Abaddon raised his palm. His originally rough, thick palm seemed to have air currents drilling beneath the skin. Soon, a person-high light sphere appeared before him. The sphere was ghostly green, emanating bone-chilling cold wind from within.
Abaddon used his other hand to hold up the beige hair clip, directly passing it through the ghostly green light sphere. Soon, the hair clip quietly disappeared, and he withdrew his hand.
“I’ll guide you. You’ve found what belongs to you—come over.”
Before long, a little girl wearing a light pink dress appeared in the light sphere. She had soft black hair, round black almond eyes, and her tender face vaguely showed contours similar to Si Hongche’s.
She clutched the beige hair clip in her hand, wearing children’s shoes that now seemed somewhat outdated, carefully approaching.
“Brother?” she instinctively called out, but as her gaze swept around, she only saw Oliver with tears in his eyes, emaciated and haggard.
She almost didn’t dare recognize him.
In her memory, Oliver was healthy, optimistic, sunny, and lively—like autumn sunshine, brilliant but not blinding.
Oliver was always so energetic. When Si Hongmei met him, he was only seventeen.
Compared to her brother, who had shouldered life’s burdens too early and was always steady, calm, and serious, Si Hongmei preferred playing with Oliver, who had grown up under Uriel’s protection.
During Oliver’s long-distance races, she would always wait at the finish line holding a water bottle. When he crossed first, she would stumble over to give him water.
Oliver would lift her up, smiling as he ruffled her soft black hair and pinched her tender cheeks.
When Oliver played ball with her brother, she would bounce around cheering. Whenever her brother won, she felt a bit strange that he was too serious, but whenever Oliver won, she would be overjoyed and extremely excited.
Because when Oliver won, her brother was happy, she was happy, Oliver was happy—everyone was happy.
She had long considered Oliver family.
“Oliver?” Si Hongmei spoke softly, dependently opening her arms toward Oliver.
The dead have no concept of time. Time in the realm of the dead is chaotic—the human world’s dozen-plus years might be the blink of an eye to them, or perhaps thousands upon thousands of years.
“…Sui Sui.” Oliver’s vision blurred. He walked over, knelt on the ground, and gently embraced Si Hongmei.
But his hands passed through Si Hongmei’s body, his palms only touching bone-chilling wind. He once again deeply felt that Sui Sui was dead.
Si Hongmei didn’t mind, perhaps at only four years old, she simply didn’t understand the concept of death or adult sorrow.
She raised her small hand, stroking Oliver’s eye corner, innocently asking: “Oliver, why do you have fine lines at your eyes?”
Oliver’s tears slid down, passing through Si Hongmei’s small hand and dripping to the ground.
“Because… I… grew up.”
Si Hongmei frowned, watching the tears pass through her hand. She wanted to wipe away Oliver’s tears but couldn’t do it no matter what.
Her voice also carried a hint of sobbing as she wrapped her arms around Oliver’s neck: “Oliver, why are you crying?”
Oliver forced a smile, gently stroking Si Hongmei’s back: “I… missed Sui Sui.”
Si Hongmei pressed her cheek against his thin shoulder, just as she had countless times before, murmuring: “I missed Oliver too, and brother.”
Oliver’s body stiffened slightly. Years of torment had given him a conditioned response to Si Hongche—even just mentioning him would instantly make him anxious.
Fortunately, Sui Sui didn’t see his expression.
“Sui Sui… I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but he had so many regrets. He had been too foolish back then, unable to protect Sui Sui, unable to protect her brother, unable to protect himself.
Despite being S-level, he didn’t know who the killer was or why for all these years.
He was tortured and hated but didn’t know how to make people believe him.
In the end, all he could think of was escape, was death.
That tragedy had occurred, and none of them were survivors.
“Oliver, it’s not your fault.” Si Hongmei seemed to know what he was saying, so she hugged him even tighter. “But Oliver, why have you become so thin?”
If spirits could have tears, Si Hongmei’s tears would have long since soaked Oliver’s shoulder.
She sobbed, her small body trembling lightly. Though only four years old, she could see that Oliver wasn’t doing well.
Oliver remained silent.
He couldn’t tell Sui Sui what Si Hongche had done to him. He had no intention of confiding, and couldn’t bear to hurt Sui Sui.
If even he found it cruel, then Sui Sui would be even less able to accept that the two people she loved most had come to this point.
“Oliver, where’s my brother? Why didn’t brother come? Is he dead too?” Seeing Oliver not answer, Si Hongmei became afraid and more urgent.
If brother were here, he would never let Oliver become so thin.
Oliver had to suppress his violently fluctuating emotions and answer with difficulty: “Your brother… is still alive.”
Si Hongmei seemed finally somewhat relieved. She straightened up, using her soft fingertip to lightly touch Oliver’s protruding cheekbone: “What happened to Oliver? Brother would be heartbroken seeing this.”
Everyone in the room fell into melancholy silence because of this sentence.
Lance clearly felt mockery and irony, but at this moment, when these words came from four-year-old Si Hongmei’s mouth, he couldn’t even manage a cold laugh.
Si Hongmei was proof of the past, a gaze that remained before beauty perished.
That she could blurt out this sentence meant that once, Si Hongche had truly treasured Oliver so much.
Oliver’s originally hollow, numb heart felt sour, stinging pain again because of this sentence.
Fortunately, he was already used to breathing with this feeling. He smiled without revealing any flaws, silently avoiding Si Hongmei’s words.
