Motobu Takeshi was now completely transformed.
If his previous appearance could still barely pass for human, now he looked no different from a rusted robot on the verge of being scrapped.
His nerves and muscles intertwined and lay exposed like the tangled antennae in the lower city slums. One of his eyes was already useless, and test results showed that the other had lost light perception—it would soon go blind as well.
His throat had been slit open and replaced with a mechanical voice box.
From head to toe, the only thing that still truly belonged to Motobu Takeshi was the unceasing sensation of pain.
Xiao Xu didn’t dare look directly at Motobu Takeshi’s miserable state. He turned his head away and quietly explained to Lin Qin, “The cement was still fresh. He was probably dumped into the sea just last night. Luckily… he had an artificial lung with an automatic oxygen supply. Otherwise, after another dozen hours, he really would’ve suffocated to death in there.”
Even as he said the word “luckily,” Xiao Xu felt a pang of guilt.
In this state, anyone would think Motobu Takeshi would be better off dead.
Lin Qin stared at Motobu Takeshi, replying softly, full of unspoken thoughts, “Mm.”
The explosion at the “Columbus” Memorial Concert Hall had put even the usually slack lower city’s “White Shield” police on high alert. They were carrying out strict inspections and raids, even going so far as to sweep the black market—a place they normally dared not touch—to find the source of the explosives.
Most likely, the people who had been secretly torturing Motobu Takeshi all this time couldn’t withstand this harsh investigation and decided to get rid of him. But they weren’t willing to give him the release of a quick death by fire. Instead, they wanted him to suffocate slowly in cement—piece by piece, cruelly crushed to death.
Lin Qin asked Xiao Xu, “He’s been tortured for more than just a month or two, hasn’t he?”
“Yes.” Xiao Xu handed him the forensic report. “It says that to complete this full set of replacement surgeries, at minimum it would’ve taken two months…”
Lin Qin thought to himself—that meant it started right when Motobu Takeshi got out of prison.
The moment he was released, he didn’t escape to a better life with a new face—he was immediately captured, imprisoned, and brutally tortured until just yesterday.
While the two spoke, Motobu Takeshi finally woke up.
Along with consciousness came the sharp, bone-gnawing pain.
He opened his mouth—or what could barely be called a mouth—and let out his first, inhuman whimper: “Let me die…”
His head swayed hopelessly, producing the faint grinding sound of machinery.
A hoarse, broken mechanical voice croaked eerily: “I was wrong… let me die…”
Lin Qin pressed his palm against Motobu Takeshi’s chest, feeling the thumping of the artificial heart inside.
Motobu Takeshi’s body was as fragile as a dying flame in the wind.
The heart implant was such poor quality that if Lin Qin pressed just slightly harder, it would stop at once, ending this pitiful life.
But Lin Qin couldn’t do that.
In a low voice, he asked, “Who did this to you?”
Motobu Takeshi’s auditory sensors were still functioning, but his spirit was utterly broken.
Ever since he became half-blind, that woman often sent people disguised as “White Shield” officers pretending they had come to rescue him.
At first, Motobu Takeshi fell for it every time, sobbing with hope, thinking his nightmare was finally over.
But what awaited him was always a cold, manicured hand gently caressing his face.
Then that devilish woman would whisper softly: “Mr. Motobu… still dreaming of getting out? That’s not good…”
Lin Qin’s question stirred that deep-rooted fear. Motobu Takeshi suddenly let out a shrill, despairing scream that startled everyone present.
After that miserable lion’s roar, he quickly shrank back into a weak, helpless lamb, muttering softly, “I don’t know anything… please, let me die… I won’t say a word… stop playing with me…”
Seeing that no answers were coming, Lin Qin stopped pressing and left the intensive care room with Xiao Xu. In a low voice, he said, “Find Motobu Takeshi’s family.”
“…We’ve tried.” Xiao Xu scratched his head. “His older brother changed his name long ago and refuses to acknowledge being part of the Moto family. He even chased our men out. As for Motobu Ryo… we’re still looking.”
“Keep looking,” Lin Qin said gently. “Until then, keep Motobu Takeshi alive.”
Xiao Xu grimaced. “So cruel. Isn’t this the same as frying someone alive?”
Lin Qin looked at him, asking softly, “Isn’t this what he deserves?”
Xiao Xu shuddered, recalling the countless witness statements recorded in Motobu Takeshi’s case file.
If all that was true, then this suffering was indeed karmic justice.
But hearing Lin Qin speak these words in such a gentle tone made Xiao Xu feel a chill in his heart.
While he stood there uneasy, Lin Qin patted his shoulder with the forensic report, smiling kindly. “Stop spacing out. Back to work.”
…
News that Motobu Takeshi had been dug out of the cement soon reached Charlemagne.
