Month: April 2025 (Page 1 of 3)

       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.

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

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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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