After leaving the hospital, the man who had entered Ji Chenai’s ward got into a car and quickly disappeared from sight. Once inside, he removed his police uniform and took out his phone. “I just questioned him. He doesn’t know anything.”

The person on the other end of the line said something, to which the man replied with a couple of affirmations before cursing. “If I find out who’s betraying us, I’ll shoot them myself!”

They exchanged a few more trivial words before the man asked. “This whole situation has blown up so much. Are you sure you won’t get dragged into it?”

The voice on the other end provided a response that seemed to ease the man’s grim expression. He said, “Alright, I’m on my way now. See you soon.”

With that, he ended the call.

Zhou Yaoyun and Xu Yiluan, after learning about the situation, looked visibly upset. They glanced at Ji Chenai, who appeared dazed and lost in thought, and found themselves at a loss for words.

Human trafficking, much like drug dealing, was an immensely profitable industry. Unlike drugs, trafficking doesn’t even require an initial investment—just a ruthless mindset and a bit of cunning were enough to succeed in this trade.

Each child sold fetches at least tens of thousands of yuan. After subtracting transportation costs, the rest was pure profit. Selling just one child a month can earn traffickers more than most salaried workers make in a year.

Of course, with the improvement of national laws, the penalties for human trafficking have become increasingly severe. However, as long as the profit chain remains intact, the profession of human trafficking will never completely disappear—just like the drug trade.

By disrupting this chain of profit, Ji Chenai inevitably stepped on some dangerous toes. Retaliation was, unfortunately, almost inevitable.

Even so, Ji Chenai had no intention of stopping. When that man pretending to be a police officer entered the room, Xiao Qi immediately alerted Ji Chenai, reporting the man’s dangerously high negative energy levels and warning him to stay cautious.

Ji Chenai decided to play the role of a frightened, fragile young boy. He threw himself into Zhou Yaoyun’s arms, trembling as he looked pitifully at the man. But inside, his mind was filled with bloody, violent thoughts.

Ji Chenai wanted the man before him to die—and the more miserable his death, the better.

The experience of killing for the first time had not left any significant psychological impact on Ji Chenai. In fact, after committing the act, he simply collapsed onto the floor and fell sound asleep. His carefree demeanor left Xiao Qi feeling utterly exasperated.

When Ji Chenai woke up, Xiao Qi asked, “Aren’t you afraid?”

Ji Chenai countered with a question of his own: “What should I be afraid of?”

Xiao Qi replied, “As a human, shouldn’t you feel guilty for killing one of your own kind?”

Ji Chenai responded bluntly, “Scum like that and I are not the same kind.”

From Lao Si’s revelations, Ji Chenai now understood clearly: without Xiao Qi, he would likely have been reduced to a pitiful state—mute, blind, and even with his hands severed.

Ji Chenai had long since run out of compassion. With Xiao Qi as his unwavering support, he had completely abandoned any trace of mercy when dealing with people like these.

Lao Si still died—on the very night he arrived at the hospital. According to Xu Yiluan’s private account, Lao Si’s death was horrifying. His eyes were wide open, filled with terror, as though he had seen a monstrous demon before his final breath.

Ji Chenai didn’t care how he died. If anyone deserved the title of “demon,” it was undoubtedly Lao Si himself.

The injuries Ji Chenai suffered were mostly scrapes and abrasions. With a bit of disinfectant, he could have been discharged that same day. However, Zhou Yaoyun was adamantly against it.

This incident had deeply shaken Zhou Yaoyun. He hadn’t anticipated that a brief moment of negligence on his part could lead to something so dire. If not for the traffickers turning on one another, he might never have seen his brother again.

Zhou Yaoyun had initially intended to inform Wang Zhixiu and Zhou Yumian about what happened, but Ji Chenai stopped him. Ji Chenai reasoned, “Since the situation has already been resolved perfectly, there’s no need to worry the family further.”

Zhou Yaoyun hesitated as he looked at Ji Chenai but eventually put down the phone.

The incident caused a significant uproar. Of the two traffickers, one was dead, and the other was gravely injured—though the injured one didn’t survive more than two days. The media coverage brought swift police action, and they promptly identified the culprit: a trafficker Ji Chenai had encountered before.

Public attention was fixated on the murderer, which meant certain clues were deliberately downplayed.

Ji Chenai understood why. Using Xiao Qi, he investigated the phone number and bank account Lao Si had given him. After deploying its powerful search capabilities, Xiao Qi returned a name: Xu Yunchong.

Ji Chenai had heard that name before. Back when he was still able-bodied, he had occasionally accompanied Ji Mingzhong to various banquets. At one such event, Ji Chenai had encountered Xu Yunchong.

What made Xu Yunchong so memorable to Ji Chenai was his striking presence. Though only ten years older than Ji Chenai, Xu Yunchong already stood in a position far above even Ji Mingzhong.

Ji Chenai had once thought that his death would sever all ties with his previous world. He never expected Xu Yunchong to be just the beginning.

