Chapter Thirteen: Thoughts and Obsessions
In the corridor, Qiao Yuan did not stop walking. The fierce aura emanating from him made the bodyguards waiting outside subconsciously take a half step back.
Uncle Chen, leaning on his cane, followed closely by.
“Master Qiao, please calm down,” Uncle Chen said, thinking he was just arguing with Chen Kan. “Chen Kan is young and impetuous, and doesn’t know his own limitations. He was personally appointed by the old master of the Chen family. If we act rashly against him, we might make a blood feud with the Chen family of Beiping… As for Chen Minhao, I still have some connections. Perhaps… I could try to mediate a bit? Maybe I can find a way to turn things around.” He carefully observed Qiao Yuan’s expression and saw that he paused slightly, but the cold glint in his eyes had not diminished. He quickly changed the subject, “Right now, there is another matter that is more troublesome. It has been confirmed that the person who kidnapped Huang Jinhu on the Suzhou road was Liang Kuan’s man.”
Qiao Yuan abruptly stopped, turned his head, and his eyes flashed like lightning: "Liang Kuan?"
“Yes,” Uncle Chen nodded, his voice even lower, “Liang Kuan has now… latched onto the Japanese, and is very close to that Sato Ichiro, becoming one of Sato’s henchmen outside the concession. With this connection, taking action against him might expose that venomous snake, Sato…”
“Sato…Ichiro…” Qiao Yuan murmured repeatedly, his voice suddenly becoming distant and ethereal, as if it did not come from his own mouth. “Liang Kuan thinks I can’t do anything to him just because he’s siding with the Japanese? He ambushed me back then and injured Jin Tang. I will never forget that grudge!”
The car drove along the bumpy gravel road, and the neon signs outside the window flowed into blurry ribbons of light in the night.
Qiao Yuan leaned back in the back seat with his eyes closed.
Chen Kan's appearance stirred up his long-accumulated, filthy memories, forcing that deliberately sealed past to break through the floodgates, carrying the stench of blood and the scent of old sunshine, surging and engulfing him.
Time suddenly rewinds to ten years ago, to that sweltering afternoon. At that time, Qiao Yuan was just an insignificant nobody under Huang Jinhu, having just escaped from a street brawl, suffering a deep, bone-revealing knife wound to his shoulder blade.
He clutched his bleeding wound, staggered into a quiet back alley, slid down against the cold, damp brick wall, and sat down. The intense pain and dizziness from blood loss made his vision go black.
Large beads of sweat mixed with blood rolled down his face; the shadow of death had never loomed so vividly.
The light at the alley entrance was blocked by a slender figure.
He struggled to lift his heavy eyelids. In the backlight, he could only see the outline of a girl in a plain blue schoolgirl dress. She seemed startled by the bloody scene in the alley and stopped in her tracks. Instead of screaming and running away like most people would, she hesitated for a moment and then took a few steps closer to him.
"Are you... are you alright?" The voice was clear, carrying a hint of barely perceptible tension, yet it was like a clear spring flowing into his chaotic consciousness.
Qiao Yuan let out a muffled whimper in response. He couldn't see her face clearly, but he felt that her voice had a strange penetrating power.
Her gaze fell on the gruesome wound on his shoulder blade, and her delicate brows furrowed with worry. She quickly rummaged through her cloth bag and found a clean white handkerchief embroidered with tiny begonia flowers. Without hesitation, she carefully pressed it against the edge of his bleeding wound.
"Press on it, it might stop the bleeding a bit." Her movements carried a calmness beyond her years, and her voice softened further. "There's a clinic at the street corner ahead, shall I help you there? Or... shall I go and call someone for help?"
That handkerchief, carrying a faint scent of soapberry, seemed to truly suppress the burning pain of the wound and the coldness of death through its rough fabric.
Qiao Yuan stared blankly at the face in front of him, which was so bright in the sunlight that it was almost dazzling. He looked at the pure worry in her clear eyes, which was like a ray of light piercing through the darkness and shining directly into the dark and muddy depths of his heart that had never been truly seen by anyone.
An unprecedented, unfamiliar, and surging emotion instantly seized him, making him forget the pain, forget his humility, and forget that his life was still hanging by a thread.
He forgot to answer, but stared intently and greedily at the face, as if trying to etch the light into his very bones.
The name "Lin Jintang," along with the figure handing him a handkerchief in the afternoon sunlight, was branded onto the softest and most painful part of his heart, becoming an obsession and demon he could never escape throughout his life.
Years later, on another sunny day, at the inauguration ceremony of the new and impressive office building of the Power Foundation.
Dressed in a suit and tie, he had already secured a place in the gang. Holding a wine glass, his gaze swept over the elegantly dressed crowd, finally settling on a beautiful couple not far away.
Lin Jintang wore a well-tailored cheongsam, her smile gentle, exuding a more mature charm than the female student in the alley back then. Standing next to her was the spirited Bai Mu.
