“You are Chen Qingyu’s son.”
Hearing these words, Chen Zemian looked up suddenly, his gaze sharp and alert. The dim light cast shadows across his face, but it could not hide the astonishment flickering in his eyes.
Cheng Ziyi gently tugged at Chen Zemian’s sleeve, lowering her voice as she quickly and clearly explained the situation. “It’s Ji Chenzhou — my boss. He may be the man on the reward notice. He’s had plastic surgery; his personality has changed drastically, and there’s a distinct overlap in the bone contours between his eyebrows.”
Chen Zemian’s eyelids drooped slightly as he absorbed her words.
Ji Chenzhou is actually Guan Yu?
The waiter who killed the undercover police officer.
Guan Yu not only knew Chen Qingyu but knew him very well. Without knowing Chen Zemian’s identity, he was able to recognize him as Chen Qingyu’s son through various features. Moreover, he had even devised a special method for Chen Qingyu to contact allergens—an ingenious trap designed to trigger asthma, based on his allergic tendencies.
In an instant, all the fragmented clues seemed to connect into a coherent thread—one by one, a hundred pieces fitting together. Why was everyone at the police station so friendly yet distant? What made Fu Guanlan decide to issue a reward notice for Guan Yu specifically to Lu Zhuonian? Why was Ji Chenzhou so shocked when he saw Chen Zemian at the airport? And why did Lu Zhuonian gaze at him with such a meaningful look when he mentioned collecting evidence for the Xiaojinwan case?
Chen Zemian closed his eyes briefly, his mind racing.
In the Yaotai Langyuan case that had shocked the world, the undercover policeman who had died was his father.
A surge of emotion flooded his heart, yet he forced himself to suppress it. Now was not the moment to lose control.
His mind operated at high speed, analyzing the current situation.
Fu Guanlan had just issued a new reward notice today, revealing that Ji Chenzhou was Guan Yu—the police had not yet uncovered this information. But Ji Chenzhou, unaware of this, had no idea how far the investigation had gone. When he suddenly attacked Cheng Ziyi, it was because he must have felt his identity was exposed.
Guan Yu had hidden so deeply—so carefully—yet he still felt exposed?
If you haven’t done anything wrong, there’s no reason to worry about ghosts knocking on your door.
Chen Zemian recalled the fleeting shock in Ji Chenzhou’s eyes when he first saw him, and suddenly understood — Guan Yu was scared.
At that moment, he had mistaken Chen Zemian for Chen Qingyu.
How could Guan Yu not be frightened when someone he thought was dead for twenty years suddenly reappeared before him?
This coincidence—happening during the Qingming Festival—made it even more terrifying. It was a chilling reminder that fate was playing its cruel game.
Especially after they separated at the airport, only a few hours later, Chen Zemian reappeared before Guan Yu, sent by Cheng Ziyi.
Guan Yu’s guilt must have made him suspect that Chen Zemian’s approach was deliberate, an attempt to investigate.
He thought he was exposed, so Guan Yu detained Chen Zemian and Cheng Ziyi in advance—using them as bargaining chips, as hostages during negotiations with the police.
Therefore, Chen Zemian had to pretend he possessed a wealth of information, concealing the truth that Chen Qingyu was his father.
Guan Yu was cautious and alert, acting decisively. The moment he suspected Cheng Ziyi, he swiftly took control of her. If he had known that the police had not yet uncovered Ji Chenzhou’s true identity, he would have likely killed both Chen Zemian and Cheng Ziyi—erasing witnesses altogether.
Even now, if Chen Zemian knew that the undercover agent who died twenty years ago was his father, he couldn’t afford to show excitement or anger. He had to keep their encounters—these dangerous coincidences—hidden from Guan Yu.
Everything followed its own rules, and now was the time to settle this old score.
He looked up at the skylight and said, with a meaningful tone, “Guan Yu, you are truly cautious.”
Guan Yu hadn’t heard anyone address him by that name in a long time, and he chuckled strangely. “If you want to blame someone, blame it on you and Qingyu being too similar. It’s hard not to notice.”