At first, when he received the report, his brow furrowed.
What was Ning Zhuo doing?
He had paid him handsomely, and he wanted Motobu Takeshi dead!
But Charlemagne quickly reconsidered, knowing he couldn’t press the matter.
His main purpose in hiring Ning Zhuo was to save himself from the whirlpool of public opinion.
Killing Motobu Takeshi was just a means to confuse the situation—after all, the poisoner had deliberately left Motobu Takeshi’s prisoner ID in the surveillance footage.
In the end, the 930 case had been closed with Motobu Takeshi officially declared the culprit—a result that even Charlemagne hadn’t expected.
On the matter of diverting attention, Ning Zhuo had actually done quite well.
There was no need to seek compensation.
Best to avoid mercenaries when possible.
If he were still at full strength, Charlemagne could’ve easily found an excuse to take care of “Haina” as well.
Just like before—while hiring Ning Zhuo, he had also secretly helped arrange for Shan Feibai’s disposal, instructing his partners to dump the man with a broken spine in Chang’an District.
Once the deed was done, Ning Zhuo had unknowingly been burdened with a blood debt and was sure to be caught in a long-term struggle with “Panqiao.”
That way, even if he wanted to blackmail Charlemagne later, he’d have no strength to do so.
Still, Ning Zhuo was certainly bold—saving Shan Feibai and now seemingly planning to swallow “Panqiao” whole.
Charlemagne wondered if Ning’s appetite was truly big enough to handle a person like Shan Feibai.
After receiving the news, Charlemagne lost all interest in work. He decided to leave the office early anyway—his department was just a ceremonial post until retirement.
When Charlemagne got home, he was surprised to find his wife there.
Mrs. Charlemagne was fully made up, her short hair gently curled into waves that framed her small, delicate face.
She sat by the window sipping coffee, lost in thought.
Seeing that she was finally paying attention to her appearance again, Charlemagne felt relieved.
Their son’s death—this grief would eventually pass.
He relaxed and took a few steps toward her, intending to say something warm, when she gracefully turned her head, smiling charmingly at him.
“Honey, there’s something I need to trouble you with,” she said sweetly.
Charlemagne smiled in return. “What is it?”
Mrs. Charlemagne set down her coffee cup with a soft, pleasant clink of porcelain. “I heard Motobu Takeshi is still alive. Can you finish him off for me?”
Charlemagne froze.
Whatever tender, romantic thoughts he had just felt vanished without a trace.
His newly-sprouted romantic thoughts instantly vanished without a trace.
He knew that his wife must utterly hate Motobu Takeshi.
But their son was already dead, and the dead could not return. The scandal that had been entangling him had only just subsided, and his political career was as good as over. He really couldn’t afford any more trouble.
As he silently cursed whoever had informed his wife, Charlemagne awkwardly tried to console her: “I heard… he’s in pretty bad shape too, probably won’t live long. Just leave it be, wait for him to die, alright, darling?”
“Is that so?”
Madam Charlemagne picked up her coffee, took a sip, and gazed at the creamy swirl on its surface as she asked a question that instantly made Charlemagne’s hair stand on end:
“…What if he rats me out before he dies? What am I supposed to do then?”
…
In the storage room of the “Haina” cafeteria, Ning Zhuo let out a long breath.
He rarely let himself go like this.
It seemed that… as long as he was facing Shan Feibai, he was no longer himself.
It had been like this since they were kids.
Just like now—he was biting his own shirt, his perfectly arched spine facing Shan Feibai, letting him tend to him.
Shan Feibai scooped out some cool ointment with his fingertips and, with a bit of curiosity, asked, “Ge, you’re really something. How did you take it so cleanly? Not a drop leaked out?”
Ning Zhuo pressed his foot against Shan Feibai’s chest, warningly pushing at his ribs.
Shan Feibai immediately shut up, using his chained hands to cradle Ning Zhuo’s perfectly-shaped calf, giving it a warm kiss. “I’m crazy about you.”
Ning Zhuo closed his eyes, electricity tingling down his shoulders and neck. That kiss carried a trace of bone-melting bliss.
Shan Feibai said, “Ge, once we finish this job, let’s run away and turn into clouds together.”
Ning Zhuo opened his eyes. “To where?”
Shan Feibai grinned, rubbing his face against him: “I’ve already picked the place. Depends if you’ll come with me or not!”
Ning Zhuo’s brows twitched slightly but his expression stayed calm. “We’ll see.”
He had never made any plans for his future.
Even after being slept with by Shan Feibai, he refused to think about it.
He couldn’t even imagine what he’d look like at thirty.
Seeing that Ning Zhuo wasn’t all that interested, Shan Feibai wasn’t discouraged. He went on cheerfully: “Before we leave, we should buy some condoms. Otherwise, you always take it so cleanly, I’m starting to worry you’ll get pregnant.”
