Chu Xiaoyun’s father wiped the fine sweat from his forehead under the pressure of his two visitors’ gazes. “M-may I ask what you two need from me, uh—” A hand as heavy as a thousand pounds suddenly landed on his shoulder. Under the gaze of those dark eyes, his body went rigid. He looked at Gu Lingzhou, trembling: “G-General…”
Chu Xiaoyun’s mother, standing behind them, called out “Muqing,” then was startled by the scene and sucked in a sharp breath. Even Chu Xiaoyun fell silent.
“I’m asking you—do you know Chu Mushan?” Gu Lingzhou’s voice was cold, like the temperature of melting ice in the dead of winter, making one’s lips tremble uncontrollably. Chu father’s expression froze on his face, clearly frightened.
Shi Yuxing sighed, stepped forward, and grabbed Gu Lingzhou’s wrist, giving him a warning look. After removing his hand, he apologized to Chu father: “Sorry about that. We’d like to understand your relationship with Chu Mushan. We heard he’s your cousin?”
“Cousin… cousin… I think there was someone like that.” Chu Xiaoyun’s mother muttered, furrowing her brows in thought.
Shi Yuxing turned his head, hoping she could remember something.
“He’s dead.” Chu father finally spoke, snapping out of his earlier shock. His aged, weary eyes closed, as if unwilling to face it. “He died many years ago. Chu Mushan—I haven’t heard that name in so long.”
Shi Yuxing turned back and was about to let go of Gu Lingzhou’s hand, but the man hooked his fingers back in and held on tight.
“He is indeed my cousin. We used to play together as children. As we grew up, we gradually lost touch. Later, the news came that he died in an accident.” Chu father sank into some memory, his face, which had held a trace of warmth, suddenly turning cold. “He was an unfilial son. He argued with his parents and ran away from home. Even when they died, he didn’t come back. Ending up like that—I can only say he deserved it.”
Several streaks of water ran down the hospital window. Scattered memories, like dust dampened by the pouring rain—some clumped together, others leaped and wrapped themselves in moisture, slowly fermenting and seeping into the nose.
Shi Yuxing: “An unfilial son? What was the conflict between them?”
Chu Muqing’s cloudy eyes gradually cleared, like polished glass. “That was a long time ago. My parents happened to mention it to me once—”
Chu Mushan’s family was middle-class, with an annual income of only three to four hundred thousand, but they managed to put him through university. Once in college, Chu Mushan used his own ability to secure a loan and start a small business. The one who lent him the money was his girlfriend at the time—a senior from the same school.
“His first love was said to be the daughter of some wealthy family—very rich—so lending money to my cousin wasn’t a big deal for her… It’s already lucky if a startup can make back the money invested. Chu Mushan did make money in the early stages, but later, his luck must have run out. Coupled with greed after getting a taste of wealth, the company went under as expected. The woman lent him quite a bit over time, but later her family came to collect. He couldn’t pay, so he begged his parents to cover it. A deficit of several tens of millions isn’t something you can come up with overnight—or rather, people like us couldn’t come up with that in several lifetimes. He took his parents’ identification documents as collateral and ran off himself.”
“Daddy, did that uncle’s girlfriend break up with him?” Chu Xiaoyun asked curiously.
Chu Muqing shook his head. “Not exactly. The woman didn’t want to break up—she was lovestruck. It was her family that forced them apart. Xiaoyun, you must never find a man like that, you hear? Money is something that easily makes people lose themselves. Once a person’s nature changes after getting involved with it, it’s terrifying.” As a father himself, he could truly understand what the other parents had done. Even though Chu Mushan was his cousin, he stood by reason, not by blood—especially since the man had left behind a mountain of debt and run off alone.
Combining the information from the file and Chu father’s account, Shi Yuxing vaguely pieced things together. The Ke family had probably given Chu Mushan a sum of money as a test for a potential son-in-law. The business did well in the early stages, but later, Chu Mushan lost himself in a life of wine and women, mismanaging the company until it went bankrupt. The Ke family saw that Chu Mushan wasn’t someone worth entrusting their daughter to, so they arranged the marriage between Grandmother and Grandfather.
After all, for the only daughter of a wealthy family, if the match wasn’t equal in status, there was a real risk of being devoured whole.
Shi Yuxing slowly shook his head, a sense of sadness rising in his heart. Not pity for Chu Mushan—but bewilderment at Grandmother. How could she see this money-sucking leech as her unattainable love? He’d assumed Chu Mushan was at least a model young man to be so cherished.
In this regard, Grandmother and Grandfather were quite well-matched—both top-tier lovers. One couldn’t forget her useless ex-boyfriend, and the other could tolerate his wife carrying on with her ex and bearing his child. Neither of them had loved anything good.
His gaze shifted to Gu Lingzhou, who seemed to sense it and looked back, giving him a gentle smile as he tightened their interlaced hands. Shi Yuxing quickly looked away—Chu Mushan couldn’t have been as handsome as Gu Lingzhou anyway. And even if he were, Shi Yuxing probably wouldn’t have liked a man who abandoned his parents for drink and lust.
“Do you know if Chu Mushan had a child?” Gu Lingzhou’s voice sounded by his ear, reminding Shi Yuxing there was more beyond just Chu Mushan.
