“Sis Zou…” Facing Zou Yameng, Ruan Qian visibly shrank back, her voice growing timid. Back then, she’d idolized Zou Yameng—but with Zhou Haiming and Lu Li always at odds, she’d kept her distance.

Lu Li merely glanced at his sister’s left ankle. “Sis, so you’ve been eavesdropping with your ear to the door this whole time?”

“Since when is it ‘eavesdropping’ when it’s your sister?”

“Sure, sure. But Sis Yameng, you rest at home. Qian and I will go.” Lu Li cut off her protest. “You showing up like this’ll only distract me. Besides, it might not even be a fight—Zhou Haiming and Chen Shiwei might’ve already handled it.”

“Then message me the second something happens!” Zou Yameng didn’t linger. “Avoid fighting if you can. Got it?”

In youth, violence felt like the ultimate solution. A strong body opened doors. But Lu Li, having lived two lifetimes, now solved problems with his mind. Faced with this sudden crisis, he felt unmoored.

He followed Ruan Qian out of the low-rent district. Ten minutes later, they reached a construction site—already ringed by a thick crowd of onlookers.

Zhou Haiming and Chen Shiwei pinned An Gulai’s arms behind his back, slamming him face-down into the mud. Faces twisted, they snarled, “Still acting high and mighty? I swear, if I don’t pop your shoulders today, I’ll change my surname!”

An Gulai, a man in his early forties, looked haggard and unkempt—his black leather jacket faded and misshapen, jeans hanging loose. He could’ve passed for a homeless man. Yet traces of past handsomeness lingered in his features.

Pinned without mercy by the reckless teens, he remained eerily calm. “Break my arms? I’ve got no money anyway. No cash, just this worthless life. Dare you take it?”

Zhou Haiming’s face flushed crimson, fists clenched.

Lu Li stepped in. “Zhou Haiming. Chen Shiwei.”

“Bro Lu?”

“Bro Lu! It’s this bastard! He led the scam on the government subsidy years ago—he confessed!”

Lu Li stayed silent. Too many ears. This involved local officials; a scandal would bring Chu Xiaodong straight to his door. Zhou and Chen looked like thugs bullying the weak—phones were already recording. Lingering here was unwise.

He crouched before An Gulai, studying him calmly. “Mr. An. Mind talking somewhere private?”

“You their boss? Hmph.”

“Follow me.” Lu Li turned away, avoiding cameras, heading back toward the low-rent district. Zhou and Chen dragged An Gulai—limp as a sack—behind him. Once clear of the crowd, Lu Li nodded. “Drop him.”

Years ago, Chuanhai City ran an orphan aid program: assigning guardians and subsidies to kids in the low-rent district. Lu Li, dazed and young, was shuffled from orphanage to hospital to some compound—finally dumped here like cargo. To him, this place was where life truly began. He’d often wondered: if his guardian hadn’t been a fraud, would his path have changed?

He didn’t question the barely conscious An Gulai. Instead, he turned to Zhou Haiming. “How’d you find him?”

“Ruan Qian mentioned his name last time. I kept an ear out, asked around… found him at the site.”

An Gulai laughed between ragged breaths. “’Cause I used my real name. Never hid. You really think kids like you—still wet behind the ears—could’ve tracked me down?”

“So it was you.”

“Damn right. Needed cash. Took it. Problem? You lot? Heh. Low-rent district trash. Starve on the street—nobody’d blink.”

He made no effort to conceal it. Words sharp, deliberately provocative, he tried to rile Lu Li. But Lu Li’s face stayed placid as still water, eyes deep as an abyss. Unreadable.

From An Gulai’s rant, Lu Li pieced it together: he’d masterminded the subsidy scam. Brought “workmates” to apply as guardians. They took the money and vanished. Only An Gulai remained—never hiding, never running.

No wonder the kids took years to find him. Their world was small.

“What method did you use to get your ‘workmates’ approved as guardians?” Lu Li’s tone was neutral. This wasn’t for him—it was for Chu Xiaodong. How could rootless laborers pass guardian checks? Foul play was certain.

An Gulai fell silent. He saw it now: Lu Li wasn’t here for revenge. Provoking him was pointless.

The middle-aged man sighed, lying flat, turning his face to Zhou Haiming. “Hit me? Why stop?”

“Bro Lu’s talking! Answer straight!”

“HIT ME! KILL ME!!” An Gulai suddenly roared, wild-eyed.

Everyone froze. His shift was too violent—unnatural.

Tears streamed down his face. He grabbed Zhou Haiming’s hand, slamming it against his own skull. “KILL ME! JUST KILL ME!”

Zhou yanked his hand back, stumbling meters away, staring like at a plague carrier.

“Bro Lu… is he mental?”

Zhou suspected acting—mental illness offered legal loopholes. But the performance was terrifyingly real: features twisted, wrinkles carved deep, a stark contrast to his earlier cold defiance.

“You hunted me for years! Weren’t you waiting for me to die?! COME ON!”

They were just teens. Rage had burned hot—but cooled, they stood helpless. Beaten him. Cursed him. Could they really kill him? Police? Statute of limitations expired long ago.

Lu Li didn’t know if he was ill. But the self-destructive urge was clear. An Gulai wept, screamed, pounded his own head—punishing himself.

Pain doesn’t vanish. It transfers. The powerful pass it down. The weak, with nowhere to aim their rage, turn it inward—erasing themselves. That’s the root of self-destruction.

Those who yearn for death walk this path.

An Gulai hadn’t hidden. He’d been waiting.

Only now did they accept it: An Gulai was, beyond doubt, broken.

“He’s not sick. He’s a coward.” Lu Li answered Zhou, but his eyes locked on An Gulai. “If you truly want to die—stop pretending. Stones. Glass shards. Close your eyes. Breathe deep. One push. Peace.”

“Bro Lu…?” Zhou and the others paled. Angry as they were, they wouldn’t risk murder.

“Leave him.” Lu Li’s interest had vanished. He didn’t know An Gulai’s past—but for a coward craving death, interrogation was just another thrill. Name and address were enough. Chu Xiaodong would handle the rest.

“Just… let him go?” Ruan Qian’s eyes burned with hatred. Lips bitten raw, she stared at An Gulai. The cruelest twist: finding your enemy after years of pain… only to see madness staring back.

Lu Li gave no answer. He had no right to dismiss another’s pain. “Do as you wish.”

He walked to the stunned Zhou Haiming, patted his shoulder—said nothing.

Earlier, hearing An Gulai was found, Lu Li’s blood had surged. First time in two lifetimes facing the architect of his past. But now? Facing this broken, weeping man—mocking, begging, shameless on the street—it felt hollow. Almost laughable.

*

An Baili returned home, heart heavy. She made a simple dinner, barely touched it—then heard a knock.

An Gulai never knocked. He’d shout, bang the door. If she refused, he’d smash the window. The living room pane still sat cracked, unrepaired.

She steeled herself and opened the door.

The neighborhood committee auntie stood there. Her first words froze An Baili:

“Your dad’s been beaten up!”