Chapter 77: Murder—A Life That Shouldn’t Have Been Lost

Bian Changxi didn’t overthink it, nor did she feel like arguing with Yang Xiaowen. She turned and walked straight out of the train station.

In the plaza outside, under and around the large canopy, there were indeed many dark green military trucks parked. Craftsmen and medical staff bustled about, working to convert the vehicles into mobile medical units where the wounded and sick could rest.

Changxi had no intention of helping out. She pulled her baseball cap low and stepped into the scorching sunlight.

About ten minutes later, she arrived at the spot where she’d arranged to meet Qu Nan.

Perhaps it was because he’d personally experienced the miraculous power of wood-based abilities—Qu Nan, who just hours ago had been bleeding from the head and limping, was now moving efficiently. In less than two hours, he’d already secured a copy of the surveillance footage.

“This time, that bastard Xiao Jing really squeezed a lot of favors out of me,” he grumbled, but seeing Changxi ignore him and focus on the footage, he shrugged and got to the point. “That villa district you mentioned is full of society’s elites—either high officials or wealthy businessmen. There’s no way to get footage from inside, only from the road outside where there are cameras.”

He fast-forwarded to that section, then slowly expanded the view, switching angles repeatedly. An hour later, Changxi was slumped on the sofa, fingers pressed to her chin, lost in thought.

As she suspected, the Bian family had already left. The footage was from several days ago, and due to power or wiring issues, there was nothing more recent. Still, it was clear: the Bian family had moved out, but instead of heading toward the new district, they’d taken another highway.

And it wasn’t just the Bian family. At least two other families left with them: the Tao family from the auto industry, the Xu family from fashion, along with a large group of employees, bodyguards, other businesspeople, hired muscle, and even professional athletes sponsored by the families.

A massive convoy—at least ten thousand people—set out, thoroughly prepared.

Bian Kuang was among them. The cameras caught a few shots of his expressionless profile and back.

Suddenly, Changxi felt a wave of irritation.

Other people had their reasons for not coming to the new district, but why didn’t Bian Kuang come? She was out here alone—surely he’d think to come to the new district if he heard the radio call. Even if she hadn’t come, shouldn’t he at least check the crowded areas for her?

Did that idiot really think, just because she’d said “see you again” on the phone, that she’d run off to Su City to find him?

He sure had a lot of faith in her.

She’d told him to stay calm back then, but now she felt a bit annoyed—or maybe disappointed. After a moment’s struggle, she gave a wry smile. No matter what he did, she’d find fault. She was asking too much. At least he wasn’t trapped in the city. As for what he was thinking, she’d ask him when she saw him.

Qu Nan came out with two glasses of lemon water. “Here, what do you think? Satisfied?”

“I’ll keep my promise. By the way, it’s best if no one else finds out about this,” Changxi said, not taking the water as she stood up.

Qu Nan grinned. “I bet Xiao Jing is dying to know what I’m doing with this footage.”

“So?”

“So, I’ve called over a few people like you to watch the footage. They’ll be here soon. You don’t mind, right?”

“People like you” meant those with abilities—people the military had their eyes on, but who refused to be controlled.

Everyone had someone they cared about. Even if they didn’t, they might want to see what the city looked like now. Might as well make the most of the footage—doing a favor was just a bonus.

Changxi waved it off, then asked about Yang Xiaowen. Qu Nan didn’t know much about that, and she didn’t press. She left his lavishly decorated, fully equipped house—where the generator never seemed to stop humming.

At 2:40 a.m., Changxi came downstairs from her apartment, dressed in a black fleece-lined jacket, a tightly knit beanie covering her ears, thin sweatpants, and hiking boots. She carried a backpack and dragged a suitcase behind her.

Wei Xiaodong came out with her, along with members of the medical team who lived in the same building.

There were crowds under the other apartment buildings, too.

There were the management teams, the logistics teams, the communications teams, the warrior squads, the scouts—from one neighborhood to another, from street to street, people everywhere.

Changxi yawned and tugged at her collar. The pre-dawn wind felt like it was full of ice shards, slashing her face like knives, making her shiver uncontrollably.

“This damn weather—hot as hell during the day, freezing at night. It’s the worst!”

“Worse than the worst. You have to change clothes twice a day. There are so few cars on the road, but it’s still packed. And we have to bring tons of blankets and coats. Just imagine, in this heat—oh my god, it’s unbearable.”

“Heh, isn’t there a saying? ‘Wear cotton in the morning, gauze at noon, eat watermelon by the fire at night.’ Guess we’re getting a taste of life in Xinjiang.”

Listening to the complaints, jokes, and self-mockery around her, Changxi smiled. Wei Xiaodong grumbled, “Seriously, why are we up so early? Can’t even see the road, just a sea of people.”

As they passed the train station, the lights were still on. The sick and wounded inside would be the last to be transferred—they were too weak to move, so they’d be stabilized as long as possible.

From a distance, Changxi saw people blocking the entrance, crying and making a scene. Others were carrying out a body covered in a white sheet. Lu Shaoyang stood to the side, his expression hard to read, but he looked grim.

Changxi’s heart skipped. She squeezed through the crowd. “Dr. Lu, what happened?”

Lu Shaoyang saw it was her, his face relaxing a bit. He sighed, eyes on the people blocking the door. “To get on the medical trucks, families have to pay a fee. Many refuse, so there’s been a commotion for a while now.”

Changxi wanted to say, “If the families don’t care, why should outsiders?” But she knew better than to say that to a doctor with such strong ethics and responsibility.

“What did the higher-ups say?” she asked.

“Leaving those patients behind isn’t an option—the optics are too bad. But if we just let everyone on without any measures, it looks like the military’s afraid of these people, and it’s unfair to those who paid. The higher-ups said to let them make a fuss. But anyone with a relative still in a hospital bed isn’t allowed to leave. We’ll see how anxious they get when it’s time to depart.”

He took off his glasses and rubbed his brow. This meant the arguing would go on until dawn.

Changxi looked at him sympathetically. “I just saw someone else died. Who was it?”

With her around, there weren’t many dying in the medical area. Those who couldn’t be saved had already passed. She couldn’t think of anyone else who might die.

At this, anger flashed across Lu Shaoyang’s face. He glanced around, then spoke in a low voice: “Come with me.”

They walked to where the bodies were kept. Lu Shaoyang lifted the sheet for her to see. Changxi’s eyelid twitched. “This is…”

It was the burn victim—the only surviving brother of Liu Meng.

“He couldn’t have died! He was already getting better.”

“He’s dead,” Lu Shaoyang said flatly. “I suspect it was murder, but I don’t know how it was done. Unfortunately, we can’t do an autopsy.”

The man’s skin was still charred, his face twisted and unrecognizable, but there were no obvious external injuries. Just looking at the body, there was no way to tell the cause of death.

Changxi remembered Liu Meng’s questions earlier. “Did Liu Meng come by?”

Lu Shaoyang sneered, “He did. Paid the fee, and then the man died.” He paused. “The fee is one white core for three days—includes food, drink, and all medical supplies. He paid exactly one white core.”

Changxi felt a chill in her chest. One white core for three days was extremely cheap, but the fee was meant to be fair. Otherwise, why should some people get cared for for free while others, even after recovering, refuse to leave?

But if you spent that money to save someone who would be “disfigured and frail” for life, it was hardly worth it. To Liu Meng, this man was just a burden.

If that was really the case, Liu Meng was truly frightening. She thought back to his earlier question—“How’s my brother doing?”—and found it bitterly ironic. She pressed her lips together. “Let’s not make this public. It’ll only hurt you. Liu Meng’s an ability user now, part of the warrior squad, and apparently doing well. Would the military punish him just for his character?”

If you try to take down a tiger and fail, you only get hurt yourself.

Suddenly, she realized—wasn’t Liu Meng a tiger she hadn’t managed to kill?

He’d ended up like this, and to be honest, she’d had a hand in it every step of the way.

Her face darkened as she recalled Liu Meng’s earlier insistence that he’d “never had any bad thoughts.” Wasn’t that a little too pointed?

Lu Shaoyang gave her a meaningful look. “You should be careful, too.”

Not long after, someone brought Liu Meng over, along with his squad leader, who’d apparently come just to see what was going on.

When Liu Meng saw the body, he froze, then broke down sobbing, clutching the wall, unable to control himself. His squad leader, clearly fond of him and eager to help, immediately demanded, “Who was responsible for looking after Liu’s brother? Wasn’t he fine earlier today? How did he suddenly die?”

A cold light flashed on Lu Shaoyang’s glasses. He replied expressionlessly, “I was his doctor. Are you suggesting I did something? Actually, I find his death suspicious, too. Let’s do an autopsy and clear things up.”

The squad leader, seeing Lu Shaoyang step forward, gave a sheepish laugh. “Dr. Lu, I’d never suspect you. It’s just strange, that’s all. The man was badly injured to begin with. The others all died, and he survived this long thanks to your skill. Right, Liu?”

Liu Meng hadn’t expected Lu Shaoyang to take responsibility so directly, and didn’t know what to say. The matter was left unresolved.

No, it wasn’t over that easily.

Standing in the shadows, Changxi watched coldly, then silently turned and left.