Chapter 39: Tell Me… I’m Begging You.

Chapter 39: Just tell me... I'm begging you.

Jian Ruochen exited the car, his face impassive.

Guan Yingjun stood outside the car door, the cold wind clearing his head and calming him slightly. "Which building did you used to live in?"

"That one, the second building." Jian Ruochen pointed ahead, his lips forming a thin line.

"I was wrong to doubt you," Guan Yingjun said as they walked.

He had always been formidable, but when facing Jian Ruochen, his usually effective strategies and tactics seemed to fail him.

Jian Ruochen didn’t expect such frankness and was momentarily at a loss for words.

Guan Yingjun fell silent for a moment, his voice low and raspy. "The reason I wanted to investigate you this time is because I..."

He took a deep breath, glanced at those beautiful eyes, and his throat tightened. He didn’t know how to articulate it, nor dared to voice his true thoughts.

The Dasheng Tuo Stone Quarry was located in the easternmost part of Kowloon, a slum.

Jian Ruochen, refined and beautiful, was utterly out of place here.

The young man stood in the wind, his expression barely shifting, completely natural, as if he had nothing to hide. He resembled a fox spirit, matching wits with tigers and wolves.

With just a slight exhale, the fox spirit could send jackals, tigers, and leopards retreating, turning the tables.

Jian Ruochen chuckled.

Guan Yingjun was a man who valued truth above all else.

Once doubts and curiosity took root, he wouldn't rest until he found answers.

Jian Ruochen understood this relentless pursuit of the truth.

It was a detective's reflex.

But this state couldn't persist; it would jeopardize their collaboration.

At this juncture, it was best to let Guan Yingjun discover the truth himself, because whether Jian Ruochen spoke truthfully or lied, Guan Yingjun wouldn't believe him.

He would only believe what he saw.

Jian Ruochen quietly slipped his hands into his pockets and gestured with his chin towards the tenement building. "Go on, investigate. But since you're determined to, be prepared for the consequences."

·

Guan Yingjun followed Jian Ruochen, regretting not having gazed into his eyes for a few more seconds.

If he had, he might have discerned whether Jian Ruochen's smile was genuine or feigned.

Now, there was only moving forward.

The lights in the tenement area were makeshift.

As the wind blew, the conical tin lampshades swayed, casting uneven light on the dusty, rugged path.

Guan Yingjun scanned his surroundings.

Even during his undercover days, he had never lived in such dilapidated housing.

In Bangkok, only low-level drug manufacturers and dealers resided in shacks and containers.

No wonder Jian Ruochen had publicly distanced himself from Jiang Mingshan.

If Jiang Mingshan had offered even a sliver of financial help, Jian Ruochen wouldn't have endured such hardship.

Their staggered footsteps crunched on the gravel and sand by the construction site.

Jian Ruochen stopped and turned around. "This is it. I used to live in the third room on the second floor."

He gestured upwards with his chin. "Go ahead. There's a high turnover of residents here, mostly workers from the stone quarry. I don't know if my old room has been rented out."

Jian Ruochen's expression remained calm. "If it's still vacant, the landlord should be living in the residential area near the factory. We can ask him to open the door."

Guan Yingjun clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

Despite being the one investigating Jian Ruochen, he felt as if he were the one being scrutinized.

Jian Ruochen had only hesitated briefly when he misspoke at the hospital. After that, he had remained... poised and self-assured.

He raised his hand and knocked on the tenement door.

Soon, the sound of shuffling footsteps came from inside.

A man pulled open the door, looking extremely impatient and holding a bottle of liquor. "Who is it in the middle of the night?"

As the tin door opened, a blast of warm, sour, foul-smelling air rushed out, mixed with the stench of vomit.

Jian Ruochen recoiled from the odor, but Guan Yingjun, with his sensitive nose, stood his ground at the doorway. He took out his badge and declared, "CID. We're here to investigate something."

The man sobered up quickly. "Officer? I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

Guan Yingjun didn't answer directly. Instead, he opened his notebook and asked, "When did you move in? How much do you know about the previous tenant? Did the previous tenant leave anything behind?"

Hearing that the officer wasn't there for him, the man quickly cooperated. "I moved in a month ago. The rooms here are cheap and in high demand, and it's close to work. I moved in as soon as it was vacant."

He scratched his head and grinned. "The previous tenant was quite well-known at our quarry. Very good-looking, fair-skinned, and apparently had a small red mole on his earlobe."

Beautiful people always became the subject of conversation among workers during their breaks.

