Chapter 97
Fang Huai couldn’t shake the feeling that what he was seeing wasn’t real—like a scene from a fantasy movie where the special effects had glitched.
The evening breeze brushed through the treetops. The sun had yet to fully sink below the horizon, but faint stars were already beginning to twinkle in the sky. The vast lake stretched out before him, filled with fallen branches and the glow of the sunset. The water was calm, mirroring the deep blue sky like a giant glass surface.
Fang Huai dangled from a tree branch, a lollipop in his mouth, staring blankly.
…How should he describe this?
The owner of those dark gold pupils was half-submerged in the lake, staring right at him. Its entire body was covered in silver scales, with long whiskers, slit pupils, and two horns visible above the water. From a distance, Fang Huai thought the scales looked rather beautiful—spotless, with a texture that resembled jade statues of deities.
It wasn’t like any animal Fang Huai had ever known.
Yet, given the circumstances, its presence felt both unexpected and strangely natural.
Lollipop still in his mouth, Fang Huai let go of the branch and dropped onto the soft ground below.
As he let go, the creature’s pupils contracted slightly before relaxing again moments later.
Fang Huai forced a smile but quickly stopped—he wasn’t sure if it would understand that as a sign of goodwill.
His heart was still pounding. This scene defied all scientific logic, completely shattering everything he had known since childhood. But he had to force himself to stay calm. He didn’t know whether the creature bore goodwill or malice, and his priority was ensuring his own safety.
Since falling in love, Fang Huai had suddenly realized how precious his life was. If something happened to him, his Ye Yuyuan would be devastated.
Clutching a rock in his hand, Fang Huai pressed his back against the tree trunk, holding his breath, his muscles tense.
The dragon-like creature remained still, quietly watching him. They were about ten meters apart, locked in a silent standoff, neither making the first move.
Those dark gold slit pupils were different from any other animal’s eyes Fang Huai had seen before. They weren’t cloudy but instead carried a profound, mysterious depth—like the frozen surface of a winter lake, faintly glimmering.
In the end, it was the creature that moved first.
It gazed at Fang Huai for a long while before finally closing its eyes and withdrawing slightly, increasing the distance between them.
Just as Fang Huai was about to breathe a sigh of relief, he heard a low voice near his ear:
“I mean no harm. I have seen you before.”
The voice didn’t sound out loud—it was as if it passed directly into Fang Huai’s consciousness, like words whispered through a thin veil of paper.
“Sorry, I don’t remember,” Fang Huai took a step back, lowering his voice cautiously. “I mean no harm either. This was once my home.”
The creature fell silent for a long time.
From that overly drawn-out pause, Fang Huai sensed something subtle—
Like disappointment, sorrow, and sadness.
After about two minutes, the voice finally spoke again:
“It’s okay. This is my home too.”
The dragon, covered in silver scales, remained silent for a long time. Its slit pupils stayed fixed on him as it said:
“Welcome back.”
It had practiced this sentence countless times, imagining all kinds of scenarios in which it would finally say these words to him.
Maybe he would return late at night, covered in dust from his journey, pushing open the door. Or perhaps he would come back with the first snowfall, carrying the chill of winter on his clothes. He might take off his backpack, bringing back souvenirs and trinkets from faraway places—or maybe nothing at all. Perhaps he would smile at it and say, “Long time no see. I missed you too.”
But now, the young man only looked at it cautiously, surprisingly distant.
It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t terrible either. The dragon quietly assessed the situation, and for Fang Huai, this level of reaction was still acceptable.
Slowly, it began to feel happy again.
The silver-scaled dragon gradually sank into the water, tiny bubbles rising to the surface before popping. It said, “It’s getting dark.”
So, he should head back soon. Someone was waiting for him.
*
Not long ago, on the same mountain.
“He went up the mountain.” A man at the foot of the hill flicked away his cigarette with trembling fingers. “That Fang guy got a ride from a local villager.”
“Got it. Keep watching him—make sure he doesn’t call the cops.”
After a few more warnings, the call disconnected on its own due to the poor signal.
“Shit,” a ragged-looking man cursed as he pried open the wooden cabin door. “Seven years abandoned, and this damn rusty lock still won’t budge. What a joke.”
A tattered baseball cap sat crooked on his head, his unshaven face showing days’ worth of stubble. He reeked of alcohol, an empty bottle of Erguotou (Chinese White Wine) dangling from his hand. His entire presence was filthy, unkempt. But beneath his narrow, beady eyes, there was an unmistakable sharpness. His mind was already teetering on the edge of collapse—far beyond what could be considered normal.
And yet, who would have thought that not long ago, this same man had been known as “the last honest critic in the industry” and “a beacon of integrity in music reviews”? That every post he made on Weibo was worth five figures, and brand deals flooded his inbox?
Yes, this man was none other than Li Mang.
For years, Li Mang had clawed his way through the Chinese music industry, earning the title of the most influential “shit-stirrer” in the scene. With his powerful connections and deep-rooted network, he had done plenty of shady things. The toxic environment in the industry over the past two years? He had played no small part in it.
But no matter how long you walk the dark roads, you never expect to run into a ghost.
That was, until he met Fang Huai.
“…Fuck.”
Just thinking about that name made it hard for Li Mang to contain his emotions.
He wanted to kill someone.
Li Mang’s hands trembled as he rummaged through his bag for a syringe, but the last dose of drugs had already been used up. His emotions spiraled further into collapse.
—He couldn’t even remember what year it was when he first started using. Encouraged by friends in the industry, he had initially tried drugs under the pretense of “seeking inspiration.” At first, it was done in secrecy, syringes passed around behind closed doors. But as time went on, Li Mang became bolder, throwing caution to the wind.
Drug addicts had little regard for morality. He pressured several close musician friends into using as well. Eventually, he found his own channels to sell, preying on naïve newcomers who didn’t yet recognize his true nature.
Everything unraveled not long ago. After stirring controversy around Abyss Moonlight, all his darkest secrets were dragged into the light. The most damning of all—his drug use and trafficking—became public knowledge. Li Mang plummeted overnight from an industry darling to absolute disgrace. He hadn’t even processed the downfall before he found himself in handcuffs the very next day.
He managed to slip through the cracks and escape, kicking off months of life on the run. Doing drugs was one thing—selling them carried the death penalty.
But there was something else. Li Mang couldn’t shake the feeling that his escape was especially difficult. Every time he tried to move, his luck turned sour in inexplicable ways. Technology seemed to work against him, as if he had been exposed all along, strung along like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. Whenever he reached a dead end, some unseen force would give him just enough of an opening to keep running.
At first, he was furious. Then, he stopped thinking about it. His only thought now was to kill someone—to kill Fang Huai.
But that would be too easy, Li Mang thought.
He had been in this industry long enough to know what true suffering looked like. A quick death meant nothing. Complete ruin, losing everything, and then dying in disgrace—that was the ending that bastard deserved.
Li Mang’s body shook as he kicked open the wooden door of the cabin.
He had nothing left to lose. The only thing on his mind now was making Fang Huai wish he were dead.
His presence here was no coincidence.
Li Mang had been planning this for a while. He had been lurking around the Decode production team, moving carefully. Three days ago, he had already scoped out the area. When he saw that Fang Huai had left the team without telling anyone, he knew his opportunity had arrived.
*
One Hour Later
Dusk fell, and with no lights on, it was getting hard to see anything. Li Mang’s hands trembled as he lit up his phone. He was using a burner SIM—making sure the police couldn’t track him. But he was sick of living like this, hiding in the shadows.
Li Mang had always craved attention. His obsession with it was almost pathological.
He opened a streaming app, logging into an account that hadn’t been banned yet. He chose a title designed for maximum shock value. Then, he went live, staring at the viewer count as it climbed. His heartbeat quickened.
“Yes, it’s me, Uncle Mango… No need to rush,” he said, watching the chat flood with messages. He looked straight into the camera and gave a twisted smile. “Mhm, just like the title says.”
“Silver Birch Award winner. Seahorse Award nominee. Explosive album sales. The artist you all worship—Fang Huai—”
“Bought drugs from me.”
“Where is this?” He spotted a comment in the chat and turned the camera around. The place had already been set up in advance.
“This,” Li Mang said, “is where Fang Huai used to live. He invited me here today.”
“Don’t worry,” he added with a smirk. “He’ll be here soon. We have all the time in the world.”
*
When Fang Huai turned around, his mind went completely blank.
He realized he should probably head down the mountain and find a hotel for the night. The wooden house here hadn’t been lived in for seven years… maybe even longer. There was no electricity, no running water, and the signal was weak. Though he wasn’t worried about his safety in the mountains where he grew up, he still needed to go down and call Ye Yuyuan to let him know he was okay.
Teacher Ye must be worried sick. Guilt welled up in Fang Huai—he had acted too impulsively.
He should have told Ye Yuyuan in advance. Better yet, he should have come with him. But they would come together one day, sooner or later. Fang Huai wanted to share his entire life with Ye Yuyuan, but now might not be the right time.
As he passed by his old home, he hesitated for a moment. He really wanted to go inside and take a look. But the sky had already darkened, so he turned on his phone’s flashlight and peered through the overgrown weeds toward the fence.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated.