Bai Mu, dressed in a sharp white suit, exuding elegance, leaned slightly forward and whispered something in her ear, causing her to cover her mouth and chuckle softly. Her eyes sparkled with intimacy and dependence. Bai Mu naturally took her hand, their fingers intertwined, the scene so harmonious and beautiful it was almost blinding.
The wine glass in Qiao Yuan's hand was almost crushed.
A chilling, venomous jealousy instantly consumed all his reason.
Looking at Bai Mu's hand holding Lin Jintang's, he felt his soul screaming: Why? Why can Bai Mu have her unconditional love? Why can Qiao Yuan only look up at the bright moon from the mud?
Dark thoughts grew wildly like vines, coiling around his heart and suffocating him. The beauty under the sunlight now seemed like the cruelest irony to him.
"Go, find a way to leak the message to the people in the underground union. Tell them to prepare early and evacuate if possible."
He couldn't afford to offend Huang Jinhu, so he naturally had to do the job. However, he always considered how to do it carefully. But when he learned that Bai Mu, as the student council president, would be participating in the event, his suppressed jealousy and resentment instantly overwhelmed his conscience, and a crazy plan to kill someone with a borrowed knife instantly took shape in his mind.
He summoned Ah Chen, his tone ruthless and desperate: "While the security team opens fire to create chaos...keep a close eye on Bai Mu. Find an opportunity...to shut him up forever. Remember, make it look like a stray bullet, like an accident!"
He not only had to complete Huang Jinhu's mission, but also had to use the chaos as cover to completely eliminate the man who occupied Lin Jintang's heart!
The changing light and shadow outside the car window abruptly pulled Qiao Yuan back to reality from the vortex of bloody memories.
He suddenly opened his eyes, his chest heaving violently, and fine beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, accompanied by a suffocating feeling of surviving a disaster and an unfathomable fear.
Chen Kan… a powerful intuition spun around him like a cold, venomous snake. No, impossible… He had personally witnessed Bai Mu collapse, shot in the chest, bleeding profusely… How could Chen Kan be Bai Mu?
But the look in his eyes, his features... they were practically identical! Yet their temperaments were completely different. Chen Kan's cold, sharp edge and unquestionable authority were qualities that Bai Mu lacked back then.
"Uncle Chen!" Qiao Yuan's voice was hoarse, carrying a forced sense of urgency and surprise.
Uncle Chen in the passenger seat immediately turned to the side: "Master Qiao?"
Qiao Yuan took a deep breath, trying to calm his turbulent emotions, but the gloom in his eyes was so intense that it couldn't be dispelled.
"Investigate! Use every connection you have, dig three feet into the ground and find out everything about Chen Kan! Especially his true relationship with the Chen family in Beiping, and... his past experiences. I need to know where he came from, what he did, every single detail!" He paused, his voice suddenly turning cold, carrying an undeniable ruthlessness, "Remember, 'every single detail'!"
"Yes, Master Qiao." Uncle Chen's expression turned slightly solemn.
The car stopped at a quiet street corner on the edge of the French Concession.
Qiao Yuan pushed open the car door. The cool night breeze brushed against his burning forehead, but it couldn't dispel the gloom in his heart.
"Go back and deal with this first," he instructed Uncle Chen in a deep voice. "I'll go see Sato Ichiro myself."
A hint of worry flashed in Uncle Chen's eyes: "Master Qiao, you're going alone..."
"It's alright." Qiao Yuan waved his hand, interrupting him.
He looked up and gazed at a Japanese-style garden in the distance, enclosed by a high wall. The dim lighting gave it an eerie and sinister feel.
His eyes became extremely complex, like the undercurrents beneath a deep pool. "There are some old scores... it's time to settle them with this 'old friend'."
The gates of the Japanese garden are tightly closed, resembling a silent, gaping maw in the night.
Qiao Yuan straightened the collar of his black robe and stepped forward. Before his fingertips even touched the cold beast-head door knocker, the heavy black lacquered wooden door silently slid open a crack. A middle-aged man in a kimono, with an expressionless face, stood behind the door with his head bowed, stepping aside to make way for him. His movements were so light that they made no sound.
Inside the courtyard, the hustle and bustle of the outside world was completely different.
The winding stone path leads deeper into the area, flanked by meticulously manicured yet somewhat melancholic pines and cypresses, while jagged artificial rocks cast distorted shadows in the pale moonlight.
The air was filled with the damp scent of moss, mixed with a faint wisp of incense, creating a suffocating stillness.
The kimono-clad man leading the way moved silently, like a fleeting shadow, leading Qiao Yuan to a foyer with paper lanterns hanging above it.
The paper sliding door was gently pulled open, and warm yellow light flowed out.
In the center of the room, Sato Ichiro sat upright behind a large, low table. He wore a dark blue kimono, his hair was neatly combed, his face was serene, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Behind the lenses, his gaze was gentle and peaceful, and a perfectly measured smile played on his lips, making him appear like a refined scholar waiting for an old friend to have a late-night chat.
"Mr. Qiao, I apologize for not greeting you properly at this late hour." Sato Ichiro nodded slightly. "Please have a seat."
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