Chapter 229: Confession

**Chapter 229: Confession**

That same evening, Wen Xian called his mother and tactfully asked if he could arrange a meeting with Aunt Ji.

Zhang Xiaoping was in the middle of playing cards when she heard the rare seriousness in her son’s voice. She stopped playing, excused herself from the table, and walked to a quiet corner before saying thoughtfully, “Meeting your Aunt Ji? That might be difficult.”

“We may have grown up as cousins, but we haven’t been close in years. And with her child just gone, she’s reluctant to go out. Son, tell me clearly—why do you suddenly want to meet her?”

Wen Xian fell silent for a moment, then laid out the whole story.

He left out the part about his rebirth and the detective, only mentioning that he had accidentally discovered Shen Yuechuan had once been married and had a child. He explained how Shen’s ex-wife had died tragically, how the child had grown up in an orphanage, how Shen had married into wealth with bitterness in his heart—and finally, how he had appeared outside Blue Note Bar.

On the other end of the line, Zhang Xiaoping also fell into a long silence.

After a while, she spat out a curse, muffling the receiver so Wen Xian wouldn’t hear. Once she had calmed down, she said, “Fine. Wait for my call—I’ll help you get her to come.”

Having heard everything, she couldn’t focus on the card game anymore. Apologizing to her friends, she grabbed her bag and left. She didn’t hang up or speak during the walk, leaving Wen Xian to listen only to the sharp click of her heels against the pavement.

A long time passed before Zhang Xiaoping murmured, “Your Aunt Ji has always been strong-willed since childhood.”

Wen Xian hummed quietly to show he was listening.

Zhang Xiaoping sighed. “In our time, most girls married into higher-status families. She had a match arranged with someone from a prestigious background, but she refused, asking why she should have to defer to a man in her own home. So she insisted on choosing for herself.”

“That was fine enough, but then she chose Shen Yuechuan. I always thought his temperament was off. Even her father disapproved at first, but your Aunt Ji insisted he was capable—he’d built his braised food stall into a thriving business. Compared to those born into privilege who relied on their fathers, she preferred a self-made man.”

“Her father couldn’t change her mind, so he let her marry him. Later, their life thrived, and he relented, even saying his daughter had a good eye for men.”

Zhang Xiaoping gave a slight shake of her head. “Who could’ve imagined it would come to this?”

Their conversation lasted until Zhang Xiaoping arrived home. She chuckled. “Getting old makes you nostalgic. Just take it as a story. Tell your genius little friend I’ll arrange the meeting and let you know once it’s settled.”

Wen Xian hesitated. “Mom, how did you know it was Zhiyi?”

He hadn’t mentioned Jiang Zhiyi’s name at all.

Zhang Xiaoping clicked her tongue. “Who else could it be?”

Leaving Wen Xian speechless, she hung up.

A week later, Zhang Xiaoping found an excuse to invite Ji Mingzhu out.

With her son recently deceased, Ji Mingzhu had been avoiding people. Zhang Xiaoping spun a wild tale without batting an eye—saying she knew a master who could bring peace to wronged souls—and finally convinced Ji Mingzhu to agree.

Later, Zhang Xiaoping sighed, “Your Aunt Ji never believed in ghosts or spirits, but these days, she’s visited every temple around, offering countless sky lanterns. I had no choice but to resort to this trick.”

That weekend, Wen Xian flew back to the country and met up with Jiang Zhiyi.

They chose a restaurant next to Blue Note Bar—a dated business reception venue with uniform mahogany furniture carved with swirling cloud patterns, and red carpeting faded with age.

When Ji Mingzhu entered the private room and took her seat, Wen Xian and Jiang Zhiyi were already inside.

The once well-kept lady now looked haggard—silver streaks had appeared overnight at her temples. She had no energy to dress up, her face bare and dark circles shadowing her eyes. Her usual necklaces and brooches were missing.

She twitched her lips in what might have been a polite smile, only for it to drop completely when she saw Jiang Zhiyi and Wen Xian. Her expression went blank. “Why are you here? Did Zhang Xiaoping bring you to mock me?”

Jiang Zhiyi: "Ms. Ji, there's been a misunderstanding. There are just some matters—"

Before he finished speaking, Ji Mingzhu had already stood up. Her chair scraped harshly against the floor with an unpleasant noise.

Ji Mingzhu sneered, "Jiang Zhiyi, if you're here about the shares already, it's way too soon."