At first, Fang Huai thought it was Ye Yuyuan calling. He was about to answer when he realized it wasn’t him.
It was a text from an unknown number. Just a single photo.
Standing in the darkness, he lowered his head to look at the screen. The faint glow of his phone cast a dim light on his face. The slight curve of his lips gradually faded, and within half a second, he became as still as a statue.
Unlike many elderly people, Fang Jianguo had never been fixated on the idea of “returning to one’s roots.” When he was still healthy, he had given Fang Huai instructions for his passing—just a simple funeral, or even none at all. No need to go through the trouble of bringing him back to be buried in his homeland. Just find a decent place and bury him there, don’t let it become a burden.
Back then, Fang Jianguo was in great health—eating three full bowls of rice in one sitting, playing mahjong until 2 a.m., and still waking up at 7 a.m. full of energy, urging Fang Huai to practice his vocal exercises. Fang Huai had never even considered the possibility that Fang Jianguo might die one day. When he thought about it later, it struck him as strange.
If a person was gone, what else could possibly be delayed?
Fang Jianguo had said he was going to find someone. That person had probably been waiting for him on the other side for many years and missed him dearly.
When the time finally came, Fang Huai had numbly handled his funeral arrangements. Remembering Fang Jianguo’s wishes, he didn’t insist on bringing his ashes back home. But he still chose the best cemetery in the city, spending nearly all his savings just to make sure Fang Jianguo could rest in peace.
And now, in the photo—
A black box, neither too big nor too small, with no elaborate patterns. It had a solemn dignity that felt almost out of place with the man’s usual carefree nature.
How could Fang Huai not recognize it?
It was Fang Jianguo’s urn.
2.
The height of summer was approaching, but knowing the mountain was full of mosquitoes, Fang Huai wore a long-sleeved hoodie with cargo pants and short boots similar to military boots.
After walking for most of the day and climbing a tree earlier, his boots were already covered in mud. A small leaf clung to the slightly curled ends of his hair, giving him a rugged, unrestrained kind of handsomeness.
Hands in his pockets, he kicked the door open.
The man inside flinched in surprise.
He had placed the streaming camera in the corner, ensuring it could capture the entire room before nervously shifting his gaze back.
“You… you’re here.” Li Mang swallowed hard.
It had only been ten minutes since the stream started, but from the streaming site to Weibo and major forums, the topic was already skyrocketing in popularity. Although Li Mang had said, “We have plenty of time,” in reality, he wasn’t as composed as he pretended to be.
He was using a black-market SIM card to connect to the internet, making it temporarily difficult for the police to track his IP. But it was only a matter of time—getting this done quickly was his best bet.
Meanwhile, as soon as the sound of the door being kicked open was heard, the stream’s comment section exploded. The messages scrolled so fast they became unreadable.
[Li Mang, I’m waiting for you at the gates of hell to guide your mother’s way. Stay the hell away from my boy!]
[I’ve already called the police.]
[You must be out of your damn mind. Just because you say Fang Huai does drugs, that makes it true? Then I say your whole family is dead.]
[This guy’s like a desperate pig who doesn’t fear boiling water anymore. Drug trafficking is a capital crime. He’s cornered—he’ll do anything now.]
Unlike many of today’s top idols, Fang Huai had managed to maintain an unusually good public image since his debut. Though he had been briefly caught up in fan wars at first, he had always carried himself with quiet confidence—whether on the red carpet, in performances, or at award ceremonies—never stirring up drama or stepping on others to gain attention.
Winning the Silver Birch Award had gained him an even larger fan base. Not just young people, but even middle-aged audiences would refer to him as “that kid who writes pretty good songs.”
So the moment this live stream started, nearly 90% of the audience was on Fang Huai’s side. Anyone with half a brain could guess Li Mang’s motives… but what truly worried everyone was Fang Huai’s safety.
If Li Mang was telling the truth and they were deep in the mountains, where the police couldn’t track them, and considering that drug addicts had no moral compass, there was no telling what he might do.
When the sound of the door being kicked open came through the poor-quality microphone, many viewers felt their hearts drop.
Then, they heard a voice.
“Where is it?”
It was hard to tell much from Fang Huai’s tone. His voice was slightly lower than usual, devoid of any warmth.
“No need to be so hasty,” Li Mang had calmed down by now. He studied Fang Huai’s expression from a few meters away, then lowered his head to light a cigarette. “What’s the matter? Are you going through withdrawal?”
Fang Huai didn’t respond. He just stared at him.
