Shan Feibai was secretly munching on a buttered bun when Ning Zhuo suddenly pushed open the door of the small dark room from the outside.
Ning Zhuo: “…”
Shan Feibai: “…”
Ning Zhuo strode forward and snatched the buttered bun—freshly bitten twice by Shan Feibai—from his hand, examining the neat circle of teeth marks left on it.
Pretty good bite.
Seeing Shan Feibai blinking with a rather aggrieved expression, Ning Zhuo lowered the bun to take a bite along the same spot, then let his hand fall and asked, “Where’d you get this?”
Shan Feibai quickly swallowed the bread in his mouth and casually lied, “It grew from the ground.”
Ning Zhuo wasn’t carrying a whip today. He casually unfastened his belt, coiling it loosely around his fingers—the leather still warm from his body.
He gently slapped Shan Feibai’s cheek twice with it.
Shan Feibai immediately straightened up and shouted loudly, “Boss Fu—!”
Hiding not far outside the door, Boss Fu didn’t expect to be betrayed this quickly. He weakly poked his head in, forcing a smile. “The kid said he hasn’t eaten in two days… he was just crying to me about it.”
Ning Zhuo covered his eyes, feeling a headache. “When did you find out he was here?”
Boss Fu tucked both hands behind his back. “Just now…”
Ning Zhuo glanced at him.
Boss Fu instantly changed his tune. “Since yesterday, when you locked him up.”
Ning Zhuo: “…Aren’t you going to ask why I locked him here?”
Boss Fu answered honestly, “No idea. But you can’t starve him, right?”
Ning Zhuo couldn’t bring himself to get angry at Boss Fu.
He turned the belt—which Shan Feibai himself had unbuckled from Ning Zhuo two hours earlier—into a makeshift tie, slipping it around Shan Feibai’s neck. Then he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and tossed them at him. “Get out. Time to work.”
Trailing Ning Zhuo toward Jin Xueshen’s office, Shan Feibai rubbed the faint red marks left on his wrist by the shackles while quickly catching up on Ning Zhuo’s latest job.
He clicked his tongue. “Five million! You’re gonna drive Charlemagne mad.”
Ning Zhuo replied, “I don’t want him mad. I want him dead.”
Shan Feibai blinked. “So we’re not killing Motobu Takeshi?”
“We are,” Ning Zhuo said flatly, picking up the communicator. “We’re not going out today. Gotta get this done fast.”
Shan Feibai was puzzled. “If we’re not going out, who’s doing it?”
“Outsourcing,” Ning Zhuo replied calmly.
“How much did that cost?”
“Free.”
With that, the call he had just dialed connected.
Before the person on the other end could speak, Ning Zhuo clearly stated his request: “‘Tuner,’ I’m not meeting you today. You know why. As a favor to our friendship, give me some intel: This morning at eight, a patient who underwent full-body modification was urgently admitted to the ‘White Shield’ direct hospital’s private ICU. Monitor his vitals. If he dies, let me know immediately so I can report back to the client. That’s all.”
He paused and added, “I’ve assigned Third Brother to handle this.”
Then Ning Zhuo hung up.
A second later, he forcefully pushed open Jin Xueshen’s office door.
Jin Xueshen, who had been whispering with Yu Shifei, jumped in surprise at the loud noise.
Yu Shifei was the first to spot Shan Feibai. Seeing him appear again, a faint smile curled on his lips. “…Feibai.”
Maybe because of Yu Shifei’s past teasing rumors, Jin Xueshen now felt something off when he saw Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai coming in together.
He quickly corrected his wandering thoughts, coughed unnaturally, and said sharply, “Hey! You have hands—use them to knock!”
Ning Zhuo went straight to the point. “I found Ma Yushu.”
Ma Yushu—the man responsible for destroying Jin Xueshen’s entire family.
Jin Xueshen would never forget that name as long as he lived.
Upon hearing this, Jin Xueshen froze.
He pressed one hand on the desk to steady the sudden wave of dizziness.
As his world abruptly quieted, the mechanical sounds in his body and the rush of blood in his ears became painfully clear.
He heard his own voice, unnervingly calm: “Ma Yushu… still alive?”
“Alive.”
“Not dead?”
“Not dead.”
“…Oh.”
Jin Xueshen raised his bloodshot eyes, his body beginning to tremble slightly. “Where is he? I’ll kill him myself.”
