The Sickly Beauty Gives Up Struggling [Rebirth] Chapter 187

Zhang Zhaohe claimed he would fight back, and Li Rong knew he would, so he didn’t leave him much time.

The moment Li Rong exposed everything to Zhang Zhaohe’s face, it signified he had already made all the necessary preparations. He would never give his opponent any breathing room.

Only three days after the High Tower Group meeting, Li Rong suddenly made a high-profile announcement: the second phase of the Luyinxu trial was officially beginning. This time, 300 children were being recruited. If the Phase 2 results were positive, the drug would apply for emergency approval, production lines would expand, and the treatment would be sold at a fair price to eradicate bacterial progeria as soon as possible.

The moment the news broke, the internet exploded in celebration:

“It’s going to succeed! If Phase 2 goes well, we could have Luyinxu available in about six months!”

“I know a child who participated in Phase 1 trials. They’re fully recovered now and attending kindergarten like a normal child!”

“This is amazing. If this works, my child can finally play with other kids without facing discrimination.”

“Praying this succeeds. I don’t want to rely on medication forever—I finally have hope.”

“Thank you, I don’t even know what to say. I just hope Li Rong stays safe. I’ll keep praying for you.”

“Did everyone see? After the success of the first phase of Luyinxu, Suhe Biotech has had yet another partner bail on them. At this rate, it feels like they won’t even be able to pay salaries anymore.”

“Jiaketing is still in production, but they’ve realized this drug is on its way out. Their new flagship drug hasn’t even been developed yet.”

“I’ve stopped paying attention to Suhe Biotech. Now that Zheng Zhupan is in jail, the company’s bound to be acquired soon.”

“Wait… Hold on… Whoa! Huge scandal just dropped! Everyone, come check this out!”

“Seen it, seen it! Turns out it’s about Blue Pivot District Nine!”

…

As netizens were celebrating the success of Luyinxu, a small, unassuming account suddenly emerged and dropped a bombshell: confidential internal documents from Blue Pivot District Nine.

[The Truth Behind Han Jiang’s Dismissal! The Scandal the Ghost Eye Group Didn’t Dare to Reveal!]

“Hello, everyone. I’m the former assistant to Han Jiang, the Ghost Eye Group’s leader. Ever since Han Jiang was dismissed, all related information has been suppressed. Most people think it was just because he reached retirement age, but that’s far from the truth. I’ve had enough and decided to speak out, no matter the consequences!”

“Do you recognize this photo? I believe anyone who’s studied at A University over the past few years knows this woman. If you’ve walked through the plaza, you’ve surely heard her calling out.”

Attached to the post was a photo of Xu Tanghui, bundled up tightly against the cold as she sold gloves and hats in Fountain Plaza. Her face was windburned, her cheeks flushed, and her expression weathered by hardship.

Before her stood an old cart laden with neatly arranged woolen winter goods, though their outdated styles meant they hardly sold. Her hair was windswept, her eyes barely open against the biting wind, and the down jacket she wore was so worn it had started to tear. Her fingers, hardened and calloused from years of labor, peeked through the gloves.

She looked like someone who had borne the brunt of life’s cruelties—a woman struggling to survive.

“This woman’s name is Xu Tanghui. Over ten years ago, she was a lab manager at University A. On a night she was working the night shift, Han Jiang’s son, Han Ying, had a date in the lab with a female student. They accidentally broke some lab equipment, and Xu Tanghui discovered them.

However, to cover up the scandal, Han Jiang, with the help of a lecturer named Zhang Zhaohe from A University, deleted the surveillance footage, intimidated the female student, and falsely accused Xu Tanghui of damaging the equipment. This led to Xu Tanghui being fired and sued for a hefty compensation. Xu Tanghui refused to admit to something she didn’t do.

To track down Han Ying, she set up a stall on campus for over a decade. Meanwhile, Han Jiang had long since sent his son abroad. It was only after this incident was exposed that Han Jiang was forced out of Blue Pivot District Nine!”

