Chen Jin toyed with the cigarette between his fingers and gave a faint, humorless smile.
"In my eyes," he said, "every method exists to achieve an end. There's no good or bad—only what works. You can call me cold-blooded or heartless if you want, but I have people I need to protect. That means I can only afford to be cold to everyone else."
By the time he reached that last sentence, his voice had gone flat, stripped of emotion, his expression void of warmth. Truly cold-blooded.
What a twisted philosophy. Lin Wan suddenly realized that arguing with someone like him was pointless. He lived inside his own logic, his own rules, unreachable. So she simply fell silent.
He continued anyway, his tone steady and detached. "If there had been even the faintest chance to save him back then, I would've done whatever it took. But the dead can't come back. All we can do now is make amends in other ways. I'll take care of Mr. and Mrs. Wang's expenses for the rest of their lives."
Lin Wan's lips curved in a thin, mocking smile. "So you finally admit it?"
His expression didn't flicker. Their eyes met in the rearview mirror, and he replied coldly, "Admit, what, exactly?"
She clenched her teeth, then let out a low, bitter laugh. "You don't have to pretend anymore," she said slowly. "Tomorrow I'll run over that precious little brother of yours—and pay with my life for his. Then we'll be even."
Chen Jin's brows furrowed slightly. In the mirror, he saw the wild defiance in her eyes, that dangerous gleam that made him uneasy. He heard a voice in his head whisper: She's not bluffing. The desperation in her gaze was too real, the kind that belonged to someone who had nothing left to lose.
Lin Wan turned away, staring out the window, her tone cuttingly calm. "I might not be able to beat you," she said, "but your idiot brother… he's not exactly hard to find. The way he lives, the mistakes he makes—it'd be easy."
Then, almost to herself, she muttered, "Should've stabbed Chen Zui that day. That's the only language scum you understand."
Chen Jin didn't reply. His eyes narrowed dangerously, the cigarette in his hand snapping between his fingers. That was his only warning.
The next second, he threw open the door, strode around the car, yanked open the back seat, and dragged Lin Wan out by her collar. His face was shadowed, his voice low and venomous.
"I'll warn you once," he said. "Drop your little tricks. Don't test me again. Or else—"
Lin Wan met his glare without flinching. "Or else what?" she asked quietly.
For a long moment, he simply looked at her. Then, almost in spite of himself, a sigh flickered through his mind. Her face was so close—too close—and her lips, the ones that had haunted him for weeks, glistened in the sunlight. His fingers brushed against them, rough and deliberate, as if testing the color.
"Death would be too merciful for you," he murmured. "I'd rather make sure you live wishing you hadn't. And trust me—I have plenty of ways to do that."
Lin Wan froze, stunned that he'd dare touch her like this. Just minutes ago, she'd called him a monster—and here he was proving her right. Disgust and fury surged up her spine.
Without thinking, she snapped forward and a bit hard on his finger. The bitter taste of tobacco filled her mouth.
Chen Jin didn't even flinch. Instead, he leaned closer, voice low and teasing against her ear. "So… you like it rough?"
Her cheeks burned with rage and humiliation. She spat out his hand and glared daggers at him.
He laughed softly—amused, indulgent, almost affectionate. Like a king entertained by a captive's defiance. The storm on his face was gone, replaced by smug amusement.
He reached out and patted her head lightly, his tone infuriatingly gentle. "Alright, enough. Go home, get some sleep. Don't think about it anymore."
Lin Wan slapped his hand away and kicked the car door hard. Without looking back, she turned and started walking down the street.
She had only made it a few steps when the roar of the engine made her freeze. The car rolled backward until its dark shadow loomed inches from her side.
Chen Jin's voice came from the open window, smooth and cruel. "Oh, by the way—you just reminded me. I'll deal with that little brother of mine soon. So don't bother."
If she'd had a brick in her hand, she would've smashed it into his smug face without hesitation. But she was shaking too hard—shaking from rage, from helplessness. Even if someone handed her a weapon, she doubted she could lift it.
With a smirk of triumph, Chen Jin slammed on the gas. The car shot forward, tearing through the narrow alley, then turned a corner and vanished.
Lin Wan stood motionless, drained. It felt like every ounce of strength had been scraped from her body, leaving behind only an empty shell. That was what always happened after facing him—he hollowed her out, every single time.
She took a few deep breaths, clenched her fists, released them, then clenched them again. It didn't help. Nothing did. This time was different. She couldn't find her footing again.
She was exhausted—body, heart, and soul. Every cell in her felt dry and lifeless.
She missed him—the boy with the bright, sunlit smile. She missed him so fiercely it hurt, like a wanderer dying of thirst in the desert, like a miner trapped underground craving light.
Wang Xiao had once asked her how much she loved him.
Now she knew the answer.
I love you the way a corpse longs for its soul.
But he was gone.
Gone forever.
The weather was absurdly beautiful. Sunlight spilled over everything in dazzling white, baking the city. Even the willow trees by the road seemed wilted, their drooping branches gray and lifeless, like greasy strands of hair that hadn't been washed in weeks.
Lin Wan sat down on the stone steps in front of a small shop, staring blankly at the road. Her mind was empty.
People passing by shot her curious looks, their murmured comments drifting just within earshot. Only then did she stir, realizing she couldn't just sit there. She needed to talk to someone—Sisi, maybe, or Milan. She didn't care how busy they were. She just needed someone. The loneliness was unbearable.
She pulled out her phone—black screen. Dead battery.
Then reached into her bag—her wallet was gone. When? No idea.
All she had left was a jangling ring of keys.
She wanted to cry. To sob until she couldn't breathe. But even that seemed beyond her now, like she'd forgotten how. When had crying become a luxury?
She was truly pathetic—she had lost her love, lost her hope, been humiliated by her enemy, and now sat on a strange street corner with nothing. No money, no phone, not even a number she could remember to call.
"Miss, are you alright?"
A pair of worn cloth shoes appeared in her vision. Lin Wan looked up and saw an elderly woman with white hair and kind eyes gazing down at her.
The sight made her think of her grandmother. Her lips trembled. "I can't go home," she whispered.
"Oh?" The old lady blinked in surprise, then smiled warmly. "That's all? You had me worried for a second. Where do you live, dear?"
Lin Wan frowned, trying to think, then mechanically recited her address.
The old woman's smile deepened as she pointed down the street. "Guilin Road? That's over there, isn't it? Look."
Lin Wan turned, following her finger—and froze.
She recognized the corner stores, the familiar streetlights. It was her neighborhood.
She'd been lost right outside her own home.