Chu Muqing shook his head, surprise and confusion in his eyes. “He had a child? When was this? We had no idea.”
Shi Yuxing pulled out his phone, opened a photo of Chu Ke, and handed it over. “Chu Ke—that’s his child.” At this, Chu Muqing sat up straight, his eyes wide. “You mean—this Chu Ke you asked me about before—he, he is—”
“Yes. When I asked you before, I was hoping you might know him. I didn’t expect you didn’t know him personally—but you do know his father.” It all came back to the character “Chu.”
Chu Muqing let out a breath. “He’s turned to dust now, long reincarnated. There’s no knowing or not knowing anymore. I just hope down there, he can atone properly.”
After saying goodbye to Chu Xiaoyun’s family, Shi Yuxing glanced at the man stuck to him like glue. “Don’t you have work? It’s already past lunch.” In a little while, he’d need to start his afternoon consultations.
“It’s raining outside.”
“What does rain have to do with your work?” Shi Yuxing cleared the half-eaten food from the table. “I don’t have a place for you here. Get out.”
Gu Lingzhou stacked the containers for him. “I just want to spend more time with you.” Ever since last night, when he learned that in another timeline Shi Yuxing had died in that battle, he’d been miserable all day. He couldn’t bear to imagine spending a single day without Shi Yuxing.
Once someone has seen the light, they will find it unbearable to endure endless darkness.
He thought—if there truly was such a brutal battle in the future, and Shi Yuxing wasn’t there, he wouldn’t choose to live on alone either.
Shi Yuxing could clearly tell that Gu Lingzhou wasn’t himself today. Even though he was always clingy, today he was even more so. Shi Yuxing’s cheeks grew warm. And on top of that, his bold confession earlier had left Shi Yuxing feeling flustered and hot just being alone with him.
Especially now, with his arms wrapped around his waist and inhaling deeply from the top of his head—his carefully styled hair was already a mess.
“Go to work! Now!”
·
Harsh white light shone on the person dozing in the chair. Lily smacked his lips, squinting at the man across from him who was silently flipping through documents. “Officer An, staying up late will make your skin sag. I suggest you arrange a bed for me to sleep in.”
An Bao stopped what he was doing, glanced up at him, then went back to his papers.
The omega fidgeted restlessly with his chair. With his hands and feet still shackled, he could only shuffle in small steps. “So boring… so boring! Can’t you take off these ankle cuffs? I’m not going to run—even if I did, I can’t outrun you in heels. Ouch—I’m so sore! Officer An, check if my ankle’s red—I think it’s chafed. It hurts, hurts, hurts… Doesn’t anyone care about poor Lily?…”
His voice echoed ceaselessly in the cramped interrogation room, grating on An Bao’s nerves until the veins at his temples bulged. Gritting his teeth, he said to his apprentice beside him: “Go take off his ankle restraints.”
The female officer stood up. Lily sat obediently and let her undo them. With a click, the restraints around his feet vanished. The omega smiled at her: “While you’re at it, take off the handcuffs too, won’t you? They hurt so much~”
The officer picked up the silver cuffs and turned away without giving him an extra glance. Lily shot to his feet. “The hands—you’re leaving them on?… Fine. I’m just walking around in here—that’s okay, right?”
“Sit down!” An Bao slammed the table. Lily flinched and shrank back, muttering under his breath: “Fine, fine—no need to be so mean.” With that, he twisted his body a couple of times, stretched, and let out a few improper “Mm, ah” sounds.
An Bao finally finished flipping through the last few pages of records from other interrogation rooms. He pulled out the circled items and looked up sharply: “Does your black market also sell human body parts?”
“I guess so.”
“Yes or no. Give me a definite answer.”
Lily craned his neck. “I told you not to be so harsh—I’m not in that business. Yes, fine! Happy?”
An Bao took a deep breath and moved on to the next question: “Who are the usual people involved in the human organ trade? I need specific names. Use aliases if you don’t know their real names.”
Lily rattled off a string of names, filling an entire page of records. The note-taker beside him was practically sparking with the speed of their writing just to keep up.
“Give me specifics—what they sell, who they sell to, and who the victims are.”
“Ugh—you’re asking so many questions at once, my brain can’t keep up. Let me think… As for recent ones, maybe two days ago. But that kid—he’d been there since last month or so. The transaction only went through two days ago.”
An Bao realized something, staring at him: “Was that kid named Tang Jue?”
Lily twitched his lips in exasperation. “How would I know? In those deals, they use serial numbers for people…” His voice trailed off under An Bao’s burning gaze.
These beasts were literally treating people like merchandise—clearly priced for the sale of various organs and tissues.
An Bao suppressed his anger and whispered something to the female officer beside him. She nodded, pulled out a file, and placed Tang Jue’s information in front of Lily. “Do you recognize this person?”
The handcuffs made a faint metallic clink. Lily stared at it for what seemed like an eternity before finally nodding. “That should be the kid.”
The moment he confirmed it, Officer An stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor.
They were getting closer and closer to the truth. The cells beneath his skin were vibrating. His tone softened as he stepped out from behind the desk and asked the question he most wanted answered: “Lily—are the people you know specifically collecting alpha glands?”
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