Chapter 81#
The moment that syringe was clenched in Ji Yang’s palm, the cold metal casing pressed against his skin. The excuse of “let me do it myself” only bought him a few seconds—both the dark-skinned man and the driver were staring right at him. There was no room for any other maneuver.
“What’s the hold-up?” The dark-skinned man frowned and reached out to snatch it.
Ji Yang dodged that rough hand, gritted his teeth, and jabbed the needle into the outer side of his upper arm. A sharp sting shot through him. He controlled his breathing, furrowed his brow, and showed nothing.
Only when he pushed the plunger did he tilt the angle of the hand holding the syringe—the piston wasn’t pressed all the way to the bottom. That remaining sliver of liquid, as the needle was withdrawn, was quickly expelled into the dim light.
“Done.” Ji Yang tossed the syringe back into the man’s hand nonchalantly, his voice kept flat and even. “Satisfied now?”
The man caught it, ran his thumb along the outer wall of the barrel, and didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
He turned, stored the empty syringe, then looked at Lu Li and said in broken Mandarin: “Keep an eye on the merchandise. Don’t let anything go wrong. Once we’re on the boat, you follow our rules.”
Lu Li stood with his arms crossed, not saying a single word.
The boat rocked gently as they boarded. A few planks on the deck were wet, giving off a musty, old smell mingled with the brackish scent of water.
Having taken the extra dose, Ji Yang feigned unconsciousness, slumped against the cabin wall. He shifted his weight to his left side, leaving room for his right leg.
Without the insulated leg wrap that Nie Xu had once had someone custom-make after that incident at the cold storage, he couldn’t let the cold air reach his right leg now—not with the risk of the pain flaring up.
The small boat slipped away from shore through the night.
This vessel drew almost no water, gliding along the surface as if hugging it. The motor noise was kept to a minimum; even the splash of waves was swallowed, for the most part, by the lake’s fog and the night wind.
After gliding for half an hour, once they cleared that stretch of water, they transferred to a speedboat. The speedboat landed them under an overpass, where they switched again to a black commercial van.
The further they went, the colder Ji Yang’s heart sank.
These people were too cautious.
Every short distance, they changed handlers, and they only took remote, deserted routes.
Clearly veterans.
To avoid another injection, Ji Yang remained in an unresponsive state the entire journey. The traces he could leave along the way were extremely limited.
The sky began to lighten in the east. Ji Yang could no longer tell how far he was from South Island.
And he was even less certain whether the people pursuing them could find any sign of him.
“The eastern side is all river networks and estuary mouths.” Along a winding, endless stretch of roadside, Jiang Lei’s voice carried the urgency of someone holding back. “We should’ve brought that old bastard Zhao Yuan along. Once they get into open water, it’s hard to chase. We don’t have enough men for waterborne operations.”
“We’re not going east.”
Nie Xu held the lightweight metal leg wrap in one hand, the other resting on the car body. His gaze ran along the road ahead.
Jiang Lei: “You think they haven’t reached the sea?”
Nie Xu: “The two routes Zhao Yuan gave up were meant to mislead us on exactly that point.” He glanced down at the object in his hand and gripped it a little tighter. “The gear was left in the grass by the riverbank—proof that boarding the boat was a diversion.”
“Are you sure? So what do we do now?” Jiang Lei asked.
Nie Xu opened the car door and got in swiftly. “Notify the offshore patrol teams to seal off every river mouth and exit to the sea. No matter what flag they fly, inspect everything. We split land routes into two groups.” Nie Xu tapped open the onboard control panel, zoomed in on the map, and pointed to several locations. “Set up checkpoints at each of these places. This was South Island’s backup smuggling route from twenty years ago. It’s secretive, sure, but human cargo isn’t like contraband—the weaknesses are just as obvious.”
The jeep lurched into motion.
The moment the vehicle moved, all parties who had received word moved with it.
Jiang Lei voiced another worry: “Chasing this aggressively—could it work against Ji Yang?”
Nie Xu had already deduced the reason Ji Yang was taken. His tone remained calm, but the faint creak of the steering wheel under his grip betrayed his concern. “We can’t give the other side time to react. The longer this drags on, the worse his situation will become.”