With that, she grabbed her bag from the table and turned to leave.

Jiang Zhiyi raised his voice, "Ms. Ji—"

But Ji Mingzhu showed no intention of stopping. Jiang Zhiyi sighed and suddenly said, "I have a braised sauce recipe I'd like you to hear: 150 grams of star anise, 50 grams each of bay leaves and cinnamon, 90 grams of dried tangerine peel, 100 grams of licorice root..."

He recited the ingredients like a rote list, without inflection. Yet Ji Mingzhu’s steps faltered, and she stopped.

She turned her head slightly, her tone ambiguous. "How long has Shen Yuechuan even known you? And he's already told you this recipe?"

Braised food was Shen Yuechuan’s ticket to success. Even as his company expanded, its roots remained in food—especially braised products. He kept this recipe under lock and key. Even Ji Mingzhu had only gotten it after years of nagging post-marriage.

Jiang Zhiyi smiled bitterly and slid a file folder toward her. "Ms. Ji, I’d like you to take a look at this."

Inside were three documents. The first was torn from a piece of scrap paper, its edges yellowed and frayed, as if it had yellowed with age. The handwriting was neat, detailing the very braised recipe Jiang Zhiyi had just recited.

The second was a death certificate: on [date], in [location], a traffic accident occurred. The victim, pushing a braised food cart to set up her stall, was struck by an out-of-control truck and died instantly.

Ji Mingzhu’s hands shook as she leafed through the papers.

Shen Jixing had also died on impact after being hit by a truck.

The third was a paternity test report. The client had submitted two hair samples for testing. According to the institution's analysis, the probability of the two individuals being father and son was 99.99%.

Jiang Zhiyi said, "This is mine and Shen Yuechuan’s. If you don’t believe it, here—this is one of my hairs. You can pluck one from Shen Yuechuan yourself when you get home, then go get your own test done."

As he spoke, he pushed forward a transparent test tube containing a strand of hair he had just pulled out in front of Ji Mingzhu.

"My mother was once married to Shen Yuechuan. They had a bare-bones wedding in their village—just a feast, no paperwork. Later, Shen Yuechuan came to Nan City alone to start a braised food business using my mother's recipe. That’s when he met you."

"After I was born, Shen Yuechuan ghosted her. My mother brought me from our hometown to Nan City to search for her husband. While pushing her cart to set up her stall, Shen Yuechuan spotted her. To tie up loose ends, he hired a truck driver."

Jiang Zhiyi let out a self-mocking laugh. "I was too young back then. Shen Yuechuan thought I wouldn’t remember anything. But I’ve always had a freakishly good memory from childhood. My mother’s face is still crystal clear to me today."

Ji Mingzhu wasn’t foolish. The braised recipe, the death report, the paternity results—the three documents lay spread across the table. Combined with Jiang Zhiyi’s account, her hands shook violently.

Jiang Zhiyi asked softly, "Can we talk this through now?"

These three pieces of evidence represented a past Jiang Zhiyi had never wanted to revisit—scars from his days alone, curled up in a shoebox apartment. As he spoke, his fingers unconsciously trailed along the edge of the table, brushing lightly against Wen Xian’s sleeve, as if drawing strength from his presence.

Wen Xian, tickled by the touch, thought to himself, *We’re practically an old married couple—why not just hold hands?* So he turned his palm and clasped Jiang Zhiyi’s hand firmly.

Jiang Zhiyi shivered slightly but didn’t pull away.

Hidden beneath the tablecloth, their hands remained intertwined. Jiang Zhiyi’s palm was slightly damp with nervous sweat, but Wen Xian’s warmth steadied him instantly.

*Wen Xian is here with me.*

Watching Ji Mingzhu’s ashen face across the table, Jiang Zhiyi continued, "Ms. Ji, I have proof that my mother’s death wasn’t an accident. And I also have proof that your son’s death wasn’t an accident either."

Ji Mingzhu suddenly clenched her teacup—filled with freshly brewed, scalding tea—but seemed oblivious to the heat. Her voice rose sharply. "*What?!*"

Jiang Zhiyi pressed on, "Your son was high behind the wheel. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? You monitored him so strictly—none of his friends were involved with drugs. So how did he end up addicted?"

With that, he glanced at Wen Xian, who nodded. Jiang Zhiyi then took out her laptop from her bag, opened the video, and pushed it toward her.

