Chapter 3

An Xiaohai steadied his emotions and gently reached out, pulling the toothbrush free. Liu Jun had stuck it there with a few grains of rice, making it easy to retrieve.

The cool touch of the toothbrush in his hand felt like the first step toward victory in this desperate struggle. Lying beneath Liu Jun’s bed, An Xiaohai began to control his breathing.

He had to stay calm.

Getting overly excited would only waste energy and might lead to mistakes. He had only one chance, and An Xiaohai couldn’t afford any errors.

A faint creak came from the bed beside him—Wang Bulai had turned over.

An Xiaohai’s heart pounded, but he kept his anxiety in check and looked toward Wang Bulai’s bed.

From his position, An Xiaohai couldn’t see Wang Bulai’s face, but he could tell that Wang Bulai was now facing Liu Jun’s bed.

What is he planning to do? Anxiety surged in An Xiaohai’s mind.

But he quickly calmed down. If Wang Bulai wanted to interfere, he could have easily done so by shouting. Wang Bulai hadn’t done that; he had only turned over. If he was doing this consciously, his only goal was likely to watch—and maybe even profit from the situation.

No more hesitation.

An Xiaohai took a deep breath and prepared for the next move. This was a life-or-death moment; he had no time for second thoughts.

In an instant, he slipped out from under Liu Jun’s bed, emerging on Wang Bulai’s side. The opposite side was closer to Wu Guanhai, and if Wu noticed him, An Xiaohai would be caught between two aggressors.

This time, luck was on his side. Liu Jun happened to be lying with his back toward him.

Even in early autumn, the southern nights were still stiflingly warm. Liu Jun had only a thin blanket covering him, his silhouette clear under it.

An Xiaohai’s gaze locked onto Liu Jun’s lower back. He knew that spot all too well.

“If you made my life hell in the other timeline, this time, I’ll make you feel it.”

An Xiaohai kept adjusting his breathing, gathering his strength, his eyes sharp and focused.

This was his one shot; it had to land perfectly, or the consequences would be unimaginable.

After what felt like an eternity, Liu Jun shifted ever so slightly.

Now. It was time.

Gritting his teeth, An Xiaohai shot to his feet. All his pain faded into the background as he moved.

He yanked the blanket over Liu Jun’s head, and, in the same motion, raised the toothbrush and drove it down with all his might into Liu Jun’s lower back.

A scream tore through the cell. Liu Jun jerked, trying to sit up, but the blanket tangled around his head, holding him down.

An Xiaohai, fueled by adrenaline, twisted the toothbrush hard. Liu Jun let out another agonizing wail, his body twisting uncontrollably.

An Xiaohai pushed the toothbrush deeper until the handle disappeared into Liu Jun’s back.

It was done.

An Xiaohai dashed to the area near the toilet, dropped to the ground, and wedged his right hand into the drainage pipe, twisting hard.

Crack.

The sound of his hand breaking echoed painfully through his arm, but he forced himself to endure it.

There was some residual water in the pipe, and he rubbed his hand to remove any sticky residue before yanking it free.

The excruciating pain made him see stars, but he couldn’t afford to pass out.

An Xiaohai bit his tongue, fighting to stay alert, and closely inspected his hand for blood. If there was any, it could give him away.

By now, the cell had descended into chaos.

Liu Jun was writhing in pain, clutching his back and screaming; Wu Guanhai was inspecting his injuries; Wang Bulai was shouting excitedly from his bed; and Peng Yuangui was darting about like a headless chicken.

Then, the cell lights came on—the guards had noticed the commotion and would be arriving to investigate.

An Xiaohai examined his hand under the light; there was no blood. He’d acted fast enough that Liu Jun hadn’t had time to bleed much.

With exhaustion and pain overwhelming him, An Xiaohai blacked out beside the toilet.

—

In a hazy dream, An Xiaohai saw the dark sea again. This time, no one was there; the foamy waves blinked like countless eyes, watching him from the surface.

Groaning in pain, An Xiaohai opened his eyes.

Everything was white. He was in the prison’s infirmary.

He moved a little, his whole body aching intensely, especially in his broken ribs and hand. But thankfully, his kidneys were intact.

For the first time in his life, An Xiaohai savored the simple act of breathing freely, even if it was behind bars.

Noticing that An Xiaohai had woken up, a nurse came over to check on him. She said nothing, and her expression was neutral. An Xiaohai responded with a wide smile anyway.

For the next two days, only doctors and nurses visited him. An Xiaohai was uncharacteristically quiet, spending most of the time in a daze, whether his eyes were open or closed.

This wasn’t a dream.

In those two days, An Xiaohai had confirmed countless times that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. This was real—he truly had been reborn, 30 years into his past.

Though he couldn’t explain it, he had accepted it.

On the third day, the door opened, and two uniformed guards entered, files in hand. An Xiaohai knew his second round of trials was about to begin.

One of the guards was Liu Cong, a young, newly graduated officer full of integrity and untainted by the prison’s corruption.

The other was Sun Li, a female officer slightly older than Liu Cong, who usually did office work. An Xiaohai didn’t know her well.

Liu Cong pulled up two chairs, and the two officers sat by An Xiaohai’s bed. An Xiaohai felt grateful toward Liu Cong—if not for his presence in the other timeline, An Xiaohai’s days might have been even darker.

So, An Xiaohai mustered a smile for Liu Cong.

“Explain yourself,” Liu Cong said sternly, wasting no time as he leveled his serious gaze at An Xiaohai.