On the day of Ji Chenai’s discharge from the hospital, he saw someone he thought he’d never encounter again in his lifetime—Shen Shuya.

In the six months since he last saw her, the woman who had always maintained a youthful and radiant appearance now looked significantly older.

She sat alone outside the waiting room, her hair simply tied back, her expression blank as she stared into the distance. She bore no resemblance to the vibrant, charming woman Ji Chenai remembered.

As Zhou Yaoyun pushed Ji Chenai’s wheelchair past, Ji Chenai glanced at Shen Shuya but said nothing in the end.

After his death, what had happened to that family? Was Shen Shuya still as naive as before? Was the household atmosphere still as stifling? As Zhou Yaoyun wheeled him out, Ji Chenai left these thoughts behind.

After they returned home, Zhou Yaoyun cooked Ji Chenai a delicious meal.

The meal was a lavish feast. Zhou Yaoyun sat at the other end of the table, watching Ji Chenai happily devour the food. Resting his chin on his interlocked fingers, his gaze was gentle as he said, “Brother.”

Ji Chenai looked up at him, puzzled.

Zhou Yaoyun continued, “Is it good?”

Ji Chenai grabbed a napkin, wiped his mouth, and nodded.

Zhou Yaoyun said, “This is probably the last meal I’ll ever make for you.”

Ji Chenai froze, then asked, “What… do you mean?”

Zhou Yaoyun replied, “I’ve thought about this for a long time. I think it would be safer for you to live with our parents. Right now, I’m not capable of protecting you.”

Ji Chenai put down his chopsticks and looked at Zhou Yaoyun. “So, what you’re saying is… you’re not planning to take care of me anymore?”

Zhou Yaoyun said, “Brother, have you forgotten something?”

Ji Chenai felt that Zhou Yaoyun seemed strange—very strange. His gaze held a mix of sorrow, joy, affection, and indifference as he looked at Ji Chenai.

“What exactly… are you talking about?”

Zhou Yaoyun walked over to him, crouched down, and looked him in the eye. He let out a soft sigh. “Should I call you Ji Chenai, or should I call you Zhou Yaoqin?”

Ji Chenai was stunned. It was one thing for Zhou Yaoyun to discover he wasn’t Zhou Yaoqin, but how could he possibly know he was Ji Chenai?

Zhou Yaoyun said, “I like you a lot. Being with you makes me happy.”

Ji Chenai hesitated before asking, “Don’t you hate me? For taking over your brother’s body…”

The coldness in Zhou Yaoyun’s eyes suddenly became more pronounced. He reached out and wiped away the bit of sauce lingering at the corner of Ji Chenai’s mouth before saying. “It seems like you only have part of Zhou Yaoqin’s memories?”

Ji Chenai couldn’t help but think Zhou Yaoyun was practically a monster. Not only had he figured out Ji Chenai wasn’t Zhou Yaoqin, but he had also deduced that Ji Chenai only possessed a fragment of Zhou Yaoqin’s memories—and, even after knowing all this, he remained unnervingly calm.

Zhou Yaoyun flashed a bright smile. “Give me some time, okay? I really like you.”

Ji Chenai hesitated. “So…?”

Zhou Yaoyun replied. “So, I want to protect you.”

No one had ever said anything like that to Ji Chenai before. Not Shen Shuya, not Ji Mingzhong, and certainly not Ji Sumin. In this entire world, Zhou Yaoyun was the first person to look Ji Chenai in the eye and sincerely tell him he wanted to keep him safe.

Ji Chenai didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he silently activated “End of the Liar” and repeated Zhou Yaoyun’s promise in his mind to test its truth.

Ji Chenai then asked, “You don’t hate me for taking over your brother’s body?”

Zhou Yaoyun’s answer was simple: “No.”

Ji Chenai asked, “You like me?”

Zhou Yaoyun: “Yes.”

Ji Chenai continued, “You want to protect me?”

Zhou Yaoyun: “Yes.”

Their back-and-forth felt almost like the solemn exchange of vows in some sacred contract.

Finally, Zhou Yaoyun chuckled and said, “You can make people incapable of lying, can’t you?”

Ji Chenai was completely floored by Zhou Yaoyun’s perceptiveness.

Seeing the astonished look on Ji Chenai’s face, Zhou Yaoyun smiled and added, “Just don’t be so careless at home from now on, okay?”

After a long pause, Ji Chenai responded with a soft “Mm.”

In the end, Zhou Yaoyun stood and said, “Wait for me to come back.”

Ji Chenai neither agreed nor disagreed. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he seemed to be gauging whether Zhou Yaoyun was lying. But he quickly remembered that he had already activated “End of the Liar.” Under these circumstances, it was impossible for Zhou Yaoyun to deceive him.

If Zhou Yaoyun couldn’t lie, did that mean he truly wanted Ji Chenai to wait for him?

For reasons Ji Chenai couldn’t quite explain, his previously blank expression softened into a faint smile. His eyes curved as he looked at Zhou Yaoyun, and he let out a low, almost imperceptible “Mm.”

=^_^=