Jiang Zhiyi: "As you can see, we're in a hotel Shen Yuechuan once visited. The Blue Tune bar next door is where Shen Jixing went. As you can see, this place used to be a den for illegal transactions. A few days ago, the police shut it all down. If you follow the news, you might recall reading about it in the Nan City Evening Post a few months back."

He pressed play: "A week before Shen Yuechuan brought your son here on business, he also entered the Blue Tune bar alone. Given the distance between your home and this location, I don't believe he was just passing by."

Ji Mingzhu's hands trembled so violently she couldn't hold the teacup. Hot water spilled onto her hands—hands once carefully maintained, with real seawater pearls embedded in her nails. Now, large patches of skin were red and raw, yet she didn’t even seem to notice.

Wen Xian, sitting nearby, reached over and gently took the cup from her, setting it aside.

But Ji Mingzhu still kept her fingers curled as if gripping it. She mindlessly hit replay, watching the footage again and again—the image of her husband, that tall, handsome man, walking alone into the Blue Tune bar, then exiting later wearing a cap.

The man had most of his face hidden, deliberately stooping his posture, trying to make himself look smaller. Clearly, he knew this was not something to be proud of. And the moment he stepped out of the camera’s view, he let out a smile.

A smile of relief.

Ji Mingzhu squeezed her eyes shut. Two tears rolled down from the corners.

Then suddenly, she began to laugh—a tight, forced smile twisting her lips, followed by uncontrollable, hoarse laughter, bordering on madness. She grabbed her own hair, hiding her face behind her arms.

No one spoke in the private room. Silence reigned.

At one point, a server opened the door to bring in food, but Wen Xian motioned her away.

A long, long time passed before Ji Mingzhu finally calmed herself.

The table was full of untouched dishes. Ji Mingzhu picked up her bag and took the sample vial Jiang Zhiyi had left on the table. “Jiang Zhiyi, thank you for telling me this. I will look into your connection with Shen Yuechuan. I will investigate your mother’s death. I will also look into my child’s death…”

Her voice turned icy cold: “If what you say is true, I will seek justice—for my child, for you, and for your mother.”

*

---

In a villa in Nan City’s eastern district, Shen Yuechuan returned to the bedroom after taking a shower and saw Ji Mingzhu already there.

His wife was holding their son’s photo, carefully wiping it with a towel.

It was a seven-inch black-and-white photo. The boy’s lips were slightly open, smiling, his unblinking dark eyes sharp against the grayscale, as if staring straight at Shen Yuechuan, ready to call out “Dad.”

The room was warm, yet Shen Yuechuan felt chills and broke out in goosebumps.

He placed a glass of milk on the nightstand. “Here’s your milk. Drink it.”

Ji Mingzhu always drank milk at night.

She smiled. “Leave it there. I’ll drink it after I finish cleaning this.”

Since their son’s death, she had been acting strangely, constantly wiping the photo. Shen Yuechuan had grown used to it. He frowned instinctively, muttering under his breath the word *madwoman*, but quickly softened his expression. Lying beside her, he put on a concerned tone. “Rest early. You’ve looked tired lately. Take care of yourself.”

Ji Mingzhu answered softly.

Her fingers brushed across Shen Jixing’s face in the photo, then gently touched Shen Yuechuan’s head. “Darling, you have a white hair. Let me pluck it out for you.”

Before he could answer, a sharp pain shot through his scalp. He frowned again, then turned over, managing a weak smile. “Yeah, I haven’t slept well since Xingxing’s accident. Already going gray. Thanks for pulling it out.”

Ji Mingzhu remained gentle, tucking the white strand behind the photo frame. She placed the picture on the bedside table, letting those unblinking eyes stare directly at Shen Yuechuan.

Just then, Shen Yuechuan seemed to remember something and sat up—only to glance at the photo and lower his gaze again. Looking tenderly at Ji Mingzhu, he said, “By the way, you were gone a long time today. Where did you go? I’ve been worried about you.”

Ji Mingzhu whispered, “I went to see a master—one who helps souls pass on.”

Shen Yuechuan secretly sneered but feigned concern. “What did the master say?”

Ji Mingzhu smiled, placing her fingertips on the photo frame. Lovingly stroking Shen Jixing’s cheek, she chanted dreamily:

“The master said… our child will soon be at peace.” For some reason, a chill ran down Shen Yuechuan’s spine. Still, he managed a weak smile. “That’s good to hear.”