Morning light was bleak, echoing the cold and desolate mood of winter outside the window.
The monster, as usual, ate in a complete mess, but this time showed no violent tendencies. Before leaving, he even tossed two thousand rule-coins onto the table for his pregnant “wife,” gruffly saying:
“I need to go to Zhucheng tonight. I’ll be back next week.”
Qing Gang replied perfunctorily with a nod. Only after the monster left did he turn to ask:
“He’s going to Zhucheng. Should I try to find a way to follow him?”
“Save it. You can’t even step outside the Rule Zone, let alone travel six hundred kilometers to Zhucheng.” Zhong Mu took the coins from him, and suddenly her eyes lit up. “Ah—that explains it.”
The others blinked, confused. “Explains what?”
“No wonder the ‘wife’ from those years used to buy instant noodles at the supermarket all the time.” Zhuang Ningyu picked up the thought. “Because her husband often had to travel far. Maybe the long-distance highways had no restaurants, or train food was too expensive. Instant noodles were the cheapest, most convenient option.”
That also explained why none of the old neighbors remembered seeing the husband. If he was always away on business trips, naturally he wouldn’t appear often in the community. But for now this was only speculation—pinning down the true identity behind the monster would depend on the external investigation team.
In the meeting room, Zhong Mu asked:
“What about Shengsheng Group, the one that showed up so enthusiastically on its own? Are we sure not to look into them?”
“Minister Huo’s already assigned people to investigate. But it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re suspicious,” Ye Jiaoyue replied. She glanced at Yi Ke. “According to reliable sources, even before the Rules descended this time, Shengsheng Group’s boss had been trying hard to cozy up to Senior Mr. Yi. So everything he’s doing now can still be filed under ‘reasonable behavior.’ Xiao Yi, do you know anything about this?”
“I don’t. I’m not interested in these things.” Yi Ke twirled the pen in his hand, then suddenly added: “But I do have a way to test whether Shengsheng Group’s excessive enthusiasm is really about me, or if it’s for some other purpose.”
Ye Jiaoyue gestured for him to continue.
Yi Ke instead looked straight at Zhuang Ningyu. The latter, battle-hardened, was ready for this. Before speaking, he deliberately glanced at the new phone wallpaper he’d set the night before—Elder Yi Guodong, smiling kindly, arm around children in front of a Hope Primary School.
Great benevolence inspires kindness, Zhuang Ningyu told himself. He still had the patience to endure. He nodded gracefully, voice calm and encouraging:
“Say it.”
Yi Ke’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, sweeping over the black screen of Zhuang Ningyu’s phone. Zhuang Ningyu met his gaze with a frozen half-smile, the kind that said: Your dad’s so-called benevolence comes with an expiration date. Don’t make me slap you in public.
The young master sat up straighter. “Isn’t he trying to please my dad? Then we just need my dad himself to clearly reject it, say that he sincerely wants his son to handle things independently. In business, everyone’s an old fox. Volunteer work like this takes effort and gains little. If it doesn’t help them tie themselves to the Yi family—in fact risks offending us—in normal circumstances, they wouldn’t insist on pushing forward.”
“Good.” Ye Jiaoyue nodded. “Then leave that to you.”
At Yi Corporation’s tower, Yi Guodong noticed his phone buzzing.
Pausing the video conference, he stepped into the lounge. He had barely picked up when, instead of affectionate greetings, a lazy voice fired off orders, capped with a casual line:
“Just this one thing, Dad; handle it fast. I’m busy, gotta go.”
Yi Guodong roared: “Get back here!”
Yi Ke: “…”
Yi Guodong cleared his throat, tried again: “How’s the work coming along?”
Yi Ke muttered: “Not bad.”
“Remember—your Uncle Zhuang’s leg still hasn’t healed. He only came into the Rule Zone this time out of respect for me. Make sure you behave well in front of him. Don’t cause trouble.”
Yi Ke wanted to die. “Dad, he’s only four years older than me. Can you stop with the ‘Uncle Zhuang’?”
But Yi Guodong never budged on principle. “Even if he were four years younger than you—as long as he’s my friend, he’s your uncle. So tell me honestly—how has your uncle been treating you?”
Yi Ke slumped on the railing. “Not great. He doesn’t love me.”
Unmoved, Yi Guodong replied: “Ningyu loves me, your mother, your sister, your brother. Why is it he loves everyone but you? Don’t you think maybe the problem lies with you? Have you reflected on yourself?”
Yi Ke turned away, lips tight—absolutely refusing reflection.
As for Shengsheng Group, soon there was more follow-up. Even after Yi Corporation clearly expressed “not interested,” they only agreed verbally. Their application with the Order Maintenance Department to supply volunteers still hadn’t been withdrawn.
“The person responsible is Feng Ting, PR Manager of Shengsheng Group. Female, 45, born here. Due to work, lots of social ties. No criminal record, no suspicious tendencies. Well-off and happy, with a son and daughter in college. Her husband is Cheng Ye, 47, CEO of Yunye Construction Company. They’ve changed houses several times, all in the west of the city— no connection to Taoli Community.” Zhong Mu briefed.
“Construction CEO?” Zhuang Ningyu asked. “Inherited family business or self-made?”
“Self-made,” Zhong Mu answered, pulling up the files.
Yunye Construction was mid-sized. Cheng Ye had been a long-haul truck driver, saved some money, then started a small contractor team—slowly growing it into a proper company.
“He was a truck driver?”
“Yes. Cheng Ye’s personal record is simple. Here are some photos of his wife Feng Ting.”
The photos showed a fair-skinned woman with large eyes and long wavy curls, wearing Chanel haute couture more than a decade ago. Clearly nothing like the “plain, unadorned” female tenant the neighbors described. Definitely not the same person.
Suddenly Zhuang Ningyu asked: “Did Cheng Ye ever cheat on her?”
“Based on current info, no.” Zhong Mu shook her head. “Yunye Construction is good with marketing. One of Cheng Ye’s public personas is ‘devoted family man.’ Plenty of published puff pieces about their marriage. Plus, Feng Ting holds real power and resources—she’s been vital to his success. They’re hard to divide.”
“If not infidelity, then why that company name?” Zhuang Ningyu frowned slightly.
“What’s wrong with it?” Zhong Mu blinked.
“Not wrong, exactly. But why ‘Yun’? Why not simply ‘Chengye Construction’? ‘Yun’ is obscure, unusual. Cheng Ye dropped out of school early. Why pick a rare, meaningless character unless it meant something?”
Qian Yue leaned forward. “So what does it represent?”
Zhuang Ningyu replied: “Means he either had a partner surnamed Yun… or a lover.”
“Feng Ting and Cheng Ye were childhood sweethearts. Even if he did once cheat, it’s unlikely he’d blatantly put the mistress’s name into the company title.” Zhong Mu typed quickly. “…And as for a business partner, none of the company PR mentions anyone surnamed Yun.”
“Not in PR? Then check police case files.” Zhuang Ningyu tapped the table. “The surname’s rare—the search pool will be small.”
And indeed, results were quick. The name Yun Dali surfaced—once Cheng Ye’s partner. Together they drove trucks, started the construction firm, made their first money. Then Yun Dali fell into underground gambling, lost everything, and vanished mysteriously. Officially listed as a missing person.
“Could’ve been running, could’ve been killed. Either way, he’s been gone all these years—no body, no trace,” Zhong Mu reported.
Yun Dali was from Yunjia Village in Xucheng, raised by his grandmother. Barely educated, he left after junior high to study mechanics, later teamed up with Cheng Ye on long hauls. Once money came, he rarely returned home—but sometimes arranged jobs for fellow villagers, and during holidays drove back cartloads of gifts. He had a decent reputation.
“Villagers recalled Yun Dali had a wife—Du Xiaohe, from Jiangcheng,” Zhong Mu continued. “No record of marriage, so maybe just a live-in partner. They were together at least eight years—from when he had nothing until he was on the rise. When his greed for drink, gambling, and worse ruined him… they split.”
A tiredly familiar story: the man makes money, then turns bad.
Yi Ke asked, “Can we still find Du Xiaohe?”
“We’re trying. No results yet. Name’s too common—‘Du Xiaohe / Du Xia He / Du Xiuhe / Du Xiaohe’—pages of candidates. Plus it’s not clear which exact characters. The sketch artist could only make a rough portrait from villager descriptions—short, sturdy, capable-looking, cropped hair like a student.”
This sketch, when shown to Taoli’s longtime residents, was immediately recognizable—she was the tenant always buying instant noodles.
But then—the crucial problem. Where was the child? Villagers agreed with the Taoli residents—Du Xiaohe and Yun Dali never had children. But without a child… how did the 155 Bus escape-rule make sense?
It was clearer, but also messier.
That night at 8 PM, the monster came, retrieved his suitcase, and indeed never returned. He had truly left on a trip. As he departed, the mist in the compound thinned, the bone-chilling cold eased.
Past eleven, Zhuang Ningyu lay on the sofa, flipping page after page of Yun Dali’s records, lines of text swimming under his tired eyes. Nerves stretched taut for days finally gave way to drowsiness. He closed his eyes, hearing a faint “click” from the window latch, and sank deeper into sleep.
Yi Ke had just finished his patrol, shut the window, then walked over to the sofa. Quietly, he bent down and pulled the wool blanket higher across Zhuang Ningyu’s chest.
A silvery phone lay face down on the carpet, glowing—new message received. Yi Ke picked it up absentmindedly, intending to put it back on the table… but suddenly found himself staring straight into his own father’s face on the screen.
For a moment it was like a horror hallucination—he almost thought he’d stepped into a psychic contamination zone. On the sofa, Zhuang Ningyu either pretended to sleep or truly had drifted off. He’d been exhausted for days. Even if he sensed Yi Ke looming there silently, he couldn’t be bothered.
Yi Ke stood frozen for a long time. At last, dazed, he drifted back to the bedroom, soul-shaken.
Clutching his own phone, he whispered hoarsely:
“Why the hell is he using my dad’s photo as his wallpaper?”
On the other end, Jing Lan sucked in a sharp breath. Was this… real? Straight out of a melodrama! He quickly adjusted, seeing Yi Ke’s foul mood, and tried to analyze: “Maybe your Brother Zhuang is using one of those auto-wallpaper-swapping apps? Today your dad, tomorrow swimsuit models, day after tomorrow a Hawaiian pizza. Like a computer virus—it just cycles.”
Yi Ke flatly denied it. With Zhuang Ningyu’s tastes and personality, there was no way he’d tolerate such trash software.
Jing Lan paused, voice dropping low: “If that’s the case… then there’s only one possibility left. You—”
“Shut up!” Yi Ke snapped, cold and fierce, refusing to hear more.
“Tsk.” Jing Lan chuckled. “Doesn’t have to be bad. Think about it—you look exactly like your dad when he was young. Why not seize this chance, play the stand-in, rise to glory… hello? Hello?”
But the line was already cut—just a flat “beep-beep.”
Meanwhile, in Taoli, all operatives’ phones vibrated at once, pushing a red notice:
Attention: NEW MONSTERS HAVE APPEARED!
