Now, it was just the two of them.

Guan Zhengying approached, the sound of his polished leather shoes tapping steadily against the floor. Every step seemed to press directly onto Jiang Quyan’s chest.

The older man sat down beside the bed. The deep furrow between his brows relaxed slightly as he let out a long breath. Then, tentatively, he placed a hand on the back of Jiang Quyan’s, his fingers brushing lightly over the IV insertion part, bringing a subtle warmth.

Jiang Quyan was about to speak—he couldn’t stand the suffocating silence.

But suddenly, Guan Zhengying flipped his hand over and gripped it tightly, squeezing so hard it made his fingers ache. “It’s good… that you’re okay. It’s really good.”  

It was a statement forced out through clenched teeth.  

Jiang Quyan’s nose, already tingling from Guan Xuexin’s hug, now stung even more.  

“It was my fault,” Guan Zhengying said heavily. “I promised last time would be the last, but I didn’t keep my word.”  

Jiang Quyan sniffed, his eyes growing hot.  

When Fuzheng first established its modeling division, it was a turbulent time.  

Hong Kong’s underworld was in chaos—gambling dens were being raided, gang strongholds demolished, and even the police had started arresting people at Fuzheng’s front desk. Things got so bad that Guan Zhengying’s personal secretary was abducted on his way to work and disappeared for two days. In the end, it was Guan Zhengying himself who walked into the police department carrying a bag full of cash to get him back.  

Transitioning to legitimacy was no easy feat—one mountain climbed only led to another, one river crossed only revealed another ahead. Enemies lurked at every turn. Those who didn’t want the Guan family to go mainstream weren’t just old rivals, but also the corrupt officers entangled with the city’s many gangs. These officers had long relied on the Guan family’s “contributions.” If the family went legitimate, the bribes would stop, cutting off a lucrative source of income. No one would take that lying down.  

To avoid trouble, Lin Zhifang and their son had been sent to Canada under the guise of a vacation. Guan Xuexin, not even a year old, was being raised by a wet nurse. Few knew she even existed. Several key executives and board members had also left Hong Kong to lay low. Every day Jiang Quyan went to work, he saw fewer and fewer people.  

Finally, Mid-Autumn Festival arrived. Jiang Quyan stayed late at the office, and by the time he left, it was already past nine. Luo Jiajun had invited him for a late-night snack in an alley known for its beef offal stalls.  

Just as he reached the alley’s entrance, a police car pulled up. Two uniformed officers stepped out.  

“Mr. Jiang, please come with us,” one said. They didn’t even bother flashing their badges, but their tone left no room for negotiation.

Jiang Quyan glanced around cautiously. The narrow alley was dimly lit and nearly empty—no chance of calling for help. And it was a dead end. He wouldn’t be able to run. Resisting would only cause bigger trouble.  

He took a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Luo Jiajun approaching the alley entrance.  

“Officer, my friend is waiting for me to grab a meal. Let me at least tell him where I’m going so he doesn’t worry.”  

The officers didn’t give him a chance. They forcibly shoved him into the car.  

Even as he was being taken away, he shouted to Luo Jiajun, “Jiajun! I have to go! Don’t come looking for me these next few days—I’ll contact you when I can!”  

The police car took him straight to the station. The interrogation room door slammed shut behind him.  

Handcuffed to a plastic chair, he faced two officers.  

One was a regular officer with only a badge number on his shoulder. The other held a higher rank—probably a senior inspector.  

The lower-ranking officer sneered. “So you’re Guan Zhengying’s little lapdog?” He let out a low whistle. “Rich men these days really don’t go for women anymore, huh? Gotta admit, you’re pretty damn good-looking. Guess that’s the difference between a real model and the rest.”  

Jiang Quyan clenched his teeth, heart pounding in fear. He kept his mouth shut, too scared to say anything.

The senior inspector next to him joked, “Why don’t you give it a try? He’s a professional—surely better than your wife.”  

“Damn pervert!” The officer looked disgusted, as if he had been tainted by something filthy. “Hey, do you have AIDS?”  

Jiang Quyan shook his head quickly, but the fear in his voice still slipped out when he spoke. “You… you arresting me is useless. I don’t know anything. I… I have no value. The people with real information have all been sent abroad by Guan Zhengying. I’m just a nobody. I really don’t know anything.”  

