I sought health supplements to stay fit, to not rely on anyone or suffer. But it backfired, leading to this illness.”

       Zhang Wenhua pulled the corners of his wrinkled mouth and gave a bitter smile, “It’s terminal now, so whether I treat it or not, I don’t have long. But xiao Ran’s life is just beginning. She never had much fatherly love from her biological dad or from me; I owe her, and I can’t bring more trouble to her and her family.” As he spoke, he wiped his eyes, his voice trembling, “Lawyer Qin, I am grateful to Teacher Xiao and you. But… I can’t wield that blade anymore…”

       The message was clear.

       They had used Zhang Ran as leverage to threaten Zhang Wenhua, hitting his vulnerability with precision, leaving no further trouble.

       Seeing him wipe his tears, Qin Mu felt a bitter taste in his heart. He had intended to persuade the old man to continue with the lawsuit, but now all his prepared words seemed inadequate. Looking at the lonely Zhang Wenhua, he thought of Xiao Chengzong lying in the morgue, feeling like his heart was split into two desolate plains. On one side were thousands of miles of glaciers, and on the other side were endless raging flames, both emotions entwined inextricably. He adjusted his glasses, forcing calmness into his voice, “Did they offer you compensation?”

       Zhang Wenhua didn’t hide it and said honestly, “They gave me 80,000 yuan.”

       Only 80,000 yuan.

       The price of a life was only 80,000 yuan.

       Qin Mu clenched his fist on his knee, feeling a pang of sympathy, “If we win, I can get you 800,000 yuan back.”

       Zhang Wenhua seemed startled by the figure, looking at him blankly before shaking his head, “…Forget it, let’s forget it. It’s my bad luck; I’ll accept it.” He struggled to his feet, pulled out a stack of cash from a drawer, and handed it to Qin Mu, “Young Lawyer Qin, you took the trouble to come here. Take this money.”

       “You’re trying to send me away,” Qin Mu smiled helplessly, standing up to gently push the money back, “Uncle Zhang, I’ll be in J City for a few days. If you change your mind, feel free to contact me. I’m here not just for you but to finish what Teacher Xiao started.”

       Zhang Wenhua looked at the young man before him with guilt, hesitating several times before speaking. As Qin Mu was about to leave, he sighed deeply, “Wait a moment.” He took out a small address book from his pocket, flipping to the last page where a number was scribbled. The book had been wet, the ink smudged at the edges, making the digits and the words ‘Wu Guangming’ look fuzzy.

       “He used to live in this compound but moved out. He came to see me recently when he heard I was sick, saying his mother also had issues from taking the medicine. He asked if I wanted to join him in seeking justice. We went a couple of times, but my health couldn’t take it, so I stopped. He tried reaching out to authorities, media, and Baolijian company, but nothing worked. He also approached several law firms to sue, but none would take the case once they heard it was against Baolijian. Lawyer xiao Qin, you might want to contact him.”

       This was an unexpected gain. Qin Mu felt a warmth in his heart, gratefully holding the old man’s hand, “Thank you.”

       Leaving the stairwell, they found it had started to rain again. Gangzi asked, “Should we contact Wu Guangming now?”

       Qin Mu, feeling exhausted, shook his head, “Let’s go back to our accommodation to rest first.”

              The accomodation was a suite at the Hyatt, booked by his assistant.

       In truth, Qin Mu had no particular demands for accommodations. As long as it was clean and quiet, it was enough. Whether it was a five-star hotel or a business one, he was fine with both, just as he was with buffet meals or street food. He had endured all sorts of hardships running cases with Zhou Yi as a paralegal, so he wasn’t fussy.

       He ordered room service and sat on the sofa, lost in thought. Since Xiao Chengzong’s incident, Qin Mu’s mind had been racing, constantly reviewing the case, strategizing, and planning, not getting a wink of sleep on the plane. Now, with Zhang Wenhua’s case off the table, he needed to plan his next move. The air conditioning warmed the room, and Qin Mu relaxed, feeling the fatigue return. He fell asleep before lunch arrived, not even waking when Gangzi covered him with a blanket.

       After a nap on the sofa, his neck was stiff when he woke up, but he felt much better. He ate a few bites and then called Wu Guangming.

       “Hello, is this Wu Guangming? I’m Qin from Mu Xin Law Firm…” Before he could finish introducing himself, the other end of the line cursed, “Go fvck yourself!” and hung up. Subsequent calls went straight to busy signals, indicating he’d been blocked.

       Qin Mu said helplessly, “Do I sounds like a scammer?”

       Gangzi laughed, and handed over his cell phone.

       Qin Mu texted Wu Guangming, explaining that he got the number from Zhang Wenhua. After a while, he received a call back.

       “Sorry, really sorry,” the man on the other end apologized awkwardly, “My information must have been sold to someone; I keep getting spam calls, so I thought you were a scammer too.”

       “No worries,” Qin Mu understood, “I heard from Uncle Zhang that you want to sue Baolijian, is that right?”

       “You’d take the case?” Wu Guangming was surprised.

       Qin Mu briefly explained his connection with Teacher Xiao, Zhang Wenhua, and Baolijian. Wu Guangming hesitated, then said apprehensively, “Lawyer Qin, I won’t hide it from you, we’ve spent almost all our money on my mother’s treatment, and I have two kids to raise. I might not be able to pay much for legal fees. But… if you can help me win this lawsuit, I’ll give you half of whatever compensation we get, even all of it if you want! You don’t know how much I hate them! I wish I could burn that damn company to the ground!”

       “The fees aren’t important,” Qin Mu said, “Mr. Wu, if it’s convenient, can we meet?”

       “Sure, sure,” Wu Guangming agreed hastily, then added in a downcast tone, “Sorry, could you come to my place? I… can’t leave here.”

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