Ning Zhuo tossed over a data drive containing Ma Yushu’s full electronic file. “Everything’s in here. Come find me after you read it. Don’t go rushing alone. There are plenty of ways to kill him—no need to make it quick.”
Already hot-tempered, Jin Xueshen’s mind went blank from the shock. He was showing signs of hyperventilation.
But Ning Zhuo left this warning and turned away coldly.
Shan Feibai hurried to follow, leaving only a quick reminder behind: “Yu-ge, watch him. Don’t let him run off.”
After leaving Jin Xueshen’s room, Shan Feibai quickly caught up to Ning Zhuo.
He asked carefully, “Bro, you seem… in a hurry?”
“I am,” Ning Zhuo admitted bluntly. “Charlemagne’s wife botched the job. If Motobu Takeshi had died cleanly, with no witnesses, Lin Qin wouldn’t be suspicious so soon. But now many eyes will be on ‘Haina’—Charlemagne’s, Lin Qin’s… no time to play the long game. We need to make plans fast. Finish this fast. Then…”
He stopped at the word “then.”
A moment ago he was wild and sharp, fiercely handling everything without hesitation.
But now that the urgency faded, his clear, beautiful green eyes shimmered faintly with unshed tears.
The fire that had burned in him for more than a decade seemed at last close to extinguishing.
Ning Zhuo leaned back against the wall and pulled a lollipop from his pocket.
After working so hard, his hidden hypoglycemia was acting up again.
Ning Zhuo said, “This job earned me five million. All yours.”
Shan Feibai glanced down awkwardly. “I’m not worth that much, am I?”
Ning Zhuo closed his eyes. “You said you’d take me away. These five million are yours—can you take all of ‘Haina’ with you?”
“What about you?”
Ning Zhuo didn’t answer.
Shan Feibai’s smile froze slightly.
He confirmed softly, “You… don’t want to leave with me?”
Ning Zhuo opened his eyes, looking toward the end of the corridor.
There, his charred mother held a pitch-black swaddled baby in her arms, waving, beckoning him to come closer.
Ning Zhuo lowered his head, staring at the tips of his shoes.
In the distance, that charred hand slowly moved, beckoning him to return to his family’s side, to end the years of pain and sorrow, and finally reach true peace.
And yet, beside him, there was also a hand he could hold—warm, soft, within reach.
Ning Zhuo didn’t know whom he should disappoint.
In his dim vision, a figure of Shan Feibai suddenly appeared.
Shan Feibai squatted down, hugging his knees, not the least bit angry at Ning Zhuo’s “refusal to choose,” nor did he anxiously try to force him into anything.
He simply gave his signature cheerful smile. “Ning-ge, if you don’t know how to choose, then let me take a look at your palm. Let’s see how many years you’ve got left to live.”
Ning Zhuo reflexively raised his hand, cold mechanical fingers brushing over the lines of his palm as he commented, “Childish.”
But Shan Feibai was persistent, clearly not planning to give up until he got what he wanted. “Hand,” he insisted.
Ning Zhuo gave him his hand.
Shan Feibai rested his chin in Ning Zhuo’s palm, rubbing against it playfully with a bright, mischievous dimpled smile.
Ning Zhuo didn’t pull back, holding his head steady with his palm. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Shan Feibai answered with utter seriousness, “This is a wise crystal ball. It says Ning-ge will live to be a hundred years old.”
Ning Zhuo: “……”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “If I live to a hundred, what would I even do?”
Shan Feibai brimmed with energy. “So many things! We could go surfing, fishing, play poker, skydiving, daydreaming, mahjong, tennis! We couldn’t possibly finish it all!”
“I don’t know how to do any of that.” Ning Zhuo said. Even daydreaming was something he wasn’t particularly good at.
Shan Feibai gazed at him intently. “It’s okay. I’ll teach you.”
Those words sounded familiar.
Ning Zhuo thought for a moment and recalled—it was what Shan Feibai had said back in the first prison of Atbur when he taught him how to play games.
Ning Zhuo asked back, “In Silver Hammer City, you think we could do all that?”
But Shan Feibai’s answer was completely unexpected.
“Not in Silver Hammer City.”
Ning Zhuo gave a tired chuckle. “What then—set sail like the Columbus?”
“No.” Shan Feibai squatted there, serious. “I’m going to give you a bridge.”
He raised his palm and gently covered Ning Zhuo’s cold hand from below. “You have to walk out of this world to see the light.”
Just then, Yu Shifei had stepped out of Jin Xueshen’s room.
He had slowly adjusted his breathing in the assisted ventilation just earlier.
But when their lips parted and Jin Xueshen blushed and said he needed to calm down, he was unceremoniously shooed out.
As he stepped out, he happened to hear the conversation between Shan Feibai and Ning Zhuo.
Yu Shifei leaned quietly against the wall, gazing at them, recalling his original reason for joining “Panqiao.”
…
“I want to build a bridge,” Shan Feibai, younger and more flamboyant than now, had said boastfully to Yu Shifei, whom he’d just picked up. “Want to join us?”
Back then, Phoenix and Kuang Hexuan had already been there.
Yu Shifei had thought, The purpose of the ‘Panqiao’ organization, as its name suggests, is really to build a bridge?
He tried to use his computing power to make sense of this nearly insane idea. “A bridge?”
Shan Feibai nodded, making an exaggerated gesture of span. “Starting from Dock No. 3 in Chao Ge District, all the way to Settlement 184! That coordinate’s old, but I still remember it.”
Yu Shifei replied objectively, “According to official information, no life signals have ever been received from Settlement 184. It’s very likely already sunk. That was also one of the main reasons why the Columbus didn’t choose 184 as an exploration target.”
Shan Feibai waved this off. “I don’t believe that. I’m going there.”
Yu Shifei offered practical advice. “If you want to go to sea, you can hire a ship. It’s more cost-effective.”
Shan Feibai lowered his head, a strand of hair falling to his lips.
Then he gave Yu Shifei a bright smile. “He said he gets seasick.”
Yu Shifei understood what Shan Feibai meant—this bridge he dreamed of was meant for someone. For him.
So he said matter-of-factly, “Don’t waste your resources. A single ship, him, and some seasickness pills—that would be enough.”
“But he hates me now. He won’t ride my ship.”
Shan Feibai’s gaze turned far away, his fists clenching seriously. “I want to build a bridge that anyone can walk on. If I can cross it, he can too.”
Yu Shifei had always been pragmatic. To him, Shan Feibai’s words bordered on fantasy.
Settlement 185 had already sunk due to earthquakes.
No one knew if Settlement 184 had shared its fate.
Besides, even if Shan Feibai’s plan came true, such a bridge would need to be ridiculously long, requiring enormous amounts of money and materials.
Maybe a hundred years, two hundred.
But Shan Feibai only took five.
He’d quickly amassed considerable wealth by going against Ning Zhuo.
And he’d hoarded vast quantities of liquid metal and new materials.
For this, his grandmother had helped him.
Before she died, she gifted Shan Feibai a liquid metal mine, along with a full, legal mining license—the Tangdi company, after all, was also a prosthetics manufacturer that needed a stable material supply.
But this was her private mine, secured through her own connections and resources—completely unrelated to Tangdi.
Even his father didn’t know the mine existed.
To his grandmother, this was her gift to the grandson she loved most—capital for Shan Feibai’s future.
As long as he didn’t do something stupid like blowing up the mine in a fit of temper, this liquid metal mine could let him live freely and easily for ten lifetimes.
But Shan Feibai didn’t plan to live ten lifetimes.
Not a single gram of liquid metal had left his hand.
He kept it all.
Because ever since he was thirteen, Shan Feibai had harbored an outlandish dream—a super cool one.
Meanwhile, Silver Hammer City had developed fully automated construction technology. Smart robots could now handle all building tasks, completing an entire skyscraper in just six days, drastically reducing time and costs.
If they could build buildings, they could surely build a bridge across the sea.
A few months before he’d been crippled, Shan Feibai had taken stock of their resources. “We’ve got enough materials, but the money and what Tangdi’s pulling in isn’t enough. Still, once construction officially starts, we can keep raising funds from the public. Just make sure we learn from the Columbus’s failure—no letting anyone wreck my bridge.”
Shan Feibai, resting his chin in his hand, grumbled with a pen wedged between his nose and lips, “Why hasn’t Dad kicked me out yet? Once he does, I’ll finally have the money.”
Everyone in “Panqiao” knew they were going to build a bridge—to leave, to reach a new world. But none of them knew this half-mad dream had begun beside a cliff, under the moonlight.
Back then, a little boy had tilted his head up at another teenager and said innocently, “Ning-ge, I’ll build you a bridge.”