“It’s not up to you to decide whether you’re valuable.” The officer seemed amused by his fear. “How much allowance does that bastard Guan give you every month?”  

Jiang Quyan’s mind raced. “He doesn’t give me money.”  

“Then where does your income come from?”  

“I have a position at Fuzheng. The company pays me a salary—three thousand a month.”  

“That’s not bad at all.” That was considered an average salary at the time. The officer continued, “Do the models at your company have to sleep with the boss to get magazine covers and job opportunities?”  

That was an obvious insult.  

Jiang Quyan knew they were fishing for dirt on Fuzheng. “Our… our company follows all legal procedures. Employees are recruited through standard hiring processes. Every interview has written records. As for other details, I don’t know. If you have any doubts, you can check with HR for evidence.”  

The officer was momentarily stunned, while the senior inspector burst into laughter. The sound echoed in the closed interrogation room, pulling Jiang Quyan deeper into his fear.  

“Sharp-tongued. No wonder Guan Zhengying likes you.” The officer walked toward him, speaking in a seemingly complimentary tone.  

As soon as he got close, his expression suddenly changed. He pulled out his baton and struck Jiang Quyan’s back with full force!  

Jiang Quyan wasn’t prepared at all. The blow knocked him to the ground, leaving him covered in dust and dirt. His hands were still cuffed to the chair leg, and in the struggle, his wrist got scraped, peeling off a layer of skin. His back throbbed with searing pain, but he didn’t dare cry out. He clenched his teeth, trying his best to shield his head.  

The officer swung the baton fiercely, landing blow after blow—more than a dozen in a row. Each hit landed with a dull, sickening thud against his bones. It was the kind of beating that wouldn’t leave too many visible wounds but would wreak havoc internally, damaging bones and organs alike.  

“I don’t want to hear any of that official nonsense.” The officer grabbed Jiang Quyan by the hair, forcing him to look up. “I want to know where Guan Zhengying’s company funds come from, what secret bank accounts he has, and how the gambling dens launder their money.”  

Jiang Quyan coughed up a mouthful of blood. He couldn’t even catch his breath—his mouth was filled with the taste of iron.  

The officer looked at the blood staining his hands. “You’d better start talking soon, or you’ll suffer even more.” He sneered. “Last time, when we arrested his personal secretary, it took him two days to scrape together the money to bail him out. How long do you think it’ll take him to get the money for you this time?”  

“I… I don’t know…” Jiang Quyan convulsed from the pain, his vision blurring. Blood and tears covered his face. “I really don’t know anything.”  

The officer slapped him hard across the face, knocking him over again. He stepped on Jiang Quyan’s cheek with his shoe. “Such a pretty face—if it gets ruined, maybe he won’t like you anymore.” He threatened, “If that happens, he won’t even bother paying to bail you out. I could send you to a correctional facility, and trust me, there are plenty of men in there who wouldn’t care whether you’re a man or a woman…”  

Jiang Quyan barely heard the rest. His ears were ringing, and his mind went completely blank.  

Would Guan Zhengying come to save him?  

He didn’t know. He really didn’t.  

To Guan Zhengying, he was dispensable. If he disappeared, there were plenty of other models to keep the company running.  Madam Lin trusted him enough to make him a double agent, but if it wasn’t him, someone else could easily take his place.  

Guan Zhengying saved his personal secretary because that man had been with him for years—through thick and thin, loyal to the core. He was family.  

But Jiang Quyan? How long had he been with them? What right did he have to be considered “one of them”?  

Even if they abandoned him, it wouldn’t be much of a loss for Guan Zhengying.  

“I don’t know.” Jiang Quyan shut his eyes, his voice barely steady. “No matter how many times you ask, this is the only answer I can give you.”  

The officer cursed at him, calling him a “stubborn mule.” Then he dragged Jiang Quyan into a corner and started kicking him mercilessly. The beating continued for half an hour. Jiang Quyan barely managed to protect his head, but his back and abdomen took the full brunt of the blows. At some point, he might have vomited—or maybe he didn’t. He wasn’t sure anymore. By the time he lost consciousness, he didn’t even know how it happened.  

When he finally blacked out, the officers doused him with cold water to wake him up. They shined bright lights into his eyes to keep him from sleeping, then covered his face with a wet cloth, making him experience the suffocating terror of simulated drowning. Just when he was about to pass out again, they ripped the cloth away—repeating the torture over and over.  

