Chapter 230: Really?

Chapter 230: Is That So?

In the following months, Ji Mingzhu was out from dawn till dusk. Whenever Shen Yuechuan asked where she went, she said she had gone to temples to burn incense and pray for her child.

She looked haggard, her hair unkempt, and rambled incoherently under her breath. Shen Yuechuan saw it all, knew exactly what was going on, but didn’t press further. He simply smirked to himself and let her be.

When the investigation began to yield results and was halfway done, Ji Mingzhu met with Jiang Zhiyi again.

She took a seat in the private room, her temples streaked with gray, more worn than before.

Ji Mingzhu rubbed her forehead, exhausted. “What you said is true, but I consulted a lawyer. There’s no hard evidence proving Shen Yuechuan induced my child into taking drugs. He’d just claim he was passing by the bar and had no knowledge of what happened…”

She pressed her fingers against her brow in anguish. “Under these circumstances, he can’t be convicted—I can’t even put him behind bars.”

Jiang Zhiyi replied coolly, “You want him to receive the death penalty, don’t you?”

Ji Mingzhu dug her nails into her scalp, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Of course. If possible, I’d like to send him to his death.”

Jiang Zhiyi reminded her, “Ms. Ji, the murders Shen Yuechuan committed don’t stop at one. Hiring someone to kill is also a capital offense.”

Twenty years ago, Jiang Zhiyi’s mother, Jiang Caiyue, had also been murdered by Shen Yuechuan’s hired killer.

Jiang Zhiyi continued, “Back then, his career hadn’t taken off yet. He couldn’t have afforded the truck driver’s hefty payment—it must have come from your accounts. If you trace back from the day my mother died, you’ll surely find something.”

Ji Mingzhu froze, realization flashing in her eyes. She pushed up her sleeves, ready to dig into the records. Without finishing her meal, she snatched her bag and bolted out the door.

The table full of dishes was left to Wen Xian and Jiang Zhiyi to finish.

Wen Xian nudged the pastries with his chopsticks. For some reason, he suddenly chuckled.

Jiang Zhiyi looked up, surprised. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Wen Xian shook his head with a smile. “I just realized—the ending really is different this time.”

He couldn’t tell Jiang Zhiyi that in the Previous Dynasty, Shen Yuechuan had never been punished for murder.

There had been no evidence for Shen Jixing’s death, and Jiang Caiyue’s murder required account books as proof. But Ji Mingzhu had gone mad, and under Shen Yuechuan’s deliberate concealment, the old financial records had long become untraceable.

Jiang Zhiyi had swallowed his pride, working diligently under Shen Yuechuan until reaching the top ranks of the Shen Group by his mid-twenties—over two decades after his mother’s death. By then, though he had the ability to comb through the accounts, the legal time limit for prosecution had already expired. Even with evidence in hand, he couldn’t pursue the death penalty.

So instead, he had targeted the Shen Group from within, finding a technical tax violation to send Shen Yuechuan to prison for less than ten years. When Shen was released, he would only be in his fifties.

But Jiang Caiyue’s life had ended in her twenties, Shen Jixing’s before he even reached twenty, and Ji Mingzhu had spent the rest of her days in madness, barely human.

That punishment had been far too light.

When it came to her child, Ji Mingzhu acted with ruthless efficiency. While investigating the accounts, she played the devoted wife at home, ensuring Shen Yuechuan noticed nothing amiss—until one day, he returned to find his wife suddenly gone.

*

Her phone was unreachable, her messages unanswered, yet Shen Yuechuan showed no urgency. He first opened the fridge, took out the milk, poured it away, and replaced it with fresh milk, meticulously rinsing away any traces in the sink.

But he failed to notice the pinhead-sized camera in the kitchen, pointed directly at him.

Then, leisurely, he popped open a bottle of champagne, cleared his throat, and lowered his voice into a sorrowful tone. He put on a show of grief: “Officer, my wife—my wife Ji Mingzhu has gone missing. She’s not in her right mind, suffering from depression, always taking medication…”

But the next second, the door was violently kicked open. In an instant, a dozen guns were aimed at him. The police twisted his arms behind his back and clamped handcuffs onto his wrists.

Shen Yuechuan, playing dumb, tried to ask, “Is this about my wife’s disappearance? She’s mentally unwell, battling depression, always on medication…”

Before he could finish speaking, he was sharply interrupted: "We need you to come with us regarding your wife’s death twenty years ago."

Though phrased politely, the handcuffs left no room for courtesy—the cold metal pressed directly against his skin, chilling him to the bone.

Shen Yuechuan’s expression shifted slightly, as if still trapped in some absurd play and unable to distinguish reality. He managed a strained smile: "No, officers, there must be some mistake. My wife is Ji Mingzhu—Ji Mingzhu is still alive! She just has some mental health issues. What death? What are you talking about?"

He still clung to hope. Having escaped for twenty years, how could his past catch up with him now, just as the statute of limitations was about to expire? But when he saw another person, that last shred of hope shattered.

—Li Liqun, the truck driver from twenty years ago.

Ji Mingzhu presented transfer records and the phone card used for contact. Faced with irrefutable evidence, there was no room for denial.

The case had no ambiguities, and the accused confessed readily. Progress was swift, and the trial began before the start of spring.

Wen Xian sat in the spectator seats, looking across the courtroom. There, across twenty years and two lifetimes, Jiang Zhiyi finally sat in the plaintiff's seat.

The verdict proceeded methodically. In the end, the judge struck the gavel: Shen Yuechuan had first hired someone to kill his wife, then added drugs to his current wife’s milk that would induce mental instability. His actions were particularly cruel, the consequences especially grave, and the circumstances egregious—thus, he was sentenced to death.

As the final words fell, Shen Yuechuan lost all strength. When he was led away, he gaped in disbelief at the plaintiff’s side, where his wife and son now sat.

—The absurdity was that the two lives he’d taken were also his wife and son.

Facing his gaze, Ji Mingzhu met it without hesitation, her eyes blazing with hatred. Jiang Zhiyi stood unmoving, not sparing him a single glance, just letting out a slow, heavy breath as his tense body relaxed, as if a great weight had been lifted.

At long last, this man—his biological father—could finally fade completely from his life.

*

With the Shen Group’s leader imprisoned for murder, the corporation remained largely unfazed.

Ji Mingzhu firmly controlled the shares, and the entire group was filled with her loyalists. Changing leadership required just her say-so. After Shen Yuechuan’s downfall, she grew closer to Jiang Zhiyi.

Once the turmoil passed, Ji Mingzhu had no interest in managing the company. She first recited scriptures with a master, and after laying her son’s affairs to rest, she took up hiking and joined a trekking club, traveling the world.

And so, just like in his previous life, most of the Shen Group’s work eventually fell to Jiang Zhiyi.

Jiang Zhiyi found himself overwhelmed for months, utterly swamped.

Wen Xian, however, was clueless about such matters and had no interest in helping. He had no intention of lifting a finger and instead flew back to school early, partying with his bandmates. During video calls with Jiang Zhiyi, when the latter complained about work, Wen Xian would lazily cross his arms and offer teasing encouragement: "You got this, President Jiang!"

His face full of mischief.

"...Don’t call me that."

Jiang Zhiyi frowned at him, looking like he was about to get angry, yet still unwilling to hang up.

Wen Xian studied his face on screen. President Jiang had changed into a suit, his hair neatly combed back to reveal a smooth forehead. In looks, he was the spitting image of the President Shen from the previous life. Yet Wen Xian still felt they were different.

The President Shen of the previous life would never purse his lips in front of him, showing such vivid expressions.

Wen Xian strummed the guitar in his lap and suddenly said, "President Jiang, next month is my graduation ceremony. My band will be performing—why don’t you fly over and join me? I’ll be playing with my band at the event."

Jiang Zhiyi had already graduated and joined the company, but Wen Xian was a perpetual slacker, whose motto was “live life to the fullest.” He had followed the exact same path as in the previous life—first leisurely attending a language prep course, then failing several subjects and delaying graduation twice. By the time Jiang Zhiyi had risen to become “President Jiang,” Wen Xian was only just preparing for his graduation ceremony.

Jiang Zhiyi replied immediately: "Of course."

Wen Xian snapped his fingers, giving him an inscrutable look. "I’ll be waiting. Don’t forget."

Jiang Zhiyi said earnestly, "Mm, I’ll be there."

Wen Xian clicked his tongue twice and hung up, thinking to himself: "Why the hesitation?"