Guan Yingjun's grip tightened, and his pen drew a twisted line on the notebook. The man's lecherous tone was irritating.

He looked up, his eyes dark. "What about the things the previous tenant left behind?"

The man licked his lips, looking sheepish. "I sold them as scrap."

Jian Ruochen remained composed.

He thought: *Liar.*

But this time, he wouldn't tip off Detective Guan.

Guan Yingjun stated, "Your neck is flushed, your nostrils are flared, you're tilting your head slightly, and your lips tightened for a moment. You're lying."

Jian Ruochen: ?

Guan Yingjun had actually learned about the microexpressions of lying?

He spoke up. "I'd like to get my books back. Are they still here?"

Guan Yingjun was surprised but felt somewhat reassured.

Such open cooperation suggested that even if there were any issues, they might be minor and inconsequential.

The man looked at Jian Ruochen, stunned for a moment.

He's so strikingly handsome, like a celestial being.

Too bad he's a man.

He swallowed, mesmerized, and mumbled, "The books... I burned most of them. Only one is left."

Jian Ruochen: ...

Why didn’t you just burn them all?

Although the original owner’s books were all secondhand, there could still have been his handwriting on them.

In 1990s Hong Kong, the police force didn’t have specialized handwriting analysis; they had to seek outside help.

But Li Changyu was Guan Yingjun’s outside help—Teacher Li was a true expert in criminal psychology!

Jian Ruochen’s mind raced. He extended his hand to the man and said, "One is fine. Can you return it to me?"

The man, still drunk, was captivated by the smile before him. He turned around in a daze and pulled out half a book soaked in diesel from under a paint bucket filled with firewood.

The top half of the book had been charred, while the bottom was stained with grease, too dirty to handle.

Jian Ruochen reached for it, but another hand reached in from the side.

Guan Yingjun picked up a corner of the book with a handkerchief. "Let me handle it, so you don’t get dirty."

Jian Ruochen pressed his lips together.

Guan Yingjun looked at the name on the title page.

The handwriting was childlike, each stroke carefully forming the three characters "Jian Ruochen" in regular script.

It was nothing like Jian Ruochen’s current handwriting, which was bold, confident, and powerful, with sharp strokes—clearly the result of dedicated practice.

Even without expert analysis, it was obvious they were written by two different people.

He discreetly tore off the corner with the name and wrapped it in his handkerchief, thinking to himself:

Perhaps he’d misremembered. Maybe Jian Ruochen couldn’t write with such calligraphic skill, and this was indeed his handwriting.

He’d wait until Jian Ruochen writes it again in the car before drawing any conclusions.

Guan Yingjun handed the book back. "It’s soaked in oil and unusable. You can go ahead and burn it."

Jian Ruochen turned to the man. "Is there anything else? I’m willing to pay to get my things back."

He needed to go through all the items to gather information. He didn’t want to come back here.

Everyone in the world loves money.

Tempted by the offer, the drunken man pulled out a plastic bottle from a nearby cabinet. On it, two handwritten words in black marker read: "Vitamin B."

Staring at Jian Ruochen’s face, the man rubbed his hands together and said, "This is all that’s left. I asked the landlord, and he said it was some kind of... health supplement. I tried taking it myself once—chewed four pills one morning and passed out on the construction site that same day."

"After that, I didn’t dare touch it. How are you supposed to take this stuff? Do you chew it?"

"Yes," Jian Ruochen replied, turning the bottle over for a quick look.

This vitamin was a "three-no" product—no label, no manufacturer, no certification. Even counterfeit drugs usually only contained cheap vitamin C or starch tablets.

How could something like this knock out a grown man?

Guan Yingjun lowered his gaze, his tone somewhat stiff. "May I take a look?"

Jian Ruochen placed the bottle in his palm. "Go ahead and test it. I suspect there’s something wrong with it."

Guan Yingjun: "...Huh?"

So straightforward?

He was caught off guard, holding the bottle in a daze.

"What kind of vitamin B could make someone pass out?"

Jian Ruochen chuckled. "No wonder I’ve been feeling so much better since I moved out of the rental."

Luo Binwen’s care had certainly helped, but the feeling lighter in his body was undeniable. Before, this body had been extremely weak, gaunt, and breathless after just a few steps.

Part of the reason was poverty, but in 1990s Hong Kong, opportunities were everywhere.

Given the original owner’s hardworking nature, he could have easily worked as a dishwasher or waiter in a restaurant—there was no reason he should have been starving.

Yet when Jian Ruochen first arrived, this body was abnormally frail.