Jiang Quyan had never known such inhumane cruelty existed.  

He had been taken into the police station around 10:30 PM. The torture continued into the early morning. Eventually, he lost all sense of time. His body and mind had been pushed to their absolute limits. Maybe it was almost dawn. Maybe there were still hours to go. Either way, he barely managed to hold on until the two beasts got tired and decided to take a break.  

The torture finally stopped.  

They left him on the floor of the interrogation room. As soon as they walked out, he passed out again.  

In the morning, it was the senior inspector who woke him up. He placed a cup of water on the ground and gestured for Jiang Quyan to drink. He even unlocked the handcuffs.  

Then, he delivered a message—  

“We contacted Fuzheng. The company says you don’t exist. Guan Zhengying isn’t coming for you. Give up.”  

Jiang Quyan crawled forward. He was unbearably thirsty. Even a single drop of water was precious at this point.  

But his whole body was in pain, and he was too weak to hold the cup properly. He knocked it over. Without a second thought, he stretched out his tongue and licked the dirty water off the floor.  

The senior inspector clicked his tongue, watching him with amusement. “You have two more hours. If you don’t start talking, we’ll move you somewhere else.” He leaned in, his tone almost coaxing. “Think about it. You’re risking your life to protect him, and he turned his back on you without a second thought. Why keep covering for him? It’s either you or him. Why not give us what we need? Once we take him down, you can call it revenge, don’t you think?”

Seeing that Jiang Quyan still refused to speak, only lying lifelessly on the ground, the inspector didn’t waste any more words and slammed the door as he left.

It wasn’t that Jiang Quyan wasn’t angry—he simply hadn’t heard the latter part of the conversation.  

He felt like he might be going deaf. Maybe the officers had damaged his ears, or maybe he was truly on the verge of death, his senses dulling as pain became increasingly insignificant.  

The human body is truly remarkable. Even the most intense pain, if endured long enough, could be adapted to and become habitual. Once accustomed, numbness followed. The pain itself didn’t lessen, but the brain began to register it as unimportant.  

This was the most useful lesson he had learned in his miserable, rotten, and exhausting life.  

Adapt to pain. Accept pain. No matter how terrifying it was, he would eventually grow used to it, and life would go on. Hadn’t he lived like this for the past twenty years? Had life ever been easy for him? Had it ever treated him kindly?  

No.  

He was nothing more than an insignificant weed, born in the gutter, growing in the mud. Just because he had a pretty face, a wealthy woman had taken an interest in him, forcing him to become both a plaything for men and a weapon for women to fight for power. He never had the right to say no.  

It wasn’t that he hadn’t dreamed before. He had once believed that if he struggled hard enough, he might one day escape this filthy environment and carve out a future for himself.  

But a dream was just a dream.  

He was nothing more than a disposable pawn. The Guan family had plenty of people like him. Once he lost his value, he could be discarded without hesitation, without consequences. No one would even remember that he had once been used.  

That was his entire life.  

He would die in an interrogation room in a foreign land. He wasn’t even sure if this was a legitimate interrogation room or if his arrest had followed proper legal procedures. But none of that mattered. No one would care. No one would care that he had been beaten to death.  

After his death, they might throw his body into the sea, or perhaps simply discard him on a deserted mountain road in Tai Ping Shan. Wild dogs and insects would feast on his corpse until he slowly rotted away, reduced to a pile of bones, returning to dust.  

No gravestone. Not even a shallow grave. Just the sky as his blanket and the earth as his bed.  

No one would mourn him. No one would remember him. Once his body perished, his name would cease to exist in this world. Even if ghosts were real, he would be a wandering, forsaken soul with no one to appear in their dreams, no one to entrust with his final words.  

This was his insignificant, unremarkable, and solitary existence.  

And that was fine. Dying like this wasn’t the worst thing.  

No more suffering. No more pain. No more living in humiliation, groveling, wagging his tail, panting like a dog just to survive. No more exhausting all his strength and luck just to keep his stomach full.  

No more fear. No more endless anxiety. No more existing with no tomorrow.  

No more hope. No more disappointment.  

Guan Zhengying wouldn’t come to save him.  

He wouldn’t come.  

He wasn’t coming.  

He was never coming.  

Not coming…