Arriving at the golf course, Chen Zemian just rolled into the parking lot when he caught sight of Fu Guanlan waiting for him nearby.
Officer Fu, holding a stack of freshly printed reward notices, casually tossed them into Chen Zemian’s car through the window, as if handing out flyers. The action was nonchalant yet deliberate.
Chen Zemian glanced at the pile of reward notices on the passenger seat. “What do you mean, Officer Fu?”
Fu Guanlan leaned against his own car, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “I found a few more photos of Guan Yu. Take them back and show Lu Zhuonian and the others.”
Taking one of the photos, Chen Zemian examined it carefully. “Why do you want to show this to Lu Zhuonian? Do you think he’ll hire a private detective to help check it out?”
Fu Guanlan chuckled softly, making light of the situation.
Lately, he had been so busy that he’d forgotten—although he and Lu Zhuonian shared a tacit understanding to find Guan Yu as soon as possible— from Chen Zemian’s perspective, it seemed quite strange that Lu Zhuonian would be looking for Guan Yu at all.
What Chen Zemian didn’t yet know was that the undercover agent Guan Yu had murdered years ago was none other than his own father.
“We suspect this person is connected to Xiao Ruhai’s death. After all, aren’t you and Xiao Kesong good brothers?” Fu continued, shifting the focus onto Xiao Kesong and weaving the logic seamlessly.
He added with a grin, “There’s strength in numbers. It’s only logical to focus on more leads. Have you heard of the six degrees of separation? Milgram once said, ‘It only takes six people at most to connect any two individuals in the world.’”
Chen Zemian’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh, so you’re casting a wide net, aren’t you?”
Fu Guanlan rubbed Chen Zemian’s hair affectionately. “Where did you learn that kind of inversion?”
Turning his head to avoid Fu’s playful hand, Chen Zemian flicked his eyes toward the bounty notices. Then, with a hint of good humor, he said, “Alright, since Officer Fu is sincere in his invitation, I’ll keep an eye out for Guan Yu. Maybe if I catch him, you’ll get a second-class merit or something. And, of course, you owe me a meal with your bonus.”
Fu Guanlan smiled warmly. “Wouldn’t it be too much to treat you? A few meals would cost me a month’s salary. If I keep feeding you like this, the Discipline Inspection Commission might come knocking.”
Chen Zemian chuckled. “It’s just that you want to treat me. It’d be even harder to explain if I treated you instead.”
Fu Guanlan’s smile deepened. “Please, please, please.”
Since his days at the police academy, Fu Guanlan had heard countless stories about Chen Qingyu.
Chen Qingyu was his senior brother, and the Yuanqi Drink case, as well as the Xiaojinwan case that he’d taken on, were both derivatives of the Yaotai Langyuan incident. In many ways, Fu could be considered Chen Qingyu’s successor.
Therefore, ever since discovering that Chen Zemian was his senior brother’s son, Fu Guanlan had always looked at him with a kind of gentle fondness—an inexplicable sense of relief.
Although now was not the time to reveal the full truth, Fu Guanlan couldn’t help but remind Chen Zemian of their current priority: finding clues about Guan Yu.
“You can help look for him,” Fu Guanlan said earnestly. “And there’s also your friends offering a reward of 500,000 yuan.”
Hearing ‘500,000 yuan,’ Chen Zemian’s eyes lit up. He quickly snapped a photo of the reward notice with his phone. “I’ll send it to our studio group and ask them to make a splash screen ad for the game app.”
“That’s not necessary,” Fu Guanlan interrupted hurriedly, clutching Chen Zemian’s arm. “Guan Yu is a vicious criminal—daring enough to kill even the police. Don’t be so reckless. It’s dangerous if he targets you.”
Chen Zemian nodded in agreement, deciding to hold back.
After sharing a meal with Fu Guanlan and the others, Chen drove to pick up Cheng Ziyi for a recording session of a variety show.
Although Cheng Ziyi’s face was as delicate as jade and seemingly otherworldly, beneath that ethereal veneer was a down-to-earth, funny, and sweet girl. Her emotional value had already been established well before she even stepped into the car.
“Chen Zemian, you’re so kind,” she gushed as she opened the door. “Without you, who else would treat me like a star?”
As she was about to sit in the passenger seat, her gaze landed on a stack of A4 papers on the seat. “What’s this?”
Chen Zemian placed the papers on the back seat. “Reward notices.”
“Reward notices?!” Cheng Ziyi exclaimed, reaching out to grab one. She examined the photos closely, noticing the strange angles and details. “This person looks quite photogenic. Even blurry photos can’t hide those striking bone structures. Someone so eye-catching should be easy to find.”
Chen Zemian shook his head. “Not exactly. These photos are from twenty years ago. He might have had plastic surgery since then and doesn’t look like this anymore.”
Her mind jumped to other thoughts. “Hey, speaking of plastic surgery—do you think I should get a nose job?”
Chen Zemian turned his head slightly to look at her. “I think you look good as you are. No need to change.”
Cheng Ziyi flipped down the sun visor and opened her mirror to touch up her makeup. “I was thinking maybe I should make my side profile a little more upturned. Also, I want to get my wisdom teeth removed… I’ve heard there’s feng shui on the face, and many people become popular after having theirs taken out.”
Chen Zemian couldn’t help but laugh softly at her worries. “Miss, you’ll be a star without any surgery.”
She turned to him suddenly, eyes shimmering with hope. “Really?”
He grinned. “Absolutely. I told you—you’re destined to be a movie queen.”
Cheng Ziyi took a deep breath, clutching her hands together. “Master, I believe you. I really do. In that case, should I ask for something to bring back as a sacrifice? Maybe a Kumantong or a little ghost?”
Chen Zemian coughed, taken aback. “Where did you hear that? You need to believe in science, cousin Lu.”
“Sometimes, you just have to believe in metaphysics,” Cheng Ziyi said mysteriously. “Our boss has something for worship in his office.”
Chen Zemian’s resistance to such superstitions was almost non-existent. Though he claimed to believe in science, whenever supernatural topics came up, he found himself unable to stay unaffected. He asked cautiously, “What is it?”
She hesitated before replying, “I don’t know the details, but I think it was brought back from Thailand. This was many years ago. I heard that when Ji Chenzhou first entered the industry, his acting wasn’t very good, and he had no emotional intelligence. He offended many people and couldn’t stay in China. So, he went abroad for further studies. When he returned, he was like a different person. His career took off, and he even won the Best Actor award.”
Chen Zemian felt goosebumps rising. “Wow, that’s so mysterious.”
He couldn’t help but wonder, had he been possessed by a ghost?
Cheng Ziyi’s vivid imagination sparked an unexpected connection with Chen Zemian. “Even time-travel dramas wouldn’t dare act like this.”
At this moment, the traffic was smooth, and they continued chatting until they arrived at the entrance of Cheng Ziyi’s company.
Before Chen Zemian could park, he noticed a familiar Mercedes-Benz—a luxury business car.
Cheng Ziyi saw it too. Although she knew the car was covered with a privacy film, she instinctively crouched down. “Don’t park here! That’s Ji Chenzhou’s nanny car!”
Chen Zemian asked, “What’s wrong?”
Cheng Ziyi quickly packed her purse—stowing away her phone, lipstick, powder, and other essentials. “What am I? I ride in the same car as my boss. It wouldn’t be good if he saw.”
Chen Zemian, caught off guard, admitted, “Oh, okay, then I’ll change the car later.”
She quickly tapped her phone. “I have a recording later, so I’ll send you the location via WeChat once I’m done. It should be over around 11 p.m. Thanks for your hard work, cousin.”
Chen Zemian appreciated the title and gave her a thumbs-up.
However, as Cheng Ziyi turned to leave, she was unexpectedly called into Ji Chenzhou’s office.
He had also seen Chen Zemian’s car.
If it had been anyone else, Ji Chenzhou would have thought it was a coincidence—running into him twice in one day.
But that person…
While his appearance was not a perfect match for Chen Qingyu, the aura, speech, and mannerisms were strikingly similar—almost identical. It was as though Chen Qingyu had returned.
Approaching him casually, Ji Chenzhou almost believed it was truly Chen Qingyu back from the dead.
Repeated encounters, the unintentional proximity, and that unmistakable style—everything echoed the past.
Could he be mistaken? Was this person merely a look-alike? Or was he someone more sinister, perhaps suspecting him?
Ji Chenzhou’s unease grew.
The investigator had yet to reply about the other party’s identity, yet this person had appeared right in front of him.
Had he already begun to doubt himself?
Was this person investigating him?
Could it be that the police had traced him to the person responsible for Xiao Ruhai’s death?
Impossible. That individual wasn’t even an artist from their studio, and he had no connection whatsoever.
Maybe it was just a coincidence—just a coincidence.
Ji Chenzhou forced himself to steady his nerves. He was no longer the helpless Kevin who had waited patiently in the flames twenty years ago.
He was Ji Chenzhou—the movie emperor with countless fans, the little brother Chen who held the antidote for contraband, and the master who had secretly negotiated with Xiao Ruhai, co-founded Huanyu Media, and replaced his own face through plastic surgery to make a triumphant comeback.
No one could stand in his way anymore. No matter how big the trouble, he would find a way to resolve it.
Looking into the mirror, his handsome and composed face reflected a cold, icy gaze—like a frozen pond.
He walked slowly toward the entrance table beneath a circular decorative painting, lit a stick of incense, and placed it carefully into the incense burner.
Amidst the myriad passing ships, Chenzhou was no longer the same person he once was.
No one could stop him now. No matter the obstacle, he would find a way around it.
He watched as Cheng Ziyi descended from her car via surveillance footage. Immediately, he instructed his agent to call her into the office under the pretext of discussing work, aiming to uncover the truth.
As Cheng Ziyi stepped inside, she was greeted by the scent of heavy sandalwood.
The purple-gold copper furnace emitted a gentle green smoke, dense and condensed, floating in the air but refusing to disperse. The smoke curled and formed a line, slowly drifting toward the decorative painting on the wall.
It was a remarkably artistic oil painting—though, in truth, it was somewhat abstract. In short, it was difficult to discern what was depicted. At first glance, it resembled a golden feather, but it could have been something else entirely. Regardless, the overall impression was quite strange.
Beneath the painting, a copper furnace sat quietly, its presence adding an air of mystique. Ji Chenzhou occasionally gazed at the artwork thoughtfully, sometimes muttering to himself. The company speculated that he might have offered a Kumantong.
It is said that the Kumantong from Thailand is crafted from the remains of an infant—perhaps the ashes and corpse oil are concealed behind the painting. Actors, after all, possess a highly divergent way of thinking—so divergent that Cheng Ziyi was momentarily stunned by her own unrestrained thoughts. She quickly snapped back to herself, collecting her scattered mind.
With a slight bow and a polite tone, she asked, “Teacher Ji, are you looking for me?”
Ji Chenzhou’s demeanor was gentle and casual. He first inquired about Cheng Ziyi’s recent work arrangements, noting that her schedule was packed this month. He also mentioned her assistant’s leave, asking if she needed a temporary replacement.
In the industry, companies paid close attention to the safety of their artists—especially after recent incidents involving Huanyu Media. To distance themselves from such scandals, they took measures to safeguard their talents.
Unaware of the underlying implications, Cheng Ziyi felt that her boss genuinely cared about their well-being. She responded promptly and sensibly, “Don’t trouble yourself, Teacher Ji. I haven’t been in the group lately. I’ve been working indoors. If I finish late, my friends will come to pick me up.”
Ji Chenzhou nodded with a smile, then teasingly added, “A boyfriend or girlfriend, perhaps? You’re in your rising period now—best to avoid any scandals.”
Immediately, Cheng Ziyi’s cheeks flushed slightly. Ji Chenzhou must have just seen the Mercedes-Benz commercial vehicle parked nearby.
Few girls drove such a big car, after all. Surely, her boss wouldn’t suspect she was in love.
She explained quickly, “No, he’s actually a relative—my cousin… cousin.”
Ji Chenzhou naturally continued the conversation, shifting to the topic of “cousin.”
When Chen Zemian was mentioned, Cheng Ziyi’s mind drifted briefly to his words about becoming a movie queen. For half a second, she felt a flicker of delight, then instinctively looked into the mirror through the glass.
Ji Chenzhou, meanwhile, was speaking when he suddenly looked up and caught her staring at herself in the mirror—admiring her own beauty. He couldn’t help but chuckle twice.
He was amused by her love for beauty, and at the fact that Cheng Ziyi, in her current state, should not have doubted him.
Perhaps, after all, it was just a coincidence.
When she heard Ji Chenzhou’s laughter, Cheng Ziyi’s cheeks grew warmer. She hurriedly apologized, “Teacher Ji, I’m sorry.”
Ji Chenzhou smiled kindly. “It’s normal. As an artist, your face is as important as your country.”
Flattering her boss, Cheng Ziyi replied, “Teacher Ji, your face is so photogenic.”
Ji Chenzhou shook his head modestly. “I’m getting old, but the studio will still rely on you young folks in the future.”
“That’s wrong,” Cheng Ziyi said with her usual high emotional intelligence, continuing to flatter him. “Beauty lies in the bones, not just the skin. Your bone structure…”
Bone structure? Why did that word seem to crop up today?
She fell into a brief trance, yet she didn’t stop talking. Her gaze lingered on her reflection, and her words continued, “Your bone structure is perfect—especially suited for the big screen. The impact of shooting straight in front of a mirror is simply too strong.”
People who speak well are universally liked, and Ji Chenzhou was no exception. He was pleased to be flattered, exchanging a few more words with her.
Yet, Cheng Ziyi was stubborn—she couldn’t quite remember when she had mentioned “bone structure” today. It felt as painful as trying to recall the name of a song. While discussing work with Ji Chenzhou, her mind replayed the conversation with Chen Zemian from the very beginning.
When she brought up plastic surgery, she had asked Ji Chenzhou’s opinion from the perspective of being photogenic.
He thought her features were delicate. Her nose, while not particularly straight, didn’t warrant a facelift. Moreover, surgery would require a recovery period—something that could delay her work schedule. So, he roughly explained the process of nasal padding instead.
Hearing Ji Chenzhou’s vivid description, Cheng Ziyi couldn’t help but suspect that he might have had a facelift himself.
This was quite common in the entertainment industry. Ji Chenzhou, after all, was in his forties and still looked remarkably youthful and handsome. He must have undergone numerous medical beauty procedures.
At that moment, the finance department suddenly called on the internal line, requesting Ji Chenzhou’s approval for a file on his computer.
He motioned for Cheng Ziyi to wait, then opened his laptop and clicked on the file for review.
She sat quietly, gradually drifting into thought.
The sunlight filtered through the grille, casting a warm glow on Ji Chenzhou’s handsome and elegant face—so beautiful it seemed almost photographable.
As she looked at his profile, Cheng Ziyi sighed softly—Teacher Ji truly had a remarkable face.
His bone structure was perfect, surpassing the extreme.
Bone structure… How did she end up talking about bone structure with Chen Zemian earlier?
She tilted her head slightly.
Just then, the light shifted again, illuminating Ji Chenzhou’s face. The outline of his features overlapped with the angle of a photo she had recently seen, evoking a sudden, strong sense of déjà vu.
And suddenly, it all clicked.
She remembered vividly when she had mentioned that word—bone structure.
That bounty notice!
A bold and somewhat bizarre idea flashed through her mind.
At first, she was terrified—cold sweat broke out on her back.
Ji Chenzhou, noticing her change in expression, lifted his head from behind the computer screen.
As an experienced actor, he was highly skilled at reading micro-expressions and immediately sensed the fear in her eyes.
He leaned back slightly, frowned, and looked directly at her. “What are you afraid of?”
Her work today was scheduled until 11 p.m.
Chen Zemian had changed cars on time and had come to pick her up as planned. It was a rainy Qingming Festival, yet the evening sky was still bright, gradually darkening into gloom.
The damp air thickened, foreshadowing a heavy rain.
Tonight, there were no stars or moon—only the scent of soil, plants, and faint traces of burnt paper lingering in the wind.
The program’s filming location was in the suburbs, where inspections were lenient. Chen Zemian drove steadily, passing several people burning gold ingots and paper money at intersections. From a distance, flickering orange flames danced, and faint, suppressed sobs could be heard, adding an eerie atmosphere.
The scene grew livelier as they approached the studio.
Various activities unfolded: re-shoots, advertisements, dismantling sets, collecting props, watching cameras, chatting, taking photos—all part of the bustling chaos.
Cows and horses, of course, did not celebrate Qingming.
Chen Zemian stopped the car and tried calling Cheng Ziyi twice, but there was no answer.
Are they also re-shooting?
He stepped out and headed toward the set, but she was nowhere to be seen.
At the alley entrance, a male assistant in a work vest waved at him. “Teacher Chen, are you here to pick up Cheng Ziyi?”
Chen Zemian replied, “Yes. Where is she?”
The assistant explained, “She’s feeling unwell and resting in the car. She told us you’d come to pick her up, so I waited here.”
Hearing this, Chen Zemian immediately recalled the last time Cheng Ziyi was sick. Without hesitation, he followed the assistant to the vehicle.
Inside, Cheng Ziyi was half-reclined against the back seat, draped with a piece of clothing, seemingly asleep.
The assistant lowered his voice. “She has a slight cold—took medicine and is resting. She’s been overworked lately.”
Chen Zemian stepped closer and gently pressed his hand against her forehead. Her temperature was normal, which eased his worry.
He softly called, “Cousin, cousin?”
Her eyelids fluttered as if trying to open, but she remained too sleepy to wake fully.
The assistant said, “It’s okay, Teacher Chen. Our leader said it’s fine to let her sleep a while longer. If you need to leave quickly, you can drive our car.”
There were too many people outside to carry her out, so Chen Zemian hesitated. “Then I’ll go get the car—cough cough—and come back for her.”
Noticing his cough, the assistant glanced at him sharply. “Teacher Chen, you shouldn’t catch a cold either.”
Chen Zemian supported himself on the front headrest, coughing for a while. “It’s okay. I have sensitive airways, and your car’s fragrance is too strong.”
The assistant smiled awkwardly. “The artist was touching up her makeup in the car, and the chemicals might have irritated her. We usually wear masks, but I forgot to get one for you.”
Chen Zemian coughed again, vaguely hearing wheezing with each breath. It felt as though his airways were seriously irritated, almost like asthma. There was a humming sound deep in his trachea, as if something was stuck and couldn’t be expelled.
The assistant quickly handed him tissues.
Chen Zemian, breathless, took one and pressed it to his mouth and nose, catching a faint fruity fragrance.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness swept over him.
His consciousness dimmed, and he slowly sank backward.
When he regained awareness, the first sense to return was smell. He detected the scent of soil.
Next came the sound—the rain, the wind, the distant rumble of thunder.
Gradually, he opened his eyes. Before he could assess his surroundings, a harsh cough wracked his body, leaving him breathless.
Beside him, Cheng Ziyi’s nervous voice echoed, trembling with concern. “Chen Zemian, Chen Zemian, are you okay?”
He managed to shake his head, hoarse and gasping, unable to speak.
A faint glow shone down from above, resembling the dim light of an old, abandoned basement.
The air was thick with dust, intensifying the irritation in his already sensitive airways.
“Allergic asthma,” he thought grimly. “And it’s reacting to multiple allergens.”
A voice—slightly unfamiliar—sounded from above him. “I know who you are.”
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
