Chapter 84

Jiang Luo was wearing just a long-sleeved white shirt. Cold and drained, he squatted down.

The door opened, and the man patted his shoulder. Speaking in dialect, he said, “We don’t have a phone. I’ll take you to borrow one.”

“Hello, can you go? Come with me.”

Jiang Luo didn’t understand the words but grasped the meaning. He stood and nodded, “Okay, I’ll follow you.”

The man hurried ahead with a flashlight; Jiang Luo followed, struggling to keep pace.

After some time, Jiang Luo felt numb with cold. They arrived at another run-down two-story building. The man knocked, dogs barked, and lights flicked on. Another man came out with a flashlight. They exchanged words in dialect.

The first man led Jiang Luo inside to a table with a telephone. He gestured, “You can use it.”

Jiang Luo exhaled, picked up the receiver, and dialed.

“Beep… beep… beep…”

The sound of the dial tone brought a small measure of relief. Two men stood by, watching him.

Click. The call connected, and Huo Zongzhuo’s voice came through: “Jiang Luo?”

He took a steadying breath. “It’s me.”

Huo immediately raised his voice: “Where are you?”

Exhausted, Jiang Luo whispered, “I don’t know… Guo Ronghai brought me somewhere in the countryside. I escaped and found some villagers to borrow a phone. They speak dialect—I don’t understand them.”

Huo’s voice tightened. “Are you hurt? Is it serious?”

Jiang Luo, weak: “No, I’m fine.”

Huo pressed, tense: “Why are you breathing so hard?”

Jiang Luo: “Walking… no strength… no coat… too cold… I’m okay, really.”

Huo calmed slightly: “Give the phone to the villagers. I’ll talk to them.”

Jiang Luo handed the phone to one of the men. He spoke quickly in dialect into the receiver. After a while, the man returned the phone.

“Hello?” Jiang Luo said.

“I know where you are. I’ve told them to take care of you, give you clothes and food. Stay put, don’t go anywhere, I’ll come get you soon.”

“Okay.”

Huo asked: “Can you manage alone?”

Jiang Luo: “Yes, don’t worry.”

He was left in the villagers’ home. They kindly cleared a room for him, provided a bed and hot food.

“Water?” he asked, thirsty.

They brought a chipped ceramic cup filled with hot water. He sipped, warmth spreading through his body, easing the ache in his legs and bringing back his senses.

Jiang Luo considered Guo Ronghai’s desperation. The man had been cornered and reckless—he might not have truly wanted to kill him, but he certainly hated him. As Guo said, he couldn’t touch Li Fengrui, so he vented on Jiang Luo.

Jiang Luo wondered if his knife wound had been fatal. He didn’t want Guo dead—he certainly didn’t want to be responsible.

Suddenly, someone entered the room. Speaking Mandarin, a middle-aged man said, “Are you Jiang Luo?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“I’m the village chief. I was told to find you. Don’t worry, you’re safe here. Someone will come soon to pick you up. If you’re tired, you can rest. If you’re hungry, I’ll get food.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Luo said, feeling safe.

The man didn’t pry about his origin. He left the door closed, leaving Jiang Luo to rest.

Leaning against the bed, Jiang Luo reflected. Walking alone through the dark fields reminded him of the day the factory burned in his previous life. Then, he had been desperate, directionless, unsure of the future.

Now, though nearly losing his life, he felt resolute. He knew his path and the direction of his future.

He smiled quietly, realizing that while enemies still wanted him dead, his circumstances had changed dramatically.

The factory fire had destroyed his past, leaving him hopeless. This time, facing death in the fields, he understood the value of life—he had a path, a direction, and nothing to fear.

Laughing freely, he finally felt unburdened. When Huo Zongzhuo entered and saw him, Jiang Luo was still laughing, alive and unbroken.

Huo’s heart gripped tight, rushing to check him over. Jiang Luo looked at Huo, smiling: “It feels amazing… having direction, having a goal.”

Huo confirmed he was unharmed and embraced him.

Jiang Luo would never forget that first life—the day the factory burned. Machinery, inventory, fabric—all gone. A raging inferno, claiming two workers’ lives.

He had run among the flames, helpless, desperate to save them all. The destruction left him drained, hollow, a shell of himself. Absolute despair.

Walking alone through the fields, he felt the fire was meant to destroy him, to end him. He had nothing left: money, loans, career, life, future—all in the factory.

He walked aimlessly, numb, with no hope. Only years later did he realize that day he had no will to live. The fire had annihilated everything, and he had been ready to end it all.

That trauma remained etched in his bones—two lifetimes and he would never forget. The memory was like a dull knife in his chest, twisted with salt.

Even in his second life, the pain lingered. Yet now, nearly killed in the fields, he felt enlightened. Life, two lifetimes—he would live it fully.

When Guo Ronghai had lunged with the knife, he hadn’t feared death. One factory, burned—what mattered more than his life?

He realized then: in his first life, despair hadn’t been about the factory—it had been about losing everything he had worked so hard for. Money, hope, future—all gone.

This time, Jiang Luo knew his path, and nothing could shake him.