Ning Zhuo: “Worry about whether you’ll get to eat first.”
Shan Feibai had been lazily draped over him, but when he heard that, his mood turned a little sullen.
With a bit of a pitiful tone, he muttered softly, “Why won’t you give me more?”
Ning Zhuo held back a smile, turned around, and pulled up his pants.
His face was naturally fine and flawless; as the flush on his cheeks faded slightly, he returned to his usual cold, elegant beauty—an untouchable air like fragile porcelain destined to break early.
He studied Shan Feibai for a moment, then pinched his chin. “We’re just messing around for now. I’m twenty-eight, you’re twenty-three—we both have physical needs to satisfy. That’s all this is.”
But Shan Feibai wasn’t someone who’d be discouraged so easily. “Ge, you deserve to be loved. Why don’t you believe you deserve someone good?”
Ning Zhuo turned away, smoothing out his clothes as he lowered his eyes to him. “Who’s ‘someone good’?”
“Who do you think?” Shan Feibai bumped him with his chest, a little smug and flirtatious. “Who’s ‘someone good’?”
The next second, the playful Shan Feibai was pulled into Ning Zhuo’s arms.
Outside, most of the people who’d come for breakfast had already left, leaving only a few stragglers.
Someone finishing their meal passed by the door and asked their companion in surprise, “Hey, isn’t this door usually locked? Why’s it open today?”
Shan Feibai rested his chin on Ning Zhuo’s shoulder, quietly enjoying the heartbeat from the other side.
Inside the little dark room, there was no cover, no lock on the broken door—if anyone outside got curious and gave it a push, the two of them, along with the faintly lingering intimate scent in the air, would be exposed in broad daylight.
Luckily, the passersby merely made a casual comment and moved on.
Once they were gone, Ning Zhuo knew he had to leave.
Shan Feibai sat back down where he’d been, lazily playing cat’s cradle with his chains. “Hungry.”
Ning Zhuo smoothed out his rumpled clothes, coldly replied, “Starve, then.”
He left in quite a hurry, even forgetting the light coat he’d worn on the way there.
Fortunately, it was hanging right within Shan Feibai’s reach.
Shan Feibai walked over, carefully picking up the coat and holding it against his chest, wanting to smell the lingering scent of mint once more.
…But to his surprise, he caught a hint of orange.
With a bit of disbelieving joy, Shan Feibai slipped a hand into the coat pocket—and really did pull out an orange.
He pressed the orange to his chest, trying to calm his wildly racing heart with its coolness.
…
With a vague and uncertain feeling in his chest, Ning Zhuo returned to the seventh floor.
Kuang Hexuan, who had been crouching by the elevator waiting for him for ages, hurriedly stood up when he saw him return.
But he’d been squatting for too long—his legs were numb. As soon as he stood, before he could even speak, he had to lean against the wall, grimacing in pain.
Even while embarrassed, Kuang Hexuan noticed that Ning Zhuo’s lips and cheeks had an unusual flush of color, making him look quite alluring.
Ning Zhuo shot him a cold glance. “What are you doing here?”
Kuang Hexuan discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, feeling that going straight to the point might seem rude. So he fumbled for small talk: “Ning-ge, what happened to your clothes?”
Ning Zhuo lowered his head—and his expression darkened.
There was a clear bite mark on his shirt, along with some damp, ambiguous stains.
Instinctively, he raised a hand to cover it and looked up at Kuang Hexuan without a word.
Seeing his expression, Kuang Hexuan suspected he’d said something wrong. He licked his lips and decided to get to the point:
“Ning-ge, let’s have a spar?”
Ning Zhuo’s legs still felt weak—like something might leak out if he moved too much.
As he stared at the eager Kuang Hexuan, wondering how to brush him off, Yu Shujian stepped out of the elevator and gave him a distant nod.
Ning Zhuo asked, “What is it?”
Yu Shujian quickly walked over, speaking succinctly: “‘White Shield’ has sent someone to see you.”
That was a bit unexpected. “About what?”
“No idea. They didn’t say.”
Ning Zhuo thought for a moment. “Anything new happening in Silver Hammer City these past two days?”
Yu Shujian looked a little ashamed and was about to shake his head when Kuang Hexuan piped up: “Actually, yeah—there was something this morning.”
Kuang Hexuan was not only good at fighting, but surprisingly well-informed too.
Seeing that Ning Zhuo was paying attention, Kuang Hexuan brightened like a kid called on by his favorite teacher and eagerly said: “That guy who broke out of prison—Motobu Takeshi—they finally found him. Someone filled him with cement and dumped him into the sea. …Oh, and apparently, he was still alive when they found him.”