Jian Ruochen: "Thinking back now, I might have been drugged."

He mentally ran through the original owner’s list of enemies.

Jiang Hanyu was a suspect, but he needed the original owner’s blood to stay alive—he wouldn’t do something that could kill him.

Lu Qian was also a suspect, but the conflict between him and the original owner wasn’t irreconcilable.

In the original novel, Jian Ruochen hadn’t threatened Lu Qian’s interests.

If it wasn’t Lu Qian or Jiang Hanyu, then who had drugged him?

It was a pity he hadn’t inherited the original owner’s memories. All his information came from that vague novel—otherwise, he could have deduced more.

As Jian Ruochen pondered,

Guan Yingjun was also deep in thought.

If Jian Ruochen wasn’t the same person as before, how did he immediately realize he’d been drugged just by seeing the vitamin B bottle?

Unless the body was the same, but the soul was different?

Should he continue investigating the case or visit a spirit medium?

Commissioner Lei Jinwen had once handled a similar case—a serial killer who murdered seven people claimed during interrogation that he was innocent and that four other people had done it. He went insane on the spot, terrifying Lei Jinwen.

Could Jian Ruochen be in a similar situation?

Guan Yingjun placed the vitamin B bottle into an evidence bag and asked, "Do you remember where this medicine came from?"

Jian Ruochen shrugged, "Detective Guan, isn't it your job to figure that out? It's been so long, I really don't remember."

He pulled an HK$1,000 note from his pocket and handed it to the man, "Clean yourself up properly, don't go around dirty—it's easy to get sick."

The man was taken aback, reaching out to take the bill, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger.

A book and a bottle of medicine—were they really worth that much money?

Or was it… that Jian Ruochen was just being kind, so his words were meant literally, wanting him to tidy himself up?

Jian Ruochen took one last glance around the room.

Who would have thought that coming here would lead to such an unexpected find…

If this coworker had been just a bit more honest, less inclined to take advantage, he might never have realized there was something wrong with this medicine.

·

The two left the residential area and got into the car one after the other.

Guan Yingjun pulled out a notepad and a pen, handing them over, "Write your name."

Jian Ruochen took the ballpoint pen, not hiding anything, and confidently wrote on the paper.

Guan Yingjun slowly opened his clenched hand, unfolded a handkerchief, and revealed a piece of paper cupped in his palm.

Two completely different names were laid bare, shattering his last bit of hope.

The freshly written one was forceful and elegant, clearly the result of dedicated practice.

The one soaked in oil was just neat and delicate, almost earnestly naive.

Guan Yingjun's hand trembled slightly as he held the notepad and the paper.

It felt as if an invisible hand were gripping his throat, making his neck ache unbearably, his voice strained, "I want an explanation. How can someone's handwriting change so completely in such a short time? It's only been a month…"

"Who are you really?"

He could barely hold onto those two light objects, lifting his hand to toss them onto the dashboard.

After withdrawing his hand, he reached toward his waist, first touching a gun, then ultimately unable to bring himself to point it at Jian Ruochen, he instead grabbed handcuffs and cuffed Jian Ruochen's right wrist to his own left.

Jian Ruochen gave a flippant excuse, "I've been practicing my handwriting."

Guan Yingjun's gaze dropped heavily.

Jian Ruochen's breath hitched, suddenly sensing an unprecedented, unignorable pressure emanating from Guan Yingjun.

A calm that held restraint, carrying the supreme and unquestionable authority of someone in power.

Jian Ruochen lowered his eyes and said, "Guan Yingjun, if you don't believe me, take me for a DNA test. The admission screening at Hong Kong University Medical School are strict—all the records are there, and DNA was recorded."

He took a deep breath, meeting Guan Yingjun's eyes without flinching, "What are you suspecting me of exactly!"

Guan Yingjun raised his hand, pulling Jian Ruochen closer by the handcuffs, his voice slightly trembling, "You don't even know your own congenital illness."

"You can't develop handwriting like that in a month. You're still lying to me."

DNA…

That was the most crucial part.

The red mole on the ear, the lively expressions, the mixed-race appearance.

All signs indicated that Jian Ruochen's physical characteristics were too distinct to fake.

But how can one person have two souls?

Reason and emotion clashed, absurdity confronted reality.

The conflict between deduction and common sense was tearing Guan Yingjun apart, "Who are you really? Where are you from? How did you get here? Is it…"

The more he dug, the more he learned—and the less he understood.

Jian Ruochen met his gaze, reading the expression on the man's face clearly.

The man's eyes seemed full of turmoil, