Chapter 85

At that moment, he hadn’t known where to go once the factory was gone.

No road, no direction—wasn’t that a death sentence?

But now it was different. He knew his path, he knew what he wanted to do with his future. As long as he was alive, he could keep moving forward.

Jiang Luo suddenly understood everything, letting go completely of the despair from his factory burning in his past life. He realized how pointless that blind hopelessness had been. The factory burned—but he hadn’t died.

If he hadn’t died, what was there to fear? As long as this fragile life remained, he could always turn things around.

He felt unburdened, elated. From now on, nothing could bring him down—except losing his life. And even that, what was there to fear? He had already died once. Death was just that. And heaven had given him a second life.

Jiang Luo laughed heartily, the reason known only to himself. Huo Zongzhuo, holding him, could only wonder if he had gone mad from trauma.

Anxious, Huo stepped back, cupping Jiang Luo’s face in his large hands, his gaze intense: “Jiang Luo? Jiang Luo! What’s wrong? Look at me!”

Jiang Luo kept laughing, full of reckless joy.

“Zongzhuo,” he said, still smiling, “my factory burned down.”

“What?” Huo frowned.

“But I’ve let it go. I’m not sad, not bothered,” Jiang Luo continued, eyes shining.

Huo didn’t understand, only worried that Jiang Luo might have lost his mind. He was about to take him to a hospital.

Jiang Luo suddenly stepped forward, hugged Huo, and whispered in his ear: “I’m really happy. I’ve realized something—how joyful that can feel.”

They left the villagers’ home, and Huo drove Jiang Luo back to Haicheng.

On the way, Huo called Wang Chuang, telling him that Jiang Luo had been found and making further arrangements.

In the passenger seat, Jiang Luo’s mood was so high he began singing to himself. First, a bright, unfamiliar song:

“Spring goes and spring returns, flowers fall and bloom again,
As long as you’re willing, as long as you’re willing,
Let dreams glide into your heart…”

Huo, having hung up, glanced at him with concern, worried he was still traumatized by Guo Ronghai.

Then Jiang Luo switched to Cantonese, singing:

“Even if fate is full of twists,
Even if fate is cruel and strange,
Even if fate threatens you,
Life is never without interest.
Don’t cry, don’t give up,
I vow to stay by you forever…”

Finally, he quieted, leaning back and chuckling, watching Huo drive silently.

“Do I seem crazy like this?” he asked. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Guo Ronghai didn’t do anything.”

“He tried to take revenge, threatened me, even aimed to blind me,” Jiang Luo continued, “but I played his weak spot—his family in the U.S. and Taiwan—and got him to free me. I took the knife, stabbed his shoulder, and broke his leg. He can’t chase me now.”

Seeing Jiang Luo calm and coherent, Huo finally relaxed slightly. He cupped Jiang Luo’s head, checking him carefully.

“I’m sure you’re okay? He didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” Jiang Luo said. “Though he’s hurt. I stabbed him in the shoulder, broke his leg. He may or may not be alive.”

Huo’s voice was low: “He deserved it.”

“If he dies… it’ll be messy. I don’t want him dead.” Jiang Luo suggested, “Before dawn, maybe we should go check.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve arranged people to handle it. Right now, I’ll take you back and to the hospital,” Huo said.

Jiang Luo asked about the villagers: “You made connections? Notified the police?”

Huo replied, “When you went missing, no one could reach you. I had people check every possible camera, especially near where you parked at the Xianshi Department Store. Not the police—just private measures. Don’t worry, no one will know you injured Guo. If he dies, no one has to know.”

Back in Haicheng, Huo took him to the nearest hospital, where Jiang Luo was admitted for observation. He had obvious bruising and a mild concussion.

Huo insisted he stay in a single room for the night. Jiang Luo protested, still energetic: “I’m fine! Why the hospital?”

“Rest,” Huo said firmly, sitting beside him.

Jiang Luo finally lay down, smiling. “You were worried sick, weren’t you, Dad?”

“Sleep,” Huo said, sternly.

“Yes, but you’ll stay? Watching me?”

Huo’s face darkened, and he watched over him until Jiang Luo’s breathing evened and he fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Huo’s mind plotted: the man who tied Jiang Luo up, especially after being stabbed and left in the field overnight, couldn’t be left alive. That night, in the remote countryside, Huo had already made arrangements.

Later, four men entered the small rural house. On the floor lay Guo Ronghai, unconscious, blood pooling around him, broken wooden benches scattered.

One man checked his breath. “Still alive,” he said. They silently placed him in a bloodstained sack and loaded it into a car trunk.

The car drove through the pitch-black countryside.

At dawn, a black sedan boarded a ferry, alone. Four men got off the car on the other side, casually stretching and smoking, indistinguishable from ordinary travelers.

In the middle of the river, a splash went unnoticed—someone fell into the murky water, swallowed by the currents.

The ferry continued onward, the river hiding everything.

Jiang Luo had a vivid, bizarre dream: faces of Zhang Xiangping, Jiang Jianmin, Su Lan, Zhao Guangyuan, Zhao Mingshi, and Guo Ronghai wielding a knife, all crowding around him, speaking a jumble of words.

Then, just like in his first life, they were all consumed by the same raging fire…