For most netizens, Blue Pivot District Nine was an obscure and elite organization—far removed from their daily lives. Ordinarily, such a scandal wouldn’t have garnered much attention.

But Xu Tanghui’s photo struck a nerve.

Blue Pivot District Nine might be distant, but Xu Tanghui wasn’t. She was an ordinary person, just like everyone else, unfairly wronged and left to suffer.

She had simply been unlucky enough to work the night shift that day, becoming a scapegoat. And how many more scapegoats like her were there? How many more injustices remained hidden?

“This is so disgusting! Han Jiang must be held accountable, and Blue Pivot District Nine can’t keep covering this up and fooling the public!”

“I know the Ghost Eye Group. What a joke! They were founded on the premise of ‘sacrificing for justice,’ and now look at this!”

“This poor woman… such an undeserved disaster. Is there any way to support her? I’d like to buy some of her knitted goods.”

“Over ten years of perseverance—what incredible determination. But it’s tragic that the truth is only coming out now. Her entire life has been ruined!”

“Don’t just focus on Han Jiang! Did no one notice that a professor from A University helped him? A teacher, of all people! A University is rotten to the core!”

“I can’t believe it. Even a prestigious university like A University has rotted to this extent. There must be some financial dealings involved—paying off people to keep quiet.”

“Did everyone see? That professor threatened the female student! Two people were on a date, the guy got off scot-free because of his background, and the girl got threatened. What kind of world is this? That professor is disgusting!”

“The girl made mistakes too, but the professor’s actions are a much bigger problem. Anyone who’s been to college knows how a professor targeting you can leave psychological scars.”

“Ninth District, come out and apologize! Is this how you uphold fairness and justice?”

“The Ghost Eye Group has a new leader now, probably just to shirk responsibility. They’ll say, ‘It was all the former leader’s doing; it has nothing to do with the current one.'”

“Um… I looked into it. The current leader is only 22 years old. He joined the Ghost Eye Group a year ago. Fourteen years ago, he was still in elementary school. This really has nothing to do with him.”

“Speechless. So they chose this young leader as a puppet to exonerate the Ghost Eye Group. Now, even if people want to complain, there’s no one to blame.”

….

Fortunately, the Ghost Eye Group didn’t attempt to dodge responsibility.

Just an hour after the exposé, the current leader of the Ghost Eye Group held a press conference.

At the event, Cen Xiao wore a formal suit and carried a somber expression. He stood up and bowed deeply.

“The Xu Tanghui incident was entirely the fault of the Ghost Eye Group. We understand and accept the public’s anger and criticism. After the incident came to light, the Ghost Eye Group took immediate action to handle the situation with former leader Han Jiang and did our best to compensate the female student and Ms. Xu Tanghui.

Although 14 years have passed and no compensation can truly make up for the harm caused, please believe in our sincerity and determination to make amends. Suppressing the news was a mistake on our part. The Ghost Eye Group should be open to public scrutiny and place everything in the light of transparency.

Rest assured, the whistleblower will not face retaliation from the Ghost Eye Group. Internally, we will conduct a thorough self-investigation and self-correction. Thank you for your criticism, and once again, we sincerely apologize.”

Ordinarily, those in positions of power rarely accept criticism sincerely—especially when the criticisms don’t directly involve them. After all, over a decade ago, Cen Xiao was just a child.

Netizens had expected the Ghost Eye Group to deflect, plead innocence, or present evidence to clear their name, then silence the whistleblowing account and act like nothing happened.

In the livestream’s comment section, everyone had been ready to vent their anger. But to their surprise, Cen Xiao admitted everything.

He acknowledged the mistakes, admitted the mishandling, and repeatedly apologized.

This left people a bit stunned. It felt like continuing to lash out would make them seem unreasonable.

After all, the new leader had nothing to do with Han Jiang’s actions but was now being pushed forward to take the heat.

“Uh, okay… but you need to share the details of the compensation. Otherwise, how do we know it actually happened?”

