“……What do you mean?” Ji Xun asked, dazed.
Is it Ji Yu? he thought. I killed Ji Yu.
At this moment, his soul seemed to detach from his flesh, breaking out of his heavy, clumsy physical shell from the back of his head and floating upward. It drifted all the way to the roof of the car, coldly looking down from above at the figure curled up in the driver’s seat.
He observed that Ji Xun’s body was shaking, like a warm-blooded animal suddenly thrown into a world of ice and snow. Teeth chattering, bones vibrating, every single muscle shivering violently as it welcomed its fate of dying in the frost.
What is there to fear?
He sneered.
The person Meng Fushan spoke of was absolutely not Ji Yu. Huo Ranyin might suspect him of killing Ji Yu, but Meng Fushan wouldn’t.
The sole purpose for which Meng Fushan had sacrificed his entire life was to find the real culprit behind Ji Yu’s murder—he did not think it was Ji Xun. Otherwise, he would have sought revenge long ago.
Then… he pondered. Who was Meng Fushan talking about?
Whom did I kill?
“Whom did I kill?” Ji Xun murmured. The sound of his own voice seemed to travel all the way from the horizon to his ears, blurry and indistinct.
“An Jie.” Meng Fushan smiled softly, his words hiding a blade. “Ji Xun, don’t lie to yourself, and don’t lie to me. You can’t forget him, and neither can I.”
An Jie. An Jie.
The name felt incredibly foreign, but that unfamiliarity only lasted the brief second the name left Meng Fushan’s mouth.
Right after, the foreignness faded, and familiarity surged forward. He realized who this was.
He was the upperclassman Ji Yu met after entering university, and later, her boyfriend.
Ji Xun raised a hand to cover his eyes.
His palm blocked out a large swath of the daylight, leaving only threads of light filtering through the gaps between his fingers, resembling waves crashing on a shore one after another.
Meng Fushan’s words dragged him back to a single frame from a nightmare as dark as black water.
How familiar these images were. He had been trapped inside them for three whole years. It wasn’t until Huo Ranyin appeared later, and Meng Fushan told him that there was something fishy about Ji Yu’s death, that he was finally rescued from that sticky, cement-like nightmare.
He could slip back into it with total ease, recalling this exact frame effortlessly.
White waves, yellow sand, a discarded suitcase, a kneeling man.
The man was weeping bitterly, repeating over and over that he was wrong, that he shouldn’t have treated Xiao Yu that way, begging him for mercy.
An Jie!
A burning pain flared in the palm Ji Xun used to cover his eyes, as if the sharp knife he held back then had pierced through time and space to brand his palm once more.
The blurry veil was ripped away.
A cold, ruthless perspective brought Ji Xun back through his memories, returning to the day he tracked down An Jie.
He stood once more on the soft sand. He had been lurking nearby for a long time, watching An Jie’s ecstatic expression as he stepped off the boat carrying a leather suitcase.
This man thought that by reaching this place and escaping the country, he had broken free into open waters and could rest easy without a care in the world.
Ji Xun let out a mocking laugh.
Tucking the brim of his hat down, he stepped forward, using the sharp knife hidden beneath his coat to hold An Jie hostage. Behaving like an old friend crossing paths by chance, he led him away from the crowd and onto an deserted beach.
Then, he let him go.
He watched An Jie attempt to flee, watched him try to struggle, but it was all useless. An untrained, ordinary person could never escape from his sight.
And so, the man finally fell to his knees, tearfully recounting his mistakes and his love for Ji Yu.
Disgusting.
If there were a mirror present, Ji Xun would have thrust it in front of An Jie’s face to make him look at his own trembling, tear-and-snot-stained face—and the hatred beneath it that he thought was hidden so well, but had long since clumsily spilled over.
Even now, An Jie still hated Ji Yu, and hated him.
That vivid hatred was proof enough that everything that happened to Ji Yu was intentionally orchestrated by An Jie.
Of course… he hadn’t killed An Jie.
At least, not that time.
“Ji Xun, don’t misunderstand, I don’t mean to blame you,” Meng Fushan said flatly.
While the cold caused his body to fail, it lent a crystalline sharpness to his intellect.
Ji Xun slowly exhaled a breath. Meng Fushan’s voice pulled him temporarily out of his memories, and he heard the other man say:
“I just hate that you moved too fast…”
After the incident at home, he was taken to the police station for investigation. Naturally, they didn’t find anything in the end. When he emerged from the station, he found Meng Fushan waiting outside. Without needing further explanation or communication, he gave Meng Fushan the answer—An Jie, the boyfriend Ji Yu had while studying at the provincial capital university.
An Jie had met Ji Yu on her very first day of university.
In truth, An Jie and Ji Yu didn’t even attend the same university. But on the day Ji Yu’s college term began, this student from the neighboring school ran over to Ji Yu’s campus, acted as an orientation volunteer, welcomed Ji Yu, helped carry her luggage to the classroom, and walked her around the campus to introduce her to freshman interest clubs.
After a full round of introductions, the one Ji Yu liked best was the drama club.
So, An Jie took Ji Yu to sign up for the drama club. Incredibly, he seemed to know everyone in it.
This student from a completely different school moved around Ji Yu’s campus like a fish in water.
But it wasn’t actually that surprising. An Jie was a fair-skinned, handsome guy. Even when he was kneeling before Ji Xun, weeping and sniveling with contorted features, that face still possessed a pitiable innocence.
He was the kind of person who made the sunlight linger on him for an extra two seconds.
His personality mirrored his appearance. His brightness wasn’t the fierce sun of summer, nor the weak sun of winter; it was the April sun—the most comfortable, least aggressive light of the year.
He had a face that invited closeness and trust.
People with this kind of appearance always had it easy in today’s society.
The members of the drama club liked him, and Ji Yu liked him too.
Ji Yu listened to him and joined the drama club. The club had many activities, and some of the stage props needed to be managed by the members themselves. Once Ji Yu arrived in a new environment, she became highly enthusiastic. She actively participated in activities and took responsibility for an important stage prop.
This prop was very troublesome to make; several members had worked on it together for days, and it was placed under Ji Yu’s care once finished.
However, during a afternoon when Ji Yu was exhausted and fell asleep leaning against the desk, the prop was damaged.
The performance was scheduled for the next day, yet the crucial prop was ruined at this critical juncture. Ji Yu was frantic and lost. This scene was witnessed by An Jie, who helped Ji Yu work from the afternoon into the night, and then into the next day, finally managing to craft a new prop so that the drama club’s performance could go smoothly.
The matter was resolved perfectly, but somehow, from that moment on, the other members of the drama club subtly began to ostracize Ji Yu.
Ji Yu had once mentioned the situation in the drama club to Ji Xun, feeling that the others were still blaming her.
At that time, however, Ji Xun was running around in circles busy investigating a case. When his younger sister sent the messages, they barely registered in his mind, and he merely offered some half-hearted words of comfort. He knew Ji Yu was naturally cheerful and friendly; he had never imagined that anyone could dislike his sweet little sister.
But someone really did dislike her.
After entering university, Ji Yu’s perception of the world was never the same.
As cheerful as she used to be, that was how introverted she became later on.
Having finished his investigation, Ji Xun pieced everything together.
An Jie possessed a face blessed by heaven and was on great terms with the drama club, so the female members naturally fancied him. He first sabotaged the prop Ji Yu was guarding, then stayed up all night to help her remake it; while winning Ji Yu’s affection, he simultaneously made the other female club members who liked him jealous.
The jealous members ostracized Ji Yu because of An Jie, while Ji Yu remained completely oblivious. Furthermore, because she was a highly responsible person, the more responsible she felt, the more unbearable she found her failure to protect the prop, and the more affection she developed for An Jie, who had helped remedy her mistake.
An Jie was also an incredibly smooth talker.
He was always willing to say sweet things. In his mouth, Ji Yu was like a little fairy from heaven.
Ji Yu had never encountered a man who could praise her and express affection so directly and passionately.
Any woman would feel shy upon receiving praise that she believed to be genuine and ardent.
They drew closer and closer. Trust does not vanish easily. While Ji Yu trusted An Jie, An Jie used the exact same methods to alienate Ji Yu from the classmates around her. This clumsy yet effective tactic was even used against Meng Fushan.
Meng Fushan rarely called Ji Yu, mostly sending messages.
An Jie, who frequently appeared by Ji Yu’s side, would secretly delete the messages sent by Meng Fushan while Ji Yu was busy with drama club activities. He didn’t delete them every single time—maybe three out of five times, or two out of three times. For the remaining one or two times, he would accompany Ji Yu to meet Meng Fushan.
Presumably, Meng Fushan felt disappointed too.
As for Ji Yu, she felt that her older brother’s good friend—who had once stayed at her house and with whom she used to have an excellent relationship—had somehow changed his attitude toward her for reasons unknown.
Did I do something wrong?
Why is it that a relationship that used to be so simple to maintain has become impossible to get right now, no matter what I do?
Ever since starting university, these two questions had likely lingered in Ji Yu’s heart.
In a world where everyone had changed and even she felt different from her past self, only An Jie remained by her side, still pouring out endless warmth, validating her, taking care of her, and needing her.
Maybe this is what love is?
An Jie, who had been relentlessly pursuing Ji Yu, was finally held by the hand by Ji Yu on her own initiative.
After hearing him finish, Meng Fushan smoked a lot of cigarettes, one pack after another. Cigarette butts filled the ashtray and littered the floor, so many that the entire house, along with the two of them, was submerged in choking smoke, making it impossible to see the other’s face even at arm’s length.
Finally, Meng Fushan said, “Ji Xun, look into it further. I have no doubts about what An Jie did, but Ji Yu wasn’t that foolish. She wouldn’t have ended up like this just because of one man’s actions.”
Ji Xun understood Meng Fushan’s disbelief.
He couldn’t believe it either. He still couldn’t believe why, because he was too busy investigating a case, he hadn’t accompanied Ji Yu to her university or paid attention to her college life. He was even more incredulous that he had actually trusted Meng Fushan to take good care of Ji Yu.
Now, it was too late for everything.
But he could still do something.
He still trusted himself; he trusted himself with absolute arrogance. Instead of convincing Meng Fushan, he directly shook him off and embarked on the journey to find An Jie.
An Jie could be considered clever. Once the news of Ji Yu’s incident spread, he didn’t foolishly stay in the provincial capital or the school. Instead, he packed his bags and fled the provincial capital, eventually being caught by Ji Xun in an overseas port city.
Strangely enough, tracing back the timeline, An Jie had fled the provincial capital at the exact moment they set out from Ning City.
It was a coincidence that felt as though someone had deliberately tipped An Jie off.
Ji Xun realized his thoughts were wandering too far and going off track. He closed his eyes, forcing his focus back.
By the beach, he hadn’t killed the man who was kneeling, begging for mercy, and exposing his ugly nature; he had let An Jie go. And then… he didn’t leave that port city right away either. He had forgotten the reason he stayed—perhaps it was because he was in a daze.
He had no purpose, walking aimlessly and fitfully along the streets of that unfamiliar city, staring blankly at strangers.
But even so, even though the language filling his ears was entirely foreign, whenever he looked at these people, it still felt like he was looking at An Jie.
He thought it was an illusion, but it didn’t seem to be. When he focused his gaze, An Jie was truly right in front of him.
He was unconsciously tracking a missing An Jie.
The moment he realized this clearly, he didn’t follow further. He simply sat by the roadside until night fell. Then, he wandered into a random bar on the street, stumbled back out, and continued to walk aimlessly and precariously down the main avenue.
An unfamiliar city contained not only unfamiliar people, but also an unfamiliar language.
He didn’t care about them, and they didn’t care about him.
Such was life in a foreign land.
He wandered the streets for five days.
The reason he remembered this number of days so clearly was because five days later, the sound of police sirens jarred him awake from his stupor.
He found himself collapsed by the side of the road—perhaps he had been sleeping there?
He stood on a mountain path. Taking two steps forward, he discovered a row of police cars rushing past below the mountain path, their roofs flashing with red and blue lights.
What were they doing? Why had he run from the city streets out to the suburbs?
These thoughts didn’t linger in Ji Xun’s mind for more than a second.
He was completely indifferent.
Not two days later, he learned from a public police notice that on the very day he woke up on the mountain, the police had discovered a male corpse inside a temple at the foot of the mountain. The face had been slashed and disfigured beyond recognition.
Ji Xun looked at the familiar clothing of the deceased in the police photos, as well as a sharp knife that he was equally familiar with.
The deceased was An Jie.
On the inner side of his own sleeve, he found a drop of dried blood.
“What did you see?” A thousand thoughts flashed through Ji Xun’s mind, but in the end, what came out of his mouth was this single, simple question.
“An Jie was sitting on a chair in the temple with a divine statue behind him, showing no signs of being bound. His face was slashed; judging by the wound marks, it was done while he was still alive. But the fatal injury was a single slash across the throat. The blood that erupted from his windpipe drenched An Jie completely, as well as half the ground in front of him. But your clothes were very clean. You were collapsed to the side, not unconscious, just sleeping soundly, reeking of alcohol.”
“Was the knife in my hand?” Ji Xun asked again.
“No, it was in An Jie’s hand,” Meng Fushan sneered. “It looked exactly as if An Jie had a guilty conscience and committed suicide to escape punishment.”
“He wouldn’t commit suicide.”
“Of course he wouldn’t,” Meng Fushan said. “So Ji Xun, who killed him?”
Ji Xun closed his eyes once more. Following Meng Fushan’s narrative, his thoughts gradually drifted back to the past.
But this piece of the past seemed completely locked away, outside of the memory power he took so much pride in. Perhaps the alcohol had already consumed too much of his sanity back then. Recalling it now, he only felt that the streets of that city were forever shrouded in a layer of thick fog that he couldn’t see through at all. The hotels he had entered were all located in pitch-black corners, their storefronts resembling a succession of bizarre, gaping maws.
And… and that mountain, that temple.
He couldn’t tell if his memory was automatically filling in the details as Meng Fushan spoke.
He walked through the dense fog. At the end of the fog, a compassionate, smiling face faintly emerged.
As he drew closer and closer, he finally saw clearly—it was the painted face of a divine statue.
The face of the Queen of Heaven, Mazu.