Li Mang rubbed his fingers together, feeling a bit cold. He took a drag of his cigarette and said, “You’ve been keeping President Ye wrapped around your little finger lately, haven’t you? Must’ve made a fortune. Sold your albums, had the Silver Birch Award practically rigged in your favor. What’s wrong? Got famous and now you don’t recognize an old friend?”
That sentence carried a lot of implications.
[What? Fang Huai really is being kept by President Ye?]
[Do you people believe everything Li Mang says? Use your brains.]
[The Silver Birch Award can be rigged? Anyone with eyes can see he won it with real talent.]
[I just happen to be in C City. I called the police. They should be on their way soon—hang in there, baby!]
None of that really mattered anymore, Fang Huai thought.
He pulled the rickety wooden door shut and let his gaze sweep over every inch of the cramped space. This was a place he could never forget—his home with Fang Jianguo. The old man was like a mischievous kid, hoarding all sorts of strange trinkets. Even with his eyes closed, Fang Huai knew exactly where everything was.
He closed his eyes.
In the last second before darkness overtook his vision, he caught sight of a camera on the small bookshelf—and Li Mang’s hand, hidden behind his back, gripping a syringe. The needle gleamed silver in the dim light.
Li Mang was a drug addict, yes. And he was desperate. But he wasn’t stupid.
There was more than one person in his gang on this mountain. They were here for one last big score, and taking down Fang Huai would be all too easy.
*
Meanwhile.
At the provincial capital’s airport in C Province, a private jet touched down according to its scheduled flight path. It had barely finished taxiing when the back door was already swinging open.
A man stepped out in two long strides.
He carried no luggage and was dressed in a wool coat and scarf, completely out of place for the season. It was understandable—just hours ago, he had been in the Southern Hemisphere, giving an interview in another country.
The airport staff and passengers around him froze in stunned silence.
Through that eerie stillness, the man walked straight to a shuttle car, bent slightly at the waist, and politely tapped on the window.
“Excuse me, mind giving me a ride?” He smiled. His light golden eyes were mesmerizing. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”
The driver stammered, “S-sorry, but this—”
Before he could finish, the man had already settled into the back seat. His posture was effortlessly elegant as he undid the first button of his coat and nodded slightly.
“Hmm?”
Before the word had fully left his lips, the shuttle car sped off at an absurd, impossible speed, bursting through the airport gates and shooting onto the highway amid gasps and shouts.
The driver’s face turned ghostly pale as he watched the steering wheel move on its own, the gas pedal pressed down to the floor without any human input. His eyes rolled back, and he passed out.
*
Elsewhere, at a small-town police station.
A roaring V8 motorcycle tore through the streets, only to get caught in the evening rush hour. Stuck in the middle of traffic, the rider radiated pure impatience.
A rookie traffic officer, nervous and stiff, approached hesitantly. His voice trembled as he spoke.
“Sir, may I see your driver’s license? You were speeding, and we may have to—”
The rider had Beats headphones over his ears and a pair of goggles pulled down low. Deep-set eyes glared out from beneath them, filled with an almost tangible hostility. His skin was pale, his gaze sharp and menacing.
The officer felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“Is there a problem?” the rider asked.
“A f-fine…”
“Call Li Zhao.”
The long-stalled traffic finally loosened up. The heavy motorcycle’s throttle was pushed to the limit, and in an instant, it disappeared down a tricky, winding path.
The rookie traffic officer stood frozen in place, fumbling to catch the business card handed to him. On it was the phone number of one of the world’s top agents.
*
On the long-abandoned mountain.
The sun had fully sunk below the horizon, and the quiet, endless night spread out. The still lake surface rippled slightly.
Silver scales faded inch by inch, vertical pupils disappeared beneath dark irises, and the buttons of a suit fastened themselves, perfectly fitting from shoulders to waist.
Before everything was fully in place, the man was already moving forward. He was in a hurry.
Then, suddenly, he stopped.
At the lakeside, abandoned for years, a fishing rod had been set up. An old man sat beside it, pipe in his mouth, grinning as he greeted him.
“Yo, Little Ye, long time no see.”
Light shone through his semi-transparent fingers.
This wasn’t a person.
Beside him was a bottle of Erguotou liquor, a duckbill cap, a white tank top, and floral shorts—the unmistakable taste of Fang Jianguo. He looked old, but there were still traces of his once-handsome features.
Fake or real?
“Don’t be shy. Even an ugly daughter-in-law has to meet her father-in-law sooner or later,” the old man shrugged, holding the fishing rod in one hand and tossing a semi-transparent jade pendant in the other with a playful smirk. “Or should I say… father-in-law-to-be?”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
Probably real.