Chen Zemian glanced at Cheng Ziyi beside him. “She doesn’t seem to have anything to do with our affairs.”
Guan Yu replied, “Your cousin is too smart. I dare not keep her.”
Chen Zemian suppressed a cough. “You’re at the end of the road if you target the artists of your own company, Guan Yu.”
Guan Yu’s voice echoed from above, calm and cold. “Think about yourself first.”
Chen Zemian sneered. “What are you thinking? Do you really believe that you used my father’s life twenty years ago to gain wealth and glory, and now you want to use my life to save yourself?”
Guan Yu was silent for a few seconds. “You’re not very similar to him,” he finally said. “Qingyu never talks to me like this.”
Chen Zemian wanted to say more, but suddenly, his trachea spasmed violently.
He clutched his chest, coughing uncontrollably.
The thunder and rain outside became a distant background noise, and in the empty basement, only Chen Zemian’s violent coughing persisted.
Guan Yu looked down from above, his eyes clouded with a complex emotion. His gaze lingered on the figure that resembled Chen Qingyu, revealing a flicker of tangled feelings.
His clenched fingers betrayed his internal struggle.
He, too, was trapped with Chen Qingyu—fallen into a dark, damp well of his own making.
That well was a spring—an old, lush locust tree stood at its mouth, its branches sprawling. The waterfall of flowers was dense as snow, cascading among green leaves. The wind blew gently, scattering delicate petals that formed a soft, fragrant carpet at the bottom of the well.
Chen Qingyu was allergic to pollen, coughing so hard in that confined space.
At that time, Guan Yu was alone and helpless, with no one to turn to. Now, he could control life and death, playing the high-stakes game of the chess master.
He had learned to set traps, to disguise himself, to use others’ hands to remove obstacles, even to exchange chips for what he truly wanted.
Qingyu, I am no longer the same person I used to be.
Not only do I look like you now, but if you ever truly return, I can only kill you one more time—just to keep standing in the sun.
We could have lived peacefully, but you had to show up.
Guan Yu loosened his grip and threw the metal bottle in his hand aside. It clinked softly against the ground.
An asthma spray.
He could be either the executioner or the savior, and the thrill of controlling others’ fates was intoxicating.
Turning away, Guan Yu no longer looked at the figure that resembled Chen Qingyu.
Cheng Ziyi, hiding in the corner, dared not speak until Guan Yu left. Then she picked up the asthma spray, glancing at it nervously. “How do you use this?”
Chen Zemian coughed so violently his fingers trembled, his vision darkening.
Cheng Ziyi thought the device looked somewhat like a sunscreen spray. She instinctively shook it twice, biting her lip anxiously. “Can it be used? It doesn’t seem poisonous, but he might have drugs like that. I was just talking to him in the office when I suddenly lost consciousness.”
“Me too,” Chen Zemian said, grabbing the spray. “He placed allergens in the car and used tissues coated with drugs—things he handed me when I coughed.”
Cheng Ziyi’s eyes widened in anger. “Damn it! How can anyone defend against that? No wonder you got affected too.”
If he had sent someone to drug Chen Zemian from behind, Chen Zemian would have thrown him three meters away with an over-the-shoulder toss. But Guan Yu had deliberately designed it so Chen Zemian would pick up the paper and cover himself.
Guan Yu was born in Yaotai Langyuan Nightclub, accustomed to all kinds of shady tricks. His mastery of deception made it nearly impossible to guard against him.
This person was too sinister.
Chen Zemian couldn’t quite grasp his specific intentions.
This was a kind of person he had never encountered before. His wealth of personal and social experience was far beyond Chen Zemian’s understanding.
Guan Yu had reinvented himself multiple times. Over more than a decade, he had outmaneuvered old foxes like Xiao Ruhai. He had escaped from the shadows and reappeared under the guise of Ji Chenzhou. After changing his appearance, he not only stayed in the game but also used Ji Chenzhou’s identity as a victim to openly fight against Huanyu Media.
