Chen Qing
Miles fell into a long silence.
Back then, after rescuing Theo Green from the fire, he hadn't really planned what to do next. Theo Green wasn't burned, but he developed serious emotional problems. Even with injections of midazolam forcibly sedating him, there was little effect; he became terrified of all external stimuli, refused to eat, and became withdrawn. Even the doctors said that this stress response was too severe and essentially incurable, suggesting he be placed in a psychiatric ward for observation.
Looking at the boy who was still hiding in the corner, Miles thought of another solution. He couldn't possibly raise a mentally ill person. Since it was already broken, he might as well solve the problem at its source and reset it directly. After all, what he needed was Theo Green's body.
Soon, a customized treatment plan was developed. Ketamine was used to destroy and solidify memories, combined with scopolamine to cause neuropharmacological damage. The dosage was carefully controlled to avoid turning him into an idiot. Once it was effective, it would be combined with one and a half hours of targeted electroconvulsive therapy every day, and the information about the "Milo" identity he had chosen would be played repeatedly in a closed space to achieve brainwashing.
After nearly six months of work, the hospital delivered a perfect result.
The innocent-looking boy stood in front of him, carrying his schoolbag, and nervously greeted him, "Hello, Mr. Dale," as instructed by the medical staff.
It is to be used, to be cultivated, or to be a pawn placed in a specific direction.
To achieve a better effect, he even arranged for him to undergo plastic surgery, making him appear "60% similar" to the real person.
When did things start to go wrong?
He received a personal call while at work. He answered, but the person on the other end remained silent for a long time. He frowned, but surprisingly, he didn't hang up; instead, he waited. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard the other person timidly ask, "Mr. Dale, could you come pick me up from school?"
Outside, a torrential downpour and a typhoon were passing through; he casually agreed. He worked overtime until late at night before remembering the promise he had made.
When he called back, no one answered, so he asked Harold to drive him back to school for the first time.
In the pouring rain, a head suddenly popped out of the dark rain shelter at the school gate and ran up despite the downpour.
"I knew you'd come!"
His clothes were soaking wet, his eyes were wet, and he seemed to be aggrieved, but mostly excited. He just leaned against his car window, smiling broadly as he looked at him.
"Mr. Dale, have I troubled you?" It was a tentative question, asked very cautiously. It was childish, yet it carried a hint of cunning, using the sudden downpour as an opportunity to soften someone's heart. He saw through this little scheme, but knowing he was in the wrong, he still replied, "No, just focus on your studies."
With Blaise not coming to Wudong Port, Milo's role is temporarily unavailable, so he has no choice but to keep this pawn around for the time being.
"I will definitely work hard. After graduation, I want to join your company and become an outstanding person like you."
Looking back now, that incident was the beginning of a mistake.
This child, who has no father, no mother, and no memory, is his entire world. He watches without any psychological burden as he gradually gets lost in this world, until later, when the boundaries are broken, he gradually becomes greedy and enjoys the admiration and infatuation of those below him.
Emerging from his reverie, Miles stroked the ring on his pinky finger and whispered, "The year you finished your sophomore year, you used your savings to buy me a gift—a pair of rings. Unfortunately, you didn't remember the size. You were so nervous and awkward when you gave me the rings. Milo, do you remember what you said to me?"
Seeing Milo remain silent, Miles slowly spoke: "You said you like me. You said you never thought about a future with me, but you just wanted to tell me that you like me a lot."
Milo closed his eyes. Every word Miles uttered felt like a sharp arrow piercing his heart.
"You said that there was always someone in your mind calling your name, pulling you out of the nightmare over and over again, so when you opened your eyes and saw me for the first time, you already liked me."
"You said that I gave you a new life, that I gave you the motivation to keep going, so you must always love me, and no matter how I treat your confession, you will never leave me."
Milo curled up and covered his ears in protest.
“I know you love me. I can tell what kind of person you like, and that has nothing to do with whether you have amnesia or whether you want revenge. So, I'm angry that you're with Blaise, but I'm not jealous of him, because I understand that your heart isn't with him.”
"Even if you used Blaise to have intimate contact with him, did you tell him about what happened between us? Does he really know your feelings for me? Or is it that you yourself are afraid to face these feelings?"
Milo's eyes welled up with tears, which streamed down his nose. He tried to stop himself from listening, but Miles' words just wouldn't stop.
"This is a painful past, for both of us. Now that things have come to this, I wish none of it had ever happened, that I hadn't taken advantage of you, that you were never Theo Green. To be honest, I've always wanted you to remember, and even feared you remembering, this painful experience, so I've subconsciously believed you've been suffering from amnesia all along."
"Looking back now, I realize that I brought this upon myself. Your retaliation against me is something I should have endured, and I have no reason to blame you. However, what's done is done. Instead of dwelling on the past, let's face the future and work together to find a solution."
Milo finally turned around, his face pale and thin, his eyes bloodshot: "Miles, do you think there's still a future between us?"
A flicker of reluctance crossed Miles' eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke: "When I gave you the ring in Wudong Port, I admit I hadn't figured out my feelings yet; I simply wanted to keep you by my side. But ever since you went to Frostraven, I've been thinking about one thing: what kind of feelings do I really have for you? I've thought about it for a long time. I believe I love you."
Milo was stunned.
"You missed your chance by not having Blaze kill me when I was least on guard. Actually, you're still struggling with my feelings for you deep down. You must really want to figure it out, but you can't admit that you have these thoughts. Indeed, these feelings are too complicated and too ugly. Even I can't figure out their true nature. Maybe I'm slower to understand than you. It took me so many years to figure it out."
Miles sighed softly, "Milo, you probably don't know, but I'm just as afraid of developing feelings for you. I also hate myself for only realizing now that I've always loved you."
Milo felt as if his brain had been hollowed out, unable to think or calculate.
Miles stepped forward and gently patted Milo's shoulder: "I'm sorry about Matsubara Yuuma. But you know, I did it to protect you. You can't let the police know what you've done. I didn't really want Chatchai and the others to kill him; it was an accident. Matsubara Yuuma committed suicide. He committed suicide to protect you. His death was meaningful to him."
“Milo, if you’re willing to give me a chance, we can try to start over. But if you truly hate me to the core, then don’t continue, and I’ll accept that. I’ll send you back to Wanyang, and I’ll handle the Dale Group’s businesses. As for Pomlason, just pretend you never met him and don’t bother him again. Of course, I won’t pursue Gary and Kevin’s matter either. After that, whatever you do to me, I’ll accept it. I promise you, I will never retaliate.”
As he spoke, Miles wiped away the large tears from Milo's chin with his fingertips, his voice softening: "I won't force you anymore, don't cry."
Milo closed his eyes, his eyelashes wet with tears, and his pale jaw trembled slightly.
"Miles".
"Um."
"Have you been doing business with these drug lords for a while now?"
Miles shook his head: "Your sudden illness left me with no choice but to take you up the mountain. Kevin's branch factory is located here, and they occasionally let hikers pass through. It's not exactly a partnership, but they do give me some face." Miles released his grip and sighed softly, "Milo, have I become that bad in your eyes? Even worse than Blaise and his gang of terrorists?"
Milo couldn't answer.
Miles released his grip, looking as if he was also injured, and stood up abruptly.
The empty room was now empty except for Milo. He stared intently at the endless dripping of clear liquid from the IV drip, a dizzying, icy chaos churning in his mind. Without hesitation, Milo abruptly pulled the needle from the back of his hand. A sharp pain and even more intense dizziness instantly struck; he barely managed to stay upright by leaning against the cold wall, his knuckles turning white from the effort.
"Clap! Clap! Clap!" The crisp, abrupt sound of pebbles striking the windowpane broke the deathly silence.
Milo suppressed his discomfort, walked to the window, and looked outside.
Not far away, a small figure sat on a bare hillside. It was a boy, no more than seven or eight years old, wearing an oversized, filthy short-sleeved shirt that hung loosely like a tattered sack, barely concealing his bony ribs and skin covered in unidentified stains. He was idly picking up small stones and tossing them around.
His vision gradually cleared, and Milo finally made out the boy's face. In that instant, his heart was suddenly gripped by an icy hand. Milo pushed open the door and stepped out; a gust of mountain wind swept in, almost knocking him off his feet.
Milo approached step by step, his voice dry and trembling with disbelief: "Apa?"
The boy turned his head slowly, his unfocused gaze lingering on Milo's face for a long time, as if trying to discern a distant and blurry shadow. Finally, a faint, twisted smile painstakingly crept onto the corners of his chapped lips.
Milo's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He crouched down, grabbed Apa's withered arms with both hands, and eagerly examined the inside of the thin crook of his arm.
"What are you doing here? Where's your grandfather? Where's Chatchai? Shouldn't you be with him?"
“Up...mountain…” Apa’s tongue seemed to be tied in knots, each word uttered with extreme difficulty, “Transporting goods, up the mountain, I…can’t remember…”
Milo quickly examined Apa's arms and neck, even lifting the tattered hem of his clothes to check his thin, bony back, but found no needle marks.
“What did they feed you? Apa! Tell me! What kind of monstrosity did they feed you?” Milo’s voice shrilly.
Just then, a cold, mocking voice, like the flick of a viper's tongue, came from the shadows not far behind Milo. It was broken English: "Cut it, can't guess?"
Milo turned to look.
Meng Tuo leaned lazily against the door frame, a scar running diagonally across his brow bone adding a touch of thuggishness to his already fierce eyes. His short hair stood on end, his jawline was hard and cold, and a nearly burnt-out cigarette dangled from his lips as he stared intently at Milo's panicked face with a look of amusement.
"This little guy has a really strong addiction. Even if it's mixed into cola, he'll still fight to drink it."
These words struck Milo like a thunderbolt. Glenn, an adult, had been rendered incapacitated and mentally unstable by this mixture of poisonous plants; what hope was there for a child like Apa… This was blatant murder!
The pent-up anger erupted like a volcano, and Milo suddenly stood up: "You damned beast!"
Meng Tuo approached Milo step by step: "Beast? Ha, Blaze killed my brother, and I haven't avenged that blood debt yet!" His sinister gaze pierced Milo like a poisonous thorn. "I swore that I would make him know what it truly means to wish he were dead. You called him a beast too soon. If I were to treat you with a card, it would be too lenient for you."
Milo's ears were ringing, and intense anger and heartache were tearing him apart. He instinctively looked around.
His heart sank into an icy abyss once more at the sight he saw. Not far away, on a rugged mountain path, were several children of similar age to Apa, equally emaciated, with empty, numb eyes, dragging or carrying heavy bundles like walking corpses.
In Tengbang, children are worthless; most are born destined only to become opium addicts and grow poppies. A small number of children are valuable, such as those in Gangu who are trained from a young age to become child soldiers and serve as nourishment for war.
Illiterate, with a completely vague concept of fate, and exposed to bloodshed at a young age, very few of them survive to adulthood. How can such a life, such a fate, not inspire despair?
Milo felt a sudden dizziness.
Because of his choice, Beverly, the housekeeper on the Bethlehem, and that green-eyed little boy died innocently and tragically; Yuma was forced to commit suicide; and now even Apa is indirectly controlled by drugs because of Blaise's shooting of Mengsha...
Was his choice really the right one?
Was his revenge truly just?
Did he make a mistake from the very beginning?
Meng Tuo slowly stepped forward, his foul breath almost touching him: "I heard that that bastard Elion Thornton is your uncle?"
"You've got guts, daring to look at me like that." Meng Tuo sneered. "You should use your brain and think about where you are. Why would I go easy on a son of a bitch like you?"
Two burly men stepped forward, grabbed Milo's arms on either side, and forced him to the ground.
Meng Tuo slowly crouched down, level with Milo's face, which was distorted from being pressed down. He held out his hand, offering a syringe filled with a clear liquid.
Apa, who was standing nearby, widened his eyes as if in a stress reaction and immediately got up and ran away.
Meng Tuo's gaze didn't even follow the direction Apa fled in; he just smiled at Milo and said, "You know what opening a window is? Actually, there's another way to play that's even more interesting. Draw your blood, mix it with this stuff, and then throw it back at him. I guarantee you'll never forget that feeling once you've tasted it."
As he spoke, Meng Tuo roughly pulled up one of Milo's restrained arms with one hand, and with the other hand holding the syringe, he precisely inserted the thick needle into the bulging blue vein in Milo's elbow without hesitation.
The sharp pain of the needle piercing the skin and blood vessel walls was crystal clear. Milo endured it without making a sound, still staring intently at Mengtuo.
As the piston was pulled back, the blood flowed upwards and gushed into the syringe.
Mengtuo pulled out the needle and shook it evenly with enjoyment.
The transparent liquid mixed with the thick blood in the sealed glass tube, turning into a murky, sticky, dark red mixture.
Meng Tuo smiled and said, "Now, enjoy this feast."
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