Zhang Xiaoping was rather traditional-minded. Her belief had always been that one could start dating only after finishing school, while Wen Xian had remained single all this time. Now that Shen Yuechuan was out of the way and he himself had graduated, everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction. Perhaps certain matters should finally be put on the agenda?

For example, what about Jiang Zhiyi’s *coercive romance* from their previous life?

Wasn’t it about time? Where was his *coercive romance* now?

Not that Wen Xian was complaining—back in their past life, Jiang Zhiyi had already been gearing up, ready to drag Wen Xian back home for marriage. Wen Xian had also mentally prepared himself, eagerly anticipating a round of *patron-and-protege power play* with President Jiang—*"I control your business connections, so whether you like it or not, you’ll comply."* Back then, despite Wen Xian’s cold words, President Jiang had insisted on pushing forward. But now, in this life, things were different: gentle words, shared touches, warm embraces, and resolved misunderstandings. They were far more intimate than before. Yet Little President Jiang was unbearably shy, blushing at the slightest contact, indulging instead in pure romanticism, murmuring things like *"Mm, definitely."*

*"Yeah right,"* Wen Xian thought. *"Little President Jiang is hopeless—I guess I’ll have to take charge."*

While he plotted how to break through that final barrier, Jiang Zhiyi remained completely unaware. He had already booked his flight to Wen Xian’s city well in advance, even blocking off three full days by clearing his schedule.

But on the afternoon before the graduation ceremony, while checking his luggage at the airport, he unexpectedly ran into some familiar faces.

Wen Huarong, Zhang Xiaoping, and Wen Zhu were lugging multiple mismatched bags, looking as if they were headed abroad for vacation.

When Zhang Xiaoping spotted Jiang Zhiyi, she paused in surprise and greeted him. *"Zhiyi, you’re here too? Off on a business trip?"*

Jiang Zhiyi hesitated briefly, careful not to mention Wen Xian. *"...Hmm, just meeting a client. What about you all?"*

Zhang Xiaoping replied cheerfully, *"Oh, we're attending Wen Xian’s graduation ceremony. What a coincidence running into you!"*

Jiang Zhiyi forced a polite smile. *"Yes, quite a coincidence indeed."*

Wen Zhu stood behind Zhang Xiaoping, watching their exchange with a barely suppressed eye-roll.

Now the head of the Wen family, Wen Zhu had frequent business dealings with Jiang Zhiyi. Seeing him, Jiang politely offered a greeting. *"Young Master Wen, good to see you. You’ve got quite a load there."*

Of the three, neither Wen Huarong nor Zhang Xiaoping were about to lift a finger, and their assistants had already left after entering the airport, leaving Wen Zhu as the sole one-man luggage crew.

He was carrying two large gift boxes, elegantly packaged in expensive gold-veined nanmu wood, hinting at the luxurious contents inside.

Because of Wen Xian’s relationship with Jiang Zhiyi, Zhang Xiaoping treated Jiang almost like family and spoke freely. She smiled and said, *"These are graduation gifts for Wen Xian and Song… oh, right, you wouldn’t know her. A girl from the Song family. They go to the same school and are both in the band."*

Jiang Zhiyi stiffened slightly but quickly masked it, offering a faint smile. *"A girl from the Song family?"*

The Song family was also a prominent name in Nan City, and Zhang Xiaoping had some distant familial ties with them.

Zhang Xiaoping nodded. *"Yes, I’ll introduce you when there’s a chance. She’s very refined and lovely—plays the flute in the band. For her graduation, I specially commissioned a flute as a gift. It’s in that box."*

Wen Huarong, who had already taken a seat, added, *"That girl is quite nice—truly refined and lovely. When Wen Xian was little, he used to love pulling her braids. If not for these modern times of choosing your own partner, I would’ve discussed an arranged engagement with Old Song."*

Zhang Xiaoping nudged him playfully. *"Well, it’s not too late, is it? They’re in the same school—what are the odds?"*

They made small talk, rambling on casually. Wen Zhu stood in the corner alone, holding the gifts, looking around quietly like a mouse.

Jiang Zhiyi stood stock-still for a long moment before lowering his gaze and managing a faint smile. *"...Is that so?"*

—Suddenly, he remembered. That time he visited Wen Xian’s house, there *had* been a girl calling him, her voice gentle and melodic.