Police motorcycles trailed behind, drones hummed overhead—an open, full-throttle pursuit that bore no resemblance to the covert smuggling beneath the surface. This chase had stirred up two provinces along the route from the very beginning.
The light of dawn shifted from a murky gray to a blinding white.
Cloudy skies, no rain, but the wind carried the dry chill of approaching autumn.
“Fuck!” The commercial van had stopped on an uphill stretch of dirt road, battered and caked gray by the rough terrain. A man in short sleeves ran back down from the roof and said, “We can’t go any further. News just came back from ahead—every road has checkpoints. Can’t get through.” He cursed: “What the hell is this shipment this time? How did it attract this many cops?”
The driver had been leaning out the window. Hearing this, he climbed out and slammed the door shut.
“Well, call them and find out what we’re supposed to do.”
Ji Yang sat in the back seat of the van.
His hands were still bound, and a jacket was draped over him.
“Wake up.” Lu Li spoke. “That drug doesn’t last this long. Besides, you barely injected any. You’ve faked it long enough.”
Ji Yang opened his eyes, glanced at the person beside him, peeled off the jacket, and asked in a low voice: “Since you knew all along, why didn’t you expose me from the start?”
Lu Li looked back at him.
Then glanced out the window again.
“No particular reason. Compared to you, I just dislike these people more.”
Ji Yang snorted and also looked out the window, speaking to Lu Li: “You can see it too, right? These people talk in gang jargon every step of the way, doing life-or-death work, making nothing but blood money.” He turned his head and looked Lu Li up and down with a mocking edge. “You followed Ji Yansong, got used to being the boss. You look down on this kind of low-end crime?”
Lu Li barely reacted. “I never do things like this.”
“Then what are you doing right now?” Ji Yang asked.
Lu Li’s eyes opened, meeting Ji Yang’s. He suddenly asked: “Nie Xu spent far longer with Ji Yansong and was involved in much deeper dealings than I ever was. Why is it that from beginning to end, you never once suspected he had a problem?”
Ji Yang froze.
Why? Because he had transmigrated into the book and knew that following Ji Yansong wasn’t Nie Xu’s true purpose?
But that wasn’t entirely it either.
Ji Yang recalled his first impressions of Nie Xu when they’d just begun interacting. His impression had been deep and rigid.
He’d thought Nie Xu was cold and ruthless, a weapon of vengeance.
But soon he’d discovered: that wasn’t true.
Nie Xu spoke with piercing precision, possessed an ironclad sense of principle, and carried a heavy sense of responsibility. After learning about his upbringing and the path he had walked, Ji Yang felt those traits became perfectly natural.
Nie Xu had always been that kind of person.
Whatever the time in the Ji family had branded upon him—even the period when he served as both bodyguard and assistant by Ji Yang’s side, when the outside world had plastered him with all manner of labels—none of it could change what was fundamentally set in a person’s core.
So Ji Yang answered Lu Li: “Because he’s a good person. A person who is inherently good.”
Composed, wise, self-restraining, disciplined—there were too many words for it.
Ji Yang expected Lu Li to lose his mind, but instead Lu Li nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I acknowledge that much.”
Ji Yang was baffled. “I thought you saw him as a rival. Why the sudden ceasefire?”
“There was never any so-called rival.” Lu Li seemed dazed. “You don’t understand the relationship between us. I just can’t figure out how everything turned into what it is today.”
It was the first time Ji Yang had seen that kind of weariness in Lu Li’s eyes—exhaustion, as if he had been running on empty for far too long.
Ji Yang didn’t know what to say.
He only said: “I truly don’t understand. But I know that everything you’re insisting on right now has absolutely no meaning. If you still possess the basic judgment of right and wrong, you shouldn’t have gone this far.”
Lu Li opened his mouth.
Just then, the van door was suddenly yanked open with a loud shhhk.
The man in short sleeves revealed a face full of menace. Turning his head, he spotted Ji Yang with his eyes open, and a flicker of surprise—and something else—crossed his gaze. That instinctive, appraising look sent a wave of cold revulsion through Ji Yang.
Lu Li stood and stepped over Ji Yang, blocking the way in front. Standing by the open door, he asked: “What’s the situation now?”
“Original location’s been changed. Just follow along.” The man craned his neck to look toward the back, but Lu Li blocked him with a raised arm. “If you don’t want complications, just do your job leading the way.”
The man glared coldly at him, then gave up.
Ji Yang climbed out of the van, feeling a complicated mix of emotions. “I don’t really want to thank you.”
“No need.” Lu Li’s expression was blank.
Ji Yang nodded. “That’s for the best.”
They abandoned the car and climbed up the slope. Ji Yang’s feet crunched against the gravel and sand, making the ascent rough going—he nearly fell several times. Partly because there was no proper path, and partly because he could still feel the lingering effects of the drug.
They walked for roughly half an hour.
The group rounded two hillsides and pushed through a stretch of woodland. A hazy gray halo occasionally flickered at the edge of Ji Yang’s vision.
He felt his body reaching its limits. He quickly surveyed his surroundings—this appeared to be a half-abandoned gravel yard. On three sides, crushed stone piles rose over a dozen meters high. The fourth side was a stagnant drainage ditch coated in a layer of moss. A two-story temporary prefab building stood about a dozen meters to their left. Tall weeds grew thick in front of it, and a rusted stone mixer sat tilted in the corner, its corroded surface flaking away.
This looked to be their temporary destination.
From the second floor of the prefab building—which appeared, at first glance, to be completely empty—suddenly came the sound of a whistle. Seven or eight men burst out from the surrounding treeline, surrounding them.
Ji Yang looked up at the second floor and, as expected, spotted a familiar face.
Even in this place, Ji Chengyi appeared to maintain his usual composure. His white shirt was spotless as he leaned against the railing, looking down: “Lu Li, what took you so long? Come up.”
Lu Li gave Ji Yang one final look, then turned and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Ji Chengyi swept his gaze lightly over Ji Yang.
Compared to him, Ji Yang looked far more wretched.
His clothes were wrinkled from a night of hardship, and his complexion was nearly translucent.
“What do you want?” Even Ji Yang’s voice was faint and feeble.
Ji Chengyi laughed coldly: “Ji Yang, ever since the Ji family’s troubles began, you’ve been strutting around for long enough. Compared to your little amateur ventures, what I intend to do—you’ll find out shortly.”
Ji Yang was taken into the leftmost room on the first floor.
The moment he stepped inside, something felt wrong. The room had been modified. The interior was cramped—perhaps ten square meters. The floor was rough concrete, cracked in many places, with dark brown water stains marring several spots. The ceiling hung low. At the center dangled a single bare incandescent bulb—no shade, its exposed filament wound with a thick layer of dust. The light was yellowish and oppressive, casting the whole space under an unclean tint.
Against the wall sat a simple adjustable operating table, its surface covered with a thin gray pad. One side of the metal frame beneath was bent, held in place by a couple of wraps of wire. Underneath the table was a dust-caked plastic bucket, its walls still streaked with dried residue of liquid medication.
The instrument table had been converted from a plain stainless steel desk. A man in a white coat and face mask—who may or may not have been a doctor—was arranging several hemostatic forceps and a pair of scissors on a tray. The metal reflected a dull, cold gleam under the yellow light.
When he noticed the newcomers, the man—whether he was a doctor or not—turned his head, frowned, and said: “Why is the patient awake?”
The one who had brought Ji Yang scratched his head: “Doctor Tao, he was awake the whole time he was delivered to us.”
Ji Yang surveyed the room with a steady gaze.
He was shoved forward, stumbling, and fell into the middle of the room.
Doctor Tao? Ji Yang studied the middle-aged man’s features—three parts familiar—and suddenly asked: “Do you know Tao Jisheng?”
The man’s hands paused. He finally looked at him directly.
“You know him?” he asked.
Ji Yang pointed to his own leg and said flatly: “More than know him. I owe this leg to the treatment Doctor Tao gave me back then. If Ji Chengyi brought you here, didn’t he tell you?”
In truth, after that incident at the airport, Ji Yang didn’t know how Nie Xu had handled that Tao Jisheng.
The man turned back around: “I don’t care about that. My ideals differ from my younger brother—my junior in the field. He enjoys the life of the powerful and superior. I only care about healing the sick and saving lives.”
Ji Yang found it absurd. “Healing the sick? Saving lives?”
“Doctor Tao.”
Ji Chengyi came down quickly with people in tow.
He ignored Ji Yang standing in the middle and went straight up to this man who claimed to be Tao Jisheng’s elder brother and senior. “I’m truly sorry for making you run all the way to such a terrible place. But I have to ask you to work a little faster—the police are on our way here. We only have half an hour.”
“Half an hour?” The man frowned. “Even for a simple implantation, the device is likely to shift subcutaneously. In this kind of environment, we can only do basic localization. And if it’s deeply embedded, the equipment here isn’t adequate—there’s a real risk of infection and hematoma.”
Ji Chengyi answered without a second thought: “As long as we find the device, the person doesn’t matter.”
Ji Yang didn’t fully understand the exchange, but he could still make out that Ji Chengyi had gone to such lengths to bring him here for one reason—to find something inside him.
In the fragmented memories, the Xile Gate from years ago had also believed that the object was on his person.
The item Elara had taken away.
There was something inside this body that could only be removed through surgery?
Ji Chengyi was deeply entangled with Xile Mindao—that he knew this wasn’t surprising. What was strange was that Ji Yang’s identity was the fourth young master of the Ji family, not the child from the memory fragments. How had Ji Chengyi connected the two identities?
The doctor’s expression stiffened: “My professional ethics do not permit me to treat a human life as something disposable.”
“This isn’t disregard for life.” Ji Chengyi glanced at Ji Yang. “It’s to save far more lives. Doctor Tao, you know how difficult it is to restart this line of research. Once we obtain the data—if neural research succeeds—the people it will benefit will be countless.”
What a massive brainwashing spiel.
Surely this idiot doctor didn’t actually believe it?
The man’s eyes flickered with internal struggle. Two seconds later, he said to the person who had brought Ji Yang: “Get him onto the table first.”
Ji Yang was forcibly pushed up to the makeshift operating table. Watching the other man produce the syringe, Ji Yang fixed his gaze on the needle and said slowly: “Doctor Tao, I’d say you still have some conscience as a physician. Surely you know you’re about to perform an illegal operation?”
The man hesitated briefly, then continued: “For this research, I have devoted decades of effort. Your words alone cannot judge that.”
Where on earth had Ji Chengyi dug up this kind of lunatic?
Ji Yang stared intently at the man as he drew closer.
He was forced to step back, barely able to keep his balance. As he stumbled into the operating table, no one expected him to suddenly attack. He lunged forward with startling speed and drove a sharp strike into the man’s wrist. The blade pierced flesh, punching a hole. The man grunted and dropped what he held, clamping his left hand over his right hand from which blood was already spurting, his face full of shock.
And in Ji Yang’s hands, the ropes had already snapped. The piece of stone he had clutched—thin as a blade on one edge—had cut his own palm as well. Blood traced its way down through his finger joints.
“What are you all standing around for! Grab him!” Ji Chengyi shouted.
Ji Yang sidestepped to the left, snatched the scalpel from the tray, and pressed it directly against the man’s neck.
“Third Brother,” Ji Yang spoke slowly.
Looking at Ji Chengyi’s dark expression, he said softly: “For brothers to come to this—truly one of the greatest tragedies of this world.”
Ji Chengyi’s face grew even uglier. “That act just now—you were indeed faking. I knew it… You’re the best at putting on performances.”
“You’ve wronged me there.” Ji Yang tugged at the corner of his mouth. He had his quick instincts in crisis situations to thank for—the experiences before his transmigration. “All along the way, I was injected, starved—whoever it is, they’d be at least a little weakened. And besides.” He glanced down at his leg. “The fact that I’m this frail—thank Third Brother for that. And now you turn around and accuse me of acting?”
Ji Chengyi stared at him hard: “You can’t get out of here. Everyone here is ours.”
“I never wanted to get out.” Ji Yang pressed the scalpel a fraction closer. “But you just said the police are on their way. You don’t have time to find another doctor either. Push me too far and we all go down together.”
As he spoke, Ji Yang kept backing toward the door.
The moment he reached the threshold, his hand was suddenly seized by a powerful force.
Ji Yang was slammed against the door. He looked up and met Lu Li’s brown eyes.
Lu Li: “I can’t let the police take him.”
Another person emerged from behind Lu Li—Wang Weitao, who had been following Ji Chengyi from the start.
He tried to advance, but Lu Li blocked him with a single arm.
“No need.” Lu Li looked at Ji Yang. “This is already his last chance.”
Ji Chengyi stepped out from the room.
He seemed quite satisfied with the scene before him.
He approached Ji Yang.
The two of them were barely two centimeters apart. Ji Yang heard Ji Chengyi laugh: “See? You’re the loser.”
The doctor’s hand was injured, so they had to relocate again.
This time, Ji Yang not only had his hands tied behind his back, but his mouth was also sealed with black tape.
As Lu Li pressed the tape into place, he said: “Later, when the car exits through the back slope, I’ll open the door. Jump out yourself. Whether you live or die is up to fate.”
Ji Yang looked at him the way one looks at a lunatic who keeps flip-flopping.
Sounds came from outside.
Lu Li stood and walked out.
Ji Yang heard someone speaking—it seemed more locals had arrived. By now there were no fewer than a dozen people in this place. Getting out again would be exponentially harder.
So should he actually listen to Lu Li and jump from the car?
The thought had barely crossed Ji Yang’s mind when he heard someone at the door speaking in broken Mandarin: “We’re about to move. I’ll take the merchandise out.”
Lu Li exchanged a few words with the person. It seemed Ji Chengyi had something to call him for—Ji Yang heard him leave.
A new face appeared.
The person crouched down in front of him, speaking quietly and quickly: “Fourth Young Master, are you alright?”
Ji Yang’s head snapped up.
The other party: “I came ahead to check the situation. The police are still some distance away—can you hold on?”
Ji Yang stared at him, cold and silent.
After two seconds, Ji Yang suddenly said: “If you were really an undercover cop sent by the police, you wouldn’t have opened by calling me ‘Fourth Young Master’ the moment you arrived. Do I look that easy to fool? Over and over again?”
The other man froze, awkwardly tugged at the corner of his mouth, then stood, picked up his phone, and said a few words in the local dialect. Just as Ji Yang had suspected—this man was here to test him.
They didn’t quite trust Lu Li. They suspected Lu Li might have some connection to the police, so they had come to probe Ji Yang.
“A pampered young master like you is harder to handle than I expected.” The man tucked his phone away, pulled Ji Yang to his feet, and reapplied the tape over his mouth. He looked him up and down and muttered with a sleazy edge: “Fresh goods that look like you are rare. If the brothers didn’t figure you’d be useful to keep alive, they would’ve long since…”
His words were cut off by a tremendous crash from outside.
It sounded like a vehicle ramming straight into the prefab building. The ceiling shook so hard that dust rained down in thick sheets.
Instantly, the outside erupted into chaos.
The man beside Ji Yang’s expression changed drastically. He grabbed Ji Yang and pulled him toward the door. They hadn’t made it a single step when a sharp shattering sound rang out overhead.
Glass shards rained down in a clattering cascade.
The person who arrived had come straight through the prefab building’s ceiling from the second floor, landing barely two steps from where the two men stood. The aura of violence was overwhelming. The newcomer hadn’t even straightened up before Nie Xu pivoted on one foot and drove off the ground, his forearm sweeping out horizontally like an iron gate. With a muffled crack, the man’s vertebrae made a faint dislocating sound under the sustained pressure, and his entire body crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been severed. The back of his skull struck the concrete floor with a dull thud the instant he hit the ground.
The entire sequence took less than two seconds.
Immediately after, more people charged in from outside. Nie Xu didn’t even pause. Rising in a half-crouch from the floor, he twisted his hips, blocked a steel pipe thrust at him with his left forearm, and drove his right fist directly into the man’s ribs. The man doubled over and staggered backward, his shoes screeching against the rough concrete floor. Before he could even catch his breath, Nie Xu’s knee slammed into his chest, using the momentum to drive him back into the wall behind. Boom—the wall was paper-thin; the impact cracked a web of gray fissures into the surface. The man slid down the wall, eyes wide, but unable even to scream.
Dust and debris filled the entire room in an instant.
The last man was clamped by the back of the head and slammed into the doorframe as he stumbled out, clutching his throat. The wooden doorframe split with a crack. He crumpled to the floor without so much as a whimper.
In just a few seconds, all four men lay on the ground. Two were fully unconscious; the others rolled their eyes, gasping raggedly, unable to rise.
Nie Xu stood in place, breathing just slightly harder. He raised his right hand and glanced at it—two gashes from the glass sliced across the back of his hand, blood beading and dripping down his knuckles. He ignored it. His gaze swept past the carnage on the floor and settled on Ji Yang by the doorframe.
Ji Yang had been thrown against the wall by the force of the collision, his back pressed to the rough concrete. He hadn’t yet recovered from the dizzying sequence of violence that had just unfolded. He looked at the men on the ground, then at the figure standing at the center of it all, and for a moment forgot to react.
Nie Xu walked toward him. Boot soles crunched over broken glass with a faint, brittle sound.
He stopped in front of Ji Yang, head bowed slightly, as if the very first thing on his mind was checking whether he had been hurt. His breathing hadn’t fully steadied yet—his chest rose and fell visibly through the dust-covered black T-shirt. His shoulder blades were taut with his posture, as though some coiled, dormant strength hadn’t yet been fully released.
He stood there for a long moment.
Then he reached up and gently peeled the tape from Ji Yang’s face. As his fingers moved behind to untie the rope, his hand paused.
Deep welts had been carved into Ji Yang’s wrists.
Blood had traced along the creases to his wrist bones, mingling with the fibers of the rope. The cuts left by the stone shard on his palm hadn’t yet clotted, crisscrossing in a web.
Ji Yang felt his gaze and said, his voice hoarse: “It’s fine. I did it to myself.”
Only then did Nie Xu utter a low “mm,” pressed his thumb against the base of Ji Yang’s palm, and quickly untied the ropes in a few deft motions.
Freed, Ji Yang flexed his numb and tingling hands, turned around—
Opened his mouth but hadn’t yet decided what to say when Nie Xu’s fingers circled the back of his neck and pulled him, whole, into his chest. The force was enormous. Ji Yang could feel the residual tension in Nie Xu’s body, the warmth seeping through fabric with the chill of late autumn. His breathing pressed deep and heavy.
“I found you.” Nie Xu’s voice came from above Ji Yang’s head, lower than he’d imagined, heavier than he’d imagined.
Ji Yang’s nose brushed Nie Xu’s shoulder. He caught the faintest scent of iron. Suddenly, words failed him. He simply turned his face further into the curve of Nie Xu’s neck.
“Mm.” After two seconds, Ji Yang answered softly. “You came much faster than I expected.” He tilted his head up slightly, trying to lighten the mood, and smiled. “I thought with all those transfers, there was a decent chance my body would end up in the middle of nowhere, never to be found.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt the shift in Nie Xu’s gaze.
So heavy it was about to overflow.
Ji Yang’s heart quivered. “What’s wrong? I was joking.”
“I won’t let it happen.” Nie Xu said.
He pulled Ji Yang back into his arms once more and emphasized: “I promise. This will never happen again.”
Ji Yang’s chin rested on Nie Xu’s shoulder. He didn’t know what past lay buried in the weight of that promise, nor did he know how many harrowing hours of searching and screening had taken place in the places he couldn’t see that night.
He was only in that instant of sudden, overwhelming safety.
Hearing those words—not a simple reassurance, but something more like a promise that had waited too many years and finally found its way.
He found himself responding in kind, almost involuntarily: “Then I’ll be smarter next time. I won’t just go off with anyone who asks.”