“Turn back!”
Huo Zongzhuo completely lost control for the first time in his life, nearly screaming himself hoarse. “Don’t make me say it a second time!”
What no one knew was that shortly before Jiang Luo was shot, all the checkpoints he had passed along the way were suddenly swarmed by police cars.
One after another, the police vehicles screeched to a stop in front of the checkpoints. The doors flew open, and a large group of officers poured out—some in uniform, some in plain clothes.
They descended like avenging gods. Every one of them was armed. Guns were raised and aimed straight at the men blocking the road at the checkpoints, while someone shouted at the top of his lungs, “Provincial Public Security Department! Routine operation! Everyone move aside! Put down your weapons! Do not resist!”
“I’ll say it again! Put down your weapons! Do not resist!”
Before anyone at the checkpoint could even draw a gun, they were already pinned down. The barricades were swiftly cleared away, and a convoy of police cars, sirens wailing, sped straight inside…
By the time Huo Zongzhuo arrived after receiving the call, everyone at the house where Jiang Luo had been detained—including Bi Kang—had already been taken under control by the provincial public security authorities.
Someone stepped forward to greet him. “Mr. Huo, I’m from the Central Inspection Team—”
But Huo Zongzhuo seemed not to hear a word. He brushed past the man and charged straight into the house. The moment he entered, he saw Jiang Luo lying on a stretcher, his face utterly drained of color. Beside the stretcher, on the floor, was a large pool of dark blood.
In that instant, Huo Zongzhuo felt as though all the air around him had been sucked away.
“Jiang Luo!”
He couldn’t hear his own voice. His entire world held only Jiang Luo.
He was stopped, restrained—but he couldn’t feel any of it. It was as if he were sealed inside a glass罩, his five senses cut off from consciousness. All he could see was Jiang Luo, motionless on the stretcher, as if—
He lunged forward. His hand clearly touched Jiang Luo, yet there was none of the familiar warmth—only an icy cold.
In his field of vision, there was only Jiang Luo. Only Jiang Luo lying there without moving, his face as pale as snow on a mountaintop.
Jiang Luo!
From beyond that invisible barrier came a voice that sounded unreal, distorted—Huo Zongzhuo’s near-desperate howl.
It wasn’t until someone shook him hard and shouted that he finally snapped back.
“Mr. Huo! Mr. Huo! President Jiang is fine! The bullet’s been removed! The bleeding has stopped!”
“Calm down! President Jiang is fine!”
……
Jiang Luo dreamed a dream.
In the dream, he was a child again.
But he didn’t live in the workers’ dormitory of the silk factory. He lived in a Western-style house, together with Zhao Guangyuan, Su Lan, and Zhao Shuo.
And his name wasn’t Jiang Luo.
His surname was Zhao. His name was Zhao Mingshi.
“Mingshi!”
He grew up happily by Zhao Guangyuan and Su Lan’s side.
They all loved him dearly—especially his older brother, Zhao Shuo.
“Mingshi!”
He lived blissfully in that Western-style house, learning to play the piano, reading books, studying multiple foreign languages, excelling academically.
“Mingshi!”
He grew up. In the blink of an eye, he graduated from high school and was admitted to Fudan University.
“Mingshi!”
Then the scene abruptly changed.
Zhang Xiangping’s face appeared before him.
She viciously clutched his throat and screamed at him, “You’re not Zhao Mingshi! You’re not!”
“My son is Zhao Mingshi! He is!”
He struggled desperately.
Then, all of a sudden, he fell into an embrace.
That embrace was warm, carrying a scent he knew, a scent he loved.
Someone was patting him, soothing him, reciting poetry to him, telling him softly, “I love you. You are the one I love most.”
After that, faces and figures, scenes and moments flashed past like a revolving lantern. His ears filled with countless overlapping voices, chaotic and deafening.
“Drip—drop—”
The sound of water falling.
Suddenly, the world fell silent again.
Jiang Luo heard his own voice, singing:
“I admit it was all the moon’s fault,
That night was too beautiful, you were too gentle,
So in that fleeting instant,
All I wanted was to grow old with you…”
Then the singing shifted—from his own voice to the husky, low voice of the singer playing on a CD.
Jiang Luo suddenly remembered.
That’s right.
He was at Peking Union Medical College Hospital. He had lung cancer. It couldn’t be cured.
Bored, he lay there over and over again, listening to that song—The Moon Caused the Trouble.
He was back in the hospital ward at Union Hospital.
The smell of disinfectant. White ceilings and walls. Endless IV drips. Endless pills.
He lay there with earphones in, listening to Zhang Yu’s voice coming from the CD player:
“It’s all your fault,
You made me fall in love with you so easily,
Letting me unknowingly indulge
In the vanity of being loved…”
Jiang Luo thought: Yes. It’s all my fault.
That’s right. I was vain too.
I just didn’t have a lover.
Do people get another life?
If so, I must live it properly next time.
This time, live well. Don’t let myself have regrets again.
“Beep—”
That was the alarm from the monitor, signaling the loss of a heartbeat.
Thump. Thump.
A heartbeat suddenly sounded.
Jiang Luo was hazy, as if drifting in fog, but his awareness was unwavering.
I can’t die. I can’t die.
I promised Huo Zongzhuo.
We said we would cross two thousand years together.
I want to see the world two thousand years from now.
I love him so much. I can’t die.
Soon, a voice sounded beside his ear—not in his mind, but in reality—clear and unmistakable.
That voice was incomparably familiar, gentle, reciting:
“In the ninth month of autumn,
The sequence belongs to late fall.
The water recedes, the cold pool clears;
The misty light congeals, the evening mountains turn purple…”
Jiang Luo slowly opened his eyes.
…………………………………………….
Opening his eyes took enormous effort. Only after a long while did his vision finally focus, allowing him to clearly see the familiar face in front of him—gazing at him with heart-wrenching intensity.
Huo Zongzhuo.
That’s great.
Jiang Luo thought.
He was very weak, but he still managed to move the muscles in his face and smile happily.
Huo Zongzhuo’s face was right there. He was gripping Jiang Luo’s hand tightly, his expression anxious, his voice trembling.
“Does it hurt?”
Jiang Luo’s breath fogged up the oxygen mask as he replied weakly, “I’m not dead, am I?”
Huo Zongzhuo’s eyes were red, tears streaming down his face. One hand gently stroked Jiang Luo’s forehead.
“No. You won’t die.”
“You’ve safely made it through the critical period. You were brought back. It’s over now.”
“We’ve also come out of the mountains. We’re in Shenzhen.”
After hearing this, Jiang Luo closed his eyes again and slipped back into unconsciousness.
Huo Zongzhuo caressed his forehead, kissed the back of his hand, tears pouring endlessly from his eyes.
This so-called “overseas-style abduction” was classified as an extremely egregious case of public officials abusing their authority to carry out kidnapping and extortion. It was named the “113 Major Case” by the provincial public security department. Not only was the case taken over by central authorities, it also made the news.
In Hexu County, from the Party secretary to the township head to the director of the public security bureau, a total of ninety-nine officials—large and small—were dismissed in one sweep.
Higher up, in Bi Mu City, Guiyang City, and even the provincial department, more than two hundred people were implicated.
The news broadcast footage of Bi Kang’s private residence.
The house was registered under someone with no apparent connection to Bi Kang.
Bi Kang himself officially owned nothing more than an old rural house.
That house looked utterly ordinary, even somewhat dilapidated. But the private residence that was uncovered had been built by illegally occupying more than a thousand mu of local farmland. Its interior was extravagantly luxurious. From its cellar and behind a fake wall, investigators seized more than a hundred million yuan in cash—a scene that was both shocking and infuriating.
Jiang Luo leaned against Huo Zongzhuo’s chest, watching the news. When he saw the room filled wall to wall with money hidden behind the wall, he finally understood why Bi Kang had dared to demand sixty million U.S. dollars and several hundred million yuan from him—and why he had been able to say, “I thought it would be fatter than this.”
Sure enough.
When it comes to being “fat,” no one beats corrupt officials.
The news also aired footage of Bi Kang being arrested. Surrounded by police, his hands in handcuffs, his head lowered, his expression blank.
Huo Zongzhuo saw it too. His own expression was just as empty.
Huo Zongzhuo told Jiang Luo, “Bi Kang admitted to kidnapping me and extorting you. But as for the rest—how he amassed wealth over the years, whether he bribed higher-ups—he hasn’t been clear about any of that.”
“They say he’s been very calm. No shouting, no resistance after being arrested.”
“When he talks with the prosecutors about his years in Hexu, he doesn’t even show the most basic remorse.”
“He wouldn’t regret it,” Jiang Luo said, already understanding.
“He was an official, in such a poor, isolated mountain region. He was basically a local emperor.”
“Have you ever seen an emperor who felt remorse?”
“He plundered for so many years, ran rampant locally for so long. For half his life, he lived it up. Even now that he’s been caught, when he looks back, it’s probably all pride and self-satisfaction.”
“Even if you gave him a bullet right now and sent him straight to the afterlife, he wouldn’t regret a thing.”
“His half a lifetime was better than several lifetimes for most people.”
“Now that he’s been caught, he’s already enjoyed everything he could. Of course he’s calm. Of course he doesn’t make a fuss.”
“And a lot of the money he stole was probably transferred out long ago.”
“Now that he’s been arrested, his parents, children, wife, and relatives will probably be able to live extravagantly for generations on what’s left.”
“Disgusting.”
That was Jiang Luo’s only evaluation of Bi Kang.
And after he woke up—truly safe at last, with Huo Zongzhuo also returned unharmed—when Jiang Luo recalled the confrontation with Bi Kang, he admitted that he had been impulsive.
He shouldn’t have tried to grab the gun.
And he shouldn’t have provoked Bi Kang so early.