He was the architect of a new industry—money and sex transactions, capital battles, and fighting against darkness.
This person was truly terrifying.
As his thoughts raced, Chen Zemian quickly adjusted his mindset. He suppressed his emotions, reminding himself not to dwell on the past—forget Yaotai Langyuan and the revenge for his father’s death.
The most urgent task now was to get out of this predicament.
Otherwise, with him and Cheng Ziyi in Guan Yu’s hands, the police would hesitate to use force, and he might really escape.
He barely managed to stand, leaning against the wall for support. He looked up at the tall skylight. “See if there’s anything useful nearby. I’ll find a way to get us out.”
Cheng Ziyi looked up, noting the high window and narrow railing. “This is too high. The window’s so small, and there are railings on it.”
Chen Zemian surveyed the surroundings in the dim light, touched the wall, and said, “Cough cough cough—I think I can climb up.”
Hearing this, Cheng Ziyi’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
Chen Zemian picked up the asthma spray. “Let’s take a gamble.”
Her adrenaline surged as she responded, “What do you mean?”
Chen Zemian opened the spray and took two puffs. “I bet he didn’t poison the aerosol can.”
Cheng Ziyi gasped. When she reached for the spray, it was already too late—Chen Zemian had finished using it.
“Can we really gamble on that?”
She hesitated. “What if it’s poisonous?”
The emergency dilator worked instantly. Within half a minute, it alleviated the wheezing and shortness of breath caused by airway spasms. The chest tightness and coughing eased as well, and the suffocating sensation finally disappeared.
Chen Zemian threw the spray aside and concluded, “It’s not poisonous.”
“Are you really going to try this?” Cheng Ziyi looked at him with concern. “You’re really like Shennong.”1
Chen Zemian coughed a few more times, explaining, “He knows asthma symptoms very well and understands that during an acute attack, respiratory arrest is a real risk. If he wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t give me a chance to wake up. So, the odds are pretty good.”
Cheng Ziyi heard distant thunder. “It’s raining heavily outside.”
Chen Zemian was silent for a moment. “Your thoughts are quite impulsive,” he said, removing his coat and finding a crack in the wall. “How do you think Ji Chenzhou is Guan Yu?”
Cheng Ziyi supported him from below. “Bone structure. The folds between his eyebrows and eyes match those in the photos.”
“Moreover, when I discussed plastic surgery with him, he was remarkably knowledgeable about the subject,” She continued softly while Chen Zemian climbed nimbly upward.
“Won’t plastic surgery affect his acting skills?” he continued. “He later won the Best Actor award.”
Cheng Ziyi nodded thoughtfully. “That kind of plastic surgery—like with a lot of glue—looks fake. He probably had more extensive bone grinding done to achieve a natural look.”
As she spoke, Chen Zemian had already reached the beam and was moving like a cat toward the small skylight. Outside, the rain was pouring heavily, obscuring his view of the railing beyond the glass. The storm’s roar drowned out everything else.
He gestured toward the window. “This window is too small. It’s going to be difficult for my shoulder to fit through. You should be able to do it, though. First, let’s see if I can break the glass. Then we can assess the railing outside… By the way, what shoes are you wearing?”
Cheng Ziyi suddenly realized what Chen Zemian intended. He was looking for something sharp to shatter the glass. Without hesitation, she slipped off her shoes. “They’re high heels. I’ll throw one up for you.”
After several attempts, Chen Zemian successfully caught the heel.
He rubbed his fingers on the glass, searching for the perfect point to strike. Yet, he didn’t rush into action. Instead, he paused, silently counting the intervals between lightning flashes and thunderclaps in his mind.
After a particularly bright flash, he found his moment. Gripping the heel tightly, he raised it and smashed it against the glass with precision.
The thunderous sound drowned out the shattering of the glass, but Cheng Ziyi’s low cheer broke through. “Yes! Yes! Come on, Chen Zemian, you can do it!”
Finally, after several more flashes of lightning, a spiderweb of cracks spread across the glass.
Beads of sweat slid down Chen Zemian’s forehead. He discarded the high heel and wrapped his fist in his coat. Another flash of lightning illuminated the scene. In that split second, he swung his fist and struck the center of the crack with all his might.
A sharp “click” sounded as the glass shattered into fragments.
Debris flew everywhere, and with the relentless downpour, some pieces struck Chen Zemian on the head.
He closed his eyes, feeling the cold splash of rain wash away the warm blood from his cheeks before it could flow out. Raising his arm, he blocked the rain, then tore off the remaining shards of glass with his coat, cautiously peering outside.
It was dark beyond the window, but he noticed a faint light on the right—likely the person guarding them.
The railing outside looked like an old-fashioned anti-theft barrier, made of thick steel bars, each about as wide as a finger. Fortunately, it wasn’t too dense; Cheng Ziyi could slip through after removing two of the bars.
Chen Zemian hung his coat on the railing, wrapping it around his wrist several times, then swung himself down from the beam.
Cheng Ziyi’s eyes widened in alarm. “!!!”
Without hesitation, Chen Zemian grabbed his coat and jumped, swinging back and forth in mid-air. Using his own weight, he pried at the railing, trying to create an opening.
He hung precariously, relying solely on his arms—lean and agile, like a cat on a mission.
The rain continued to pour in relentless streams, mixing with the accumulated water on the ground that seeped through the broken glass, carrying mud, stones, and tiny twigs.
Chen Zemian was drenched, his black hair plastered to his face. He lowered his head and felt as if he were hanging beneath a waterfall, battered by the storm and the elements.
Meanwhile, Cheng Ziyi’s expression was a mixture of nervousness and shock—like witnessing a cat hanging perilously from a tree. She wanted to reach out and help, but she didn’t dare predict which way he might fall, afraid of being struck.
Time seemed to stretch as Chen Zemian’s arms began to scream with a sharp, needle-like pain. He gripped his coat tightly, nails digging in as they bent under the strain.
Finally, with a loud “clang,” one of the welds gave way. The railing loosened, tearing apart at the joint.
A brief wave of relief washed over him—until he continued to pull with inertia, trying to free the other side.
Suddenly, a second loud bang echoed through the storm. The second railing snapped free.
Chen Zemian felt himself losing weight as he fell—dropping from the skylight five or six meters above.
Cheng Ziyi couldn’t help but scream.
In mid-air, Chen Zemian relied on core strength, twisting his body to land on his feet instead of his back. He crouched to absorb the impact, using his hands to cushion the fall.
He hit the ground lightly and was unscathed.
There’s a strange feeling—being handsome, perhaps—like standing victorious at the end of a battle.
The rain continued to pour, as if the Milky Way itself had spilled across the sky, creating a flowing, shimmering curtain behind him.
Drenched but unfazed, Chen Zemian froze for a moment, striking a pose as if on stage—a moment of unrestrained confidence.
Cheng Ziyi’s mind halted unexpectedly, recalling a short video she’d seen — a cat being thrown from different angles, yet always landing on all fours with remarkable grace.
Chen Zemian wasn’t standing there to show off. No, he was simply numb, his legs trembling from exhaustion, unable to stand.
After a few moments, he supported Cheng Ziyi from below, helping her climb onto the beam.
Cheng Ziyi, with her experience in costume dramas and wire work, moved with lightness and determination. Her palms and arms ached from the effort—worn raw—but she kept going. Her entire body trembled slightly from fatigue, yet she refused to give up, whispering to herself, “I can do this, I have enough strength.”
Chen Zemian lifted her feet and pushed upward with all his might.
Finally, she managed to crawl onto the beam.
His chest heaved, and he gasped for breath. “Let’s go,” he urged.
The rain was still pouring, drenching both of them, their faces and clothes soaked through.
Cheng Ziyi’s face was pale as paper, her long hair plastered to her cheeks. She wiped her face hurriedly and reached for Chen Zemian, eager to move forward.
“The window is too small,” Chen Zemian said urgently. “I can’t get through. After you go out, I’ll try to see if I can remove the window frame. We don’t have time to waste. Everyone who can escape should, and most importantly, we need to call the police.”
Having filmed numerous dramas, Cheng Ziyi understood the urgency perfectly. Without wasting words like ‘I won’t leave without you,’ she nodded resolutely. “Okay. I’ll call the police.”
Chen Zemian nodded. “Yes. Tell them everything you know—about the situation. Find an officer named Fu Guanlan, then try to contact Lu Zhuonian, Ye Chen, Xiao Kesong, or Zheng Huaiyu. Shen Qingwan has their contact info too.”
She repeated silently, “Call the police, find Fu Guanlan, contact Shen Qingwan, Lu Zhuonian, Ye Chen, Xiao Kesong, Zheng Huaiyu.”
Chen Zemian didn’t bother to explain further. At this critical moment, saying too much was useless. He focused on the essentials.
“Are there any others?” Cheng Ziyi asked.
He shook his head and gestured urgently. “Go quickly. Be careful—you might be guarded outside. I believe in you, cousin.”
Trembling as she climbed the skylight, Cheng Ziyi whispered twice, “I can do it. I can do it.” Her palms were bleeding from broken glass, her blood staining her hands, but she paid no heed. She kept repeating those names in her mind.
The skylight was painfully small. She could only squeeze through with her shoulders tilted, feeling the ache in her joints.
Thankfully, her slender waist allowed her to slip through more easily. Finally, she peeked out.
There, in the next room, she saw the guard—someone watching over them.
Carefully, she moved out of the skylight, lying partially on the wet grass, crawling forward through the rain, trembling with cold.
She kept telling herself, Just treat this like filming—a scene in a tense drama.
The guard appeared to notice something. He stood at the windoefw, peering into the yard. The heavy rain distorted his view, the water crashing against the glass.
Hiding in the shadows, Cheng Ziyi dared not breathe. Her heart pounded violently, as if squeezed by an invisible hand. She felt almost faint with fear.
After what felt like an eternity, the guard finally turned away and left.
She dared to stand, stumbling out of the yard, her body trembling.
Once she was clear, Chen Zemian’s sense of urgency eased slightly.
Despite the storm outside, it was eerily quiet—no other sounds, indicating Cheng Ziyi had successfully escaped without being seen.
He sat silently in the corner, gathering his strength, then turned back to the beam to continue dismantling the window frame.
Without tools, the task was difficult. Outside, the rain kept pouring, making it even harder to work with bare hands.
Sitting on the beam, arms raised, trying to pry the skylight open—an activity completely against ergonomic principles—his entire body ached. His face was drenched, rainwater streaming down as he squinted and fidgeted with the umbrella.
Suddenly, the rain stopped.
He wiped the water off his face with the back of his hand and looked up.
First, he saw a black umbrella. Then, two long, straight legs appeared.
The person holding the umbrella half-squatted, peering down at him.
As he lowered himself, a handsome face appeared in the center of the skylight—etched into Chen Zemian’s retina, as if carved from ice.
Chen Zemian’s pupils contracted sharply. He took a breath, stunned.
The voice of the man under the umbrella was crisp and melodious, like jade knocking on ice. “You seem busy. Do you need help, brother?”
Chen Zemian finally snapped out of his shock. He reached out and grabbed the trouser leg of the man under the umbrella. “Fuck—Dad?! Are you alive?!”
Chen Qingyu’s eyes widened in shock, pupils dilating for a fleeting moment. “No—who are you? Why do you call me ‘Dad’ when we meet?”
— * — * — * — * — *
Footnote:
- Calling someone “like Shennong” usually jokingly means they are recklessly adventurous or curious, especially when it comes to trying things that might be dangerous or unpleasant.
TL:
Chen Zemian: A wild father appeared!!! 🤯
Chen Qingyu: A wild child appeared!!! 🤯
If you enjoy what we do, consider supporting us on 
! Every little bit means the world!
Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