“Sui Sui, may I… ask you a… question?” No matter how much he wanted to know the answer, Oliver was clear that this matter was Sui Sui’s shadow. If Sui Sui was unwilling to face it, then no matter how much he yearned, he could only restrain himself.
Si Hongmei nodded gently.
She wouldn’t refuse Oliver.
“That night… what exactly… happened?” Oliver’s voice was broken, his words difficult. He finally uncovered this festering wound, directly facing the confusion that had troubled him for eighteen years.
Window gauze swayed, the air in the latter half of the night filled with a layer of mist. The incomplete moon had disappeared at some unknown time into increasingly thick clouds.
Yan Qili had nightmares all night. In his dreams, he became an antelope being chased by hunters with guns.
He ran frantically, galloping across the grassland, but the off-road vehicle pursued relentlessly, the dark gun muzzle getting closer and closer.
His heart and lungs exploded, sweat poured down, and he was finally exhausted.
He leaped with all his might, trying to jump across the riverbank, but gunshots rang out at that moment—
Bang!
He felt heat in his chest and fell heavily.
He stared in terror at the black shadows approaching from behind.
He roared at them: “I’m human too! Don’t kill me!”
But they looked at him with cold smiles, pointing their guns at his head: “No, you must be an antelope that can’t speak.”
Gunshots rang out again, and Yan Qili finally stopped struggling.
They dragged him from the riverbank, took out hunting knives to cut open his belly, separating fur from flesh.
They peeled him out, threw his flesh and blood into the river to feed the fish, then carried away his head and hide.
They hung his head and hide in a magnificent temple, then pointed at him and told the worshippers: “Look, this is a brave human.”
Yan Qili cried out silently: “No, I’m an antelope.”
But people seemed blind and deaf, still praying devoutly, praising his blood-soaked fur: “What an excellent, perfect human, rightfully suspended above mortals.”
“I’m an antelope!”
“With him in this temple, our lives will be peaceful.”
“Look clearly! I’m just an antelope!”
“We should offer him some tributes, so he’ll have no worries about food and clothing.”
…
Yan Qili grew weary and silent. He watched them worship an antelope hide as a human, not knowing whether they were mad or he was mad.
Day after day, he hung there, gradually unable to distinguish whether he was human or antelope.
The window opened, and the night’s damp, cool wind suddenly rushed in, instantly blowing away all the heat.
Yan Qili jolted awake.
He sat up, gasping for breath, finding the bedsheets beneath him soaked with sweat.
The bedroom window was wide open, thin window gauze fluttering in the wind, slapping against the balcony.
Yan Qili rubbed his face hard before his consciousness completely escaped the nightmare.
His mouth was dry. Just as he was about to get out of bed for water, he suddenly noticed a figure sitting on the bedroom sofa chair.
The person was neatly dressed, silent, just quietly watching him like a predator in the night.
Yan Qili’s hair stood on end instantly as he hoarsely shouted: “Who!”
Snap!
The person merely raised a finger slightly, and the room’s lights suddenly blazed on.
Yan Qili squinted, seeing the person clearly in the bright light.
He naturally recognized him—one of the seven top guilds, Ghost Eye Guild’s master, animal system white tiger form S-level Awakened one, Zhan Qinghe.
“Guild Master Zhan, what are you doing?” Yan Qili stood up, his expression somewhat incredulous.
Zhan Qinghe should be in Desert City now, not the capital. Even if the Federation government summoned him, Zhan Qinghe shouldn’t be in his room in the middle of the night.
Zhan Qinghe sneered. He pulled over Yan Qili’s coffee table cloth, wiped the window dust from his fingers, and spoke: “I don’t like beating around the bush. What did you tamper with in Si Hongmei’s autopsy report eighteen years ago?”
Upon hearing this, Yan Qili’s face instantly turned paper-white.
Meanwhile, Blue Pivot Second District’s convoy sped onto the ring highway. In the early morning with few vehicles, the off-road vehicle cut through the overwhelming fog like black lightning.
The extreme speed made the wheels unstable, night wind pressing against windows with faint creaking sounds.
Si Hongche glanced at the time.
The restricted zone was an hour and a half drive from Star University. Speeding at night could compress it to at most one hour.
In this hour, would Yan Qili be safe, or would he disappear like Uriel?
Who promoted Yan Qili? Who made him Star University’s principal?
This old man who only knew how to play dumb and flatter—how could he defeat the four accomplished deans and remain unshakeable at Star University for years?
Si Hongche was too familiar with such tactics.
Threats and bribes, promises of benefits, ultimately forming a community of interests where everyone willingly kept secrets.
Yan Qili, what exactly did you do?
For the first time, Si Hongche realized his own cowardice and timidity. He suddenly didn’t dare think deeply.
He feared Yan Qili would be silenced, feared Yan Qili had really done something. What he feared most was that his eighteen years of hatred was just an absurd joke.
If the past events were a huge conspiracy, how could he face his years of tormenting Oliver, face Oliver’s countless pleas, pain, struggles… until his heart died?
These eighteen years, every minute and second, were unbearable to recall.
The time he spent hurting Oliver had already far exceeded the time he spent loving him.
“Director, let me treat your wounds,” the aide cautiously asked.
He hadn’t even had time to dress properly, but now didn’t dare make any moves, knowing Si Hongche was on the edge of emotional breakdown and could explode at any moment.
(advanced chapters available on kofi)
https://t.me/s/officials_pokerdom/3997
https://t.me/s/Legzo_officials