“If you know you were wrong, then make serious reforms. Who knows what other dirty deeds Han Jiang committed while in charge?”

“At least the apology seems genuine. Let’s hope it’s not just for show.”

“I’d never heard of this organization before. But after looking it up, it seems pretty impressive. Even the Hongsuo Research Institute and Blue Pivot United Commerce Association seem wary of them. Since they’re so influential, let’s make sure they’re properly supervised.”

“Here we go, the Ninth District’s official site just published the details of the compensation measures!”

“The response time is… surprisingly fast?”

….

Before netizens could find new angles to criticize the Ghost Eye Group, their official website had already released a breakdown of the compensation provided to Jiang Zheng and Xu Tanghui.

Jiang Zheng declined to appear publicly, but Xu Tanghui recorded a video stating that she had reconciled with the new leader.

Just as the issue was gaining traction, and before the public could fully vent their emotions, the involved parties had already expressed their forgiveness. The wave of outrage instantly fizzled out.

“Wow, it’s all resolved already. That was quick.”

“This compensation looks reasonable to me—seems quite sincere.”

“I’m a little jealous of this compensation. Is it really that much?” 

“Jealous of what? Would you be willing to endure injustice for over a decade?”

“Alright, it’s over, it’s all been resolved.”

“This new leader is so efficient! It’s hard to believe he’s only 22 years old. I hope the Ghost Eye Group continues to improve and stops disappointing everyone.”

While netizens finished spectating and moved on, the High Tower group was thrown into chaos. The exposé implicated a critical figure: Zhang Zhaohe.

Everyone in the High Tower group knew that Li Qingli had originally founded the group after witnessing the injustice of the Xu Tanghui incident. He believed scientists lacked a voice and rallied like-minded individuals to form this scientific union.

If Zhang Zhaohe had been involved in the Xu Tanghui incident—or worse, the instigator—then his presence in the High Tower group would be utterly absurd.

No one wanted to believe Zhang Zhaohe was an infiltrator or a fraud, but the Ghost Eye Group’s rapid apology was telling.

Based on their understanding of the Ghost Eye Group’s operations, the group would never apologize unless there was irrefutable evidence. Apologizing meant sacrificing credibility, weakening authority, and crippling their ability to oversee others in the future—leaving them vulnerable to attacks on this scandal.

Finally, one of the ten members who had climbed Ta Mountain alongside Li Qingli couldn’t hold back and sent the article directly to Zhang Zhaohe.

“Please explain, Leader: is this exposé true? Did you really conspire with Han Jiang to frame Xu Tanghui? Back on Ta Mountain, you pleaded tearfully to Professor Li, convincing him to let you join the High Tower group. Was that an act? Did you deceive Professor Li?”

“I was also on Ta Mountain,” another member added. “At the time, two or three of us opposed Zhang Zhaohe joining because we didn’t know him well, and his academic level didn’t meet the group’s standards. But Professor Li vouched for him, saying we shouldn’t discriminate against a colleague still growing in their academic journey.”

Chang Li: “This happened? I joined later, so I didn’t know.”

Yan Youzhong: “I’m staying calm for now since this is just the Ghost Eye Group’s claim, but I’d still like an explanation.”

Li Yongshi: “If this was deception from the start, it’s a serious matter. Everyone remembers the Luyinxu incident—Han Jiang feigned ignorance, and Zhang Zhaohe repeatedly urged us not to speak out, clarify, or refute.”

Jiang Weide finally chimed in: “Exactly. I’ve always wanted to point out that Zhang Zhaohe’s account of that night doesn’t align with Li Rong’s. Someone might have twisted Professor Li’s words to manipulate us into supporting their agenda.”

Chang Li: “Does anyone remember how Zhang Zhaohe initially obstructed the Luyinxu re-creation experiment? We trusted him and ended up criticizing Li Rong for being reckless. But now it’s clear—Li Rong wasn’t overconfident. He was right.”

Yan Youzhong: “The burning of the Luyinxu data was meant to prevent its release. Blocking the re-creation experiment served the same purpose. It’s all part of the same logic.”

Li Yongshi: “Let me say something harsh. If Li Rong hadn’t had the ability to recreate it, the day of the fire would’ve marked the end of both Professor Li and Professor Gu’s influence in the High Tower group. We would’ve eventually forgotten them.”

Zhang Zhaohe remained silent.

When the group started demanding answers, Zhang Zhaohe already knew there was no explanation they would accept.

He had suspected that Han Jiang’s downfall was tied to events from over a decade ago being exposed. But he was confident the Ninth District would tightly suppress the information, preventing anything from tarnishing their reputation.

Han Jiang, he assumed, would likely be fine—perhaps just stripped of his position and left idle at home.

If Han Jiang wasn’t in trouble, Zhang Zhaohe believed he wouldn’t be either. The High Tower group members couldn’t penetrate the Ninth District’s upper echelons, let alone uncover the truth. As long as they didn’t know, he still had a chance to recover.

But he hadn’t anticipated Cen Xiao’s willingness to go to such lengths for Li Rong—sacrificing the entire Ghost Eye Group if necessary to solidify Li Rong’s status within the High Tower group.

Zhang Zhaohe couldn’t understand it. He was utterly baffled.

He kept replaying it in his mind, wondering if he had missed something—if Li Rong had leverage over Cen Xiao. How could anyone be willing to sabotage their own path just to clear obstacles for someone else?

Zhang Zhaohe’s head began to ache—a sharp, throbbing pain at his temples, spreading in stabs across his scalp and numbing the back of his head.

He knew it was because he hadn’t rested in far too long. His body was on the verge of collapse.

But he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t dare sleep. Li Rong had struck too quickly; he hadn’t even had time to counter.

He knew this wasn’t over yet. There were still people in the High Tower Group who supported him. He had the resources to make a comeback, but he needed to think carefully—he needed a strategy that would work in his favor.

If worst came to worst, he could abandon the High Tower Group and establish something new—call it the “Low High Tower Group” or whatever. There would always be followers.

But what exactly should he do?

Gritting his teeth, Zhang Zhaohe pressed his palms against his throbbing temples, gulping cup after cup of strong tea.

During this time, numerous High Tower Group members privately messaged him, expressing their trust and unwavering loyalty. They said they believed in his sincerity toward Professor Li. As long as he provided an explanation, they would stand by him.

Zhang Zhaohe looked at these messages and wanted to laugh.

These self-proclaimed intellectual elites—so-called brilliant minds—refused to see the truth even when the evidence was laid bare. They believed he was being slandered and pledged their loyalty.

No wonder they were so easy to deceive. No wonder they had believed his lies so effortlessly. He only ever wanted to manipulate them; he never considered himself one of them.

Too stupid. Truly too stupid. If only Li Qingli had been a bit dumber, he wouldn’t have needed to push him to his death.

Zhang Zhaohe sighed in melancholy.

Some were furious and clear-headed; others clung to false hopes. Some watched coldly from the sidelines, while others sought refuge elsewhere.

The group of twenty thousand was in chaos, like jesters performing on stage. Fortunately, Zhu Yan was gravely ill, and Hongsuo Research Institute was too preoccupied to take advantage of the situation. Most were content to simply spectate.

Two days later, what the High Tower Group received was not Zhang Zhaohe’s explanation, but another heavy blow—a signed confession from Xu Wei, sent all the way from overseas.

Xu Wei had left A University long ago, to the point where many had nearly forgotten his name.

But when he resurfaced, with keywords like “hard drive,” “A University,” “Xu Tanghui,” “Li Qingli’s hypothesis,” and “Jiang Weide,” everything clicked into place, and people suddenly realized: he was a key figure.

In the video, Xu Wei stated just one fact:

“I did not assist Li Rong in writing his thesis. On the contrary, back then, it was Zhang Zhaohe who ordered me to destroy all of Li Qingli’s manuscripts. I relented out of guilt and only destroyed the Luyinxu papers, leaving behind the hypothesis. Therefore, Li Rong completed his thesis independently, using the surviving manuscripts. He credited me back then to prevent the real mastermind from eliminating him.

I fled overseas without telling the truth because I feared Li Rong would be silenced. Professor Li had shown me kindness, and I couldn’t betray him. I also admit I feared Zhang Zhaohe’s influence. Please forgive my cowardice—I have a family to protect.”

Xu Wei’s video was first shared with his former colleagues at A University, who quickly spread it. Naturally, it reached both Hongsuo Research Institute and the High Tower Group.

At that point, no one demanded an explanation from Zhang Zhaohe anymore. The truth had emerged—Zhang Zhaohe was nothing but a hypocritical fraud who had infiltrated the High Tower Group, pushing Professors Li and Gu step by step toward ruin.

If not for sheer luck—Li Rong’s miraculous survival and extraordinary talent that allowed him to reconstruct the Luyinxu experiment—the truth might never have seen the light of day.

Under Jiang Weide’s leadership, the High Tower Group acted swiftly to correct itself.

Regardless of how many of Zhang Zhaohe’s supporters remained, he was expelled from the group. Meanwhile, the matter escalated to A University.

Facing mounting public pressure, A University had no choice but to respond. Since Zhang Zhaohe held no real importance to them, the university president decisively expelled him and erased his name from the internal system.

At that moment, Zhang Zhaohe had become a pariah—condemned by both the academic community and society at large. No amount of wealth or connections could allow him to regain his former status.

He would now have to live in the shadows, borrowing others’ identities to stir trouble. Never again could he stand openly in the sun, looking down upon those he regarded as insignificant ants.

Still, his phone buzzed incessantly—messages from his confidants flooded in. When he didn’t answer, they resorted to voicemails:

“Leader Zhang Zhaohe, what should we do?”

“The public opinion is against us. Is Liu Tanzhi still usable?”

“Leader, we need to meet and come up with a plan.”

“Please return the call as soon as possible!”

These were his loyal followers—people who shared his fate, just like Xu Wei once did.

Zhang Zhaohe glanced at the messages impatiently. Seeing their panicked words, he chose not to reply.

Living under someone else’s name was utterly meaningless.

After meditating in a Zen chamber for a long while, Zhang Zhaohe finally rose, hailed a cab, and headed to the Hospital.

Zhu Yan was being treated in a premium ward there.

A few days ago, news arrived that Zhu Yan had fallen into a coma and was almost beyond saving. The doctor quietly told the family that it might be the end. His age had caught up to him, and that was just how life worked.

In truth, Zhu Yan’s health had been fairly good before. If it weren’t for all the trouble stirred up by Li Rong, causing him so much worry and stress, he might have lived a few more years.

But fate is unpredictable. Those who watched the Luyinxu incident unfold from the sidelines back then had all suffered their retribution.

This was the first time Zhang Zhaohe had come to see Zhu Yan—the first time in decades.

Even after returning to teach at A University, Zhang Zhaohe had never formally met Zhu Yan face-to-face. He had spent so many years quietly fighting against Zhu Yan without ever openly revealing his identity.

Now that things had come to this point, he no longer wanted to hide.

Leaning on a cane, Zhang Zhaohe stood at the door of Zhu Yan’s hospital room and looked through the window. It was only then that he realized how much Zhu Yan had aged.

Zhu Yan was in a light sleep, his mouth slightly open, his skin clinging tightly to his bones, and his face marked by heavy age spots.

His breathing was weak, his dry fingers resting on the clean white blanket, his withered chest gently rising and falling, as though he might stop breathing in the very next second.

“Sir, you can only visit for about ten minutes. Director Zhu needs his rest,” Zhu Yan’s caregiver said softly.

She did not doubt Zhang Zhaohe’s identity, as visitors had been coming and going frequently. After all, Zhu Yan was such a highly respected scientist.

Zhang Zhaohe nodded, opened the door, and entered.

Looking at Zhu Yan in that state, Zhang Zhaohe found it difficult to smile.

Because he, too, was equally old and equally destitute. He was also a failure now. The two of them were no better than each other. And yet, there were still some things he wanted to ask while Zhu Yan was still lucid.

He tapped his cane on the tiled floor, making a dull “thud, thud” sound.

Zhu Yan stirred awake at the noise, his drooping eyelids slowly lifting with great difficulty. His murky eyes fixed on Zhang Zhaohe.

Gradually, his gaze focused, and his bony fingers curled slightly, though he did not speak. He simply stared silently at Zhang Zhaohe.

Zhang Zhaohe sighed lightly and said in a low voice, “You are not surprised. You recognize who I am.”

Zhu Yan let out a faint, hoarse growl from his chest, speaking one word at a time: “Zhang… Xi… Hai.”

Zhang Zhaohe smiled.

He suddenly felt quite pleased.

So Zhu Yan had always known who he was. Everything he had done, Zhu Yan had known it was him.

When Zhang Zhaohe undermined Zhu Yan’s authority and turned him into a puppet of the Hongsuo Research Institute, Zhu Yan had clearly known—and hated him.

This satisfied Zhang Zhaohe. He had feared that Zhu Yan wouldn’t know who had caused his downfall. But if Zhu Yan knew, then his revenge had been fulfilled.

“Mmm. I told you back then that I would have my revenge. No matter how high your position or how great your power, I would destroy you and never let you go. And I did it.” Zhang Zhaohe laughed coldly, his fingers incessantly rubbing his cane.

Zhu Yan’s emotions flared, his neck turning a purplish red: “You lunatic! You are a lunatic! Do you really think I cared about your thesis? Back then… everyone did it. Everyone gave their professors gifts! Why couldn’t you? Why is it just you? You ungrateful wretch! Ungrateful wretch!”

Zhu Yan spat out so many words in one breath that he nearly ran out of air. His blank eyes stared at the ceiling, his body wracked by violent coughs as his eyeballs kept rolling upward.

Zhang Zhaohe clenched his teeth, his expression twisted and menacing as he growled: “I just didn’t want to—so what? Just because everyone did it, does that make it right? What gave you the right to expel me from A University?”

Zhu Yan gripped the blanket tightly, as if gathering the last of his strength. He strained to lift his neck, glaring at Zhang Zhaohe with his yellowing eyes: “You worthless mutt—I didn’t need to keep you around!”

Zhang Zhaohe narrowed his eyes, his fingers gripping the cane so tightly that the veins on the back of his hand bulged. It looked as though he might swing the cane down on Zhu Yan’s head at any moment.

Zhu Yan thought so too.

Although he was already at death’s door, he did not want to die. He struggled to lift his arm, trying to reach for the call button on the headboard. But he was too weak, and his movements too slow. He just couldn’t reach it.

Sweat broke out on Zhu Yan’s body as his breathing grew even more labored.

Yet Zhang Zhaohe’s cane did not fall. All his strength seemed to have been spent on his internal rage. His trembling body slowly calmed. Looking at Zhu Yan’s desperate hand, his eyes filled with scorn. He reached out and grabbed Zhu Yan’s arm, pulling it back.

Zhu Yan’s face showed terror, and just as he opened his mouth to call for help, Zhang Zhaohe asked him a question he never expected.

Zhang Zhaohe asked: “Why didn’t you clear Li Qingli’s name?”

Zhu Yan froze, a look of shock flashing in his eyes. The strength in his hand faltered for a moment.

Zhang Zhaohe asked again through gritted teeth: “Why didn’t you clear Li Qingli’s name?”

This time, Zhu Yan finally understood the question. He looked disbelieving for a moment, but then a mocking smile appeared on his face: “I could… tolerate him forming the High Tower Group right under my nose. But I… would not allow him to bring you into his alliance. He opposed me—so why should I help him? He brought this on himself!”

Zhu Yan’s voice trembled near the end. If he were not on the brink of death, if he were not facing someone like Zhang Zhaohe, Zhu Yan would never have revealed such an ugly side of himself.

The moment Zhang Zhaohe returned to A University, Zhu Yan had recognized him.

Zhu Yan was not a forgiving person. He remembered every single one of his enemies clearly. The only reason he hadn’t acted against Zhang Zhaohe was because Zhang Zhaohe seemed so insignificant and weak.

But then Li Qingli had dared to befriend Zhang Zhaohe and even let him join the High Tower Group. This was an open challenge to Zhu Yan’s authority!

Although Zhu Yan never admitted it out loud, he had resented it deeply. When the Luyinxu incident occurred, he had known full well that Li Qingli and Gu Nong were innocent, yet he said nothing.

That was the price for crossing him.

Zhang Zhaohe had racked his brain trying to understand, but he never expected this to be the reason.

At that time, everyone expected the Hongsuo Research Institute to intervene and support Li Qingli and Gu Nong. Even he… even he had been waiting.

It turned out that Zhu Yan had coldly watched Li Qingli be slandered and cursed because Li Qingli had kindly taken him in more than a decade ago.

“How ridiculous…” Zhang Zhaohe tilted his head back and laughed, the sound sharp and desolate. “It’s truly absurd!”

He laughed until he was gasping for air, until his pale hair clung to the corner of his lips, until his eyes burned with a fleeting trace of tears. Yet the wrinkles on his face were so deep that no one could see whether there really were tears or not.

Within ten minutes, Zhang Zhaohe left.

When he departed, he didn’t take his cane with him.

Shortly after Zhang Zhaohe’s visit, Zhu Yan’s respiratory system suddenly failed. His eyes bulged, teeth clenched, and after three hours of unsuccessful resuscitation, he passed away.

And Zhang Zhaohe disappeared.

Surveillance footage showed that after leaving the Hospital, Zhang Zhaohe got into a taxi. Upon contacting the taxi driver, it was revealed that he had been dropped off at the terminal metro station in Taning District.

Although technically part of the city center, the terminal station was desolate. Monitoring equipment there was sparse, and most people would drive there instead. At this hour, even the buses had stopped running.

Early the next morning, when Li Rong received the news, he pondered briefly and said in a calm voice, “I think I know where he went.”

Cen Xiao asked, “Should we inform the police? They suspect Zhang Zhaohe of murdering Zhu Yan.”

Li Rong shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll go find him.”

Ta Mountain.

In early spring, Ta Mountain was still barren. Gray-brown branches stretched crookedly along both sides of the mountain path, leafless and gnarled.

The ground was a dull yellow, covered with last year’s fallen leaves, dampened by rain and snow. They stuck to the earth, rotting and fragmented, giving the air a distinct, decaying smell.

The scenery on Ta Mountain wasn’t much to look at during this season, so few people came to hike. The mountain path was deserted, the ground heavy with damp and slick moisture.

Li Rong, wrapped in a white padded coat, climbed the stone steps one by one to the mountain summit, accompanied by Cen Xiao.

By the time they reached the top, it was noon. The sun shone directly overhead, warming the summit. Under his coat, Li Rong broke out in a thin layer of sweat.

The final few steps to the summit were particularly steep. Last time, Li Rong had climbed on his hands and knees. This time, he clung to Cen Xiao’s arm for support.

When he didn’t have to exert effort, he never did.

Standing at the summit, he gazed out. The entire city laid at their feet, and the air was much clearer up here.

Zhang Zhaohe was indeed there.

He stood exactly where he had once stood alongside Li Rong—or rather, Li Qingli.

Who knew how long Zhang Zhaohe had been standing there? His hair had been blown into a disheveled mess, and his face was streaked with dry, wind-chapped lines.

He stared into the distance toward the base of the mountain, yet somehow he sensed Li Rong’s approach.

Zhang Zhaohe parted his lips and said in a hoarse voice, “You’ve come.”

Li Rong smiled faintly, walking over to stand beside Zhang Zhaohe. He took in a deep breath of the crisp air and looked at the sparse figures of tourists below, murmuring, “The place where it all began… is also where it ends.”

Zhang Zhaohe tugged wearily at the corner of his lips, glancing at Cen Xi with no surprise. “Leader of the Ghost Eye Group, pretending to be at odds with each other for show—such childish tricks.”

Li Rong replied lazily, “If I really were a child, you wouldn’t be standing here today.”

Here to reminisce. Here to reflect on life. And here, at the end of the line.

Zhang Zhaohe let out a low laugh from deep in his throat. He slowly shook his head, a look of regret on his face. “Li Rong, when you become leader of the High Tower Group, you’ll understand that I haven’t lost—nor have I been defeated. Because you’ll see that history is a cycle. The tragedy that befell your parents was no accident. It will happen again, at the Hongsuo Research Institute, the Blue Pivot United Commerce Association, even the High Tower Group and the Ghost Eye Group.”

“Because human nature is vile, full of greed and selfishness. The people around you have simply never been tempted by overwhelming desire. If they were, they would also fall. Li Qingli’s dream is a circle that can never be drawn. Beautiful, but destined to fail.”

“Do you remember what Milan Kundera said? ‘They are only brave when it is safe, only generous when it is free, only moved when it is shallow, and only sincere when they are foolish.’”

“You are cunning, calculating, deep, and cold-hearted. That’s why you’ve made it this far. And one day, you’ll become another version of me.”

“You think you’ve won? But this isn’t the real you. You’re simply fulfilling your parents’ dying wish. True freedom means governing your own thoughts. Yet you are burdened, trapped in this prison, doomed to sink into the mire. You are also pitiful.”

Li Rong merely smiled without responding.

There was no point in debating with Zhang Zhaohe now. Soon, it wouldn’t matter.

Sensing the silence beside him, Zhang Zhaohe waited a long time, yet Li Rong gave no reply.

An inexplicable emptiness washed over him. He realized then that Li Rong no longer saw him as an opponent.

Zhang Zhaohe let out a bitter laugh. He tilted his head back and stared straight into the blazing sunlight. His eyes were flooded with blinding, searing colors, but stubbornly, he refused to close them. His wide-open eyes brimmed with tears as he cried out, “Today my body returns to the earth. Someday, yours will too. To me, and to Li Qingli!”

The sunlight stung his vision to dizziness. His steps faltered as his foot slipped into the void, and like a broken kite, he plummeted toward the base of the mountain. Shouts of alarm erupted from the sparse crowd of tourists. Some called the police, others notified park staff, while a few took out their phones to capture the blood staining the cliffside.

Li Rong sighed softly. Unconsciously, he glanced at the spot where Zhang Zhaohe had once stood. Time had passed, and everything had changed.

Cen Xiao stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Li Rong from behind, raising a hand to gently cover Li Rong’s eyes.

Cen Xiao’s palm was warm and dry, full of life’s tangible strength. Li Rong did not refuse.

He leaned back against Cen Xiao’s chest and murmured, “Tell me, we both already have some psychological issues, and seeing this kind of scene… do you think we’ll get even worse?”

Cen Xiao replied, “We’ve both witnessed the deaths of the people we loved the most. Zhang Zhaohe is nothing.”

Li Rong nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. Actually, I was just about to pretend my legs were too weak to walk so I could have you carry me down the mountain. Looks like I’ll need to come up with a new excuse.”

Cen Xiao chuckled softly, removed his hand, pinched Li Rong’s chin, and forced him to look at him. “Then find another excuse. Let me hear it.”

Li Rong frowned and complained, “You were too rough last night…”

Cen Xiao: “Stop it, we didn’t even do anything last night.”

Li Rong smiled with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I had a spring dream. In my dream, you were too rough. See? Even in my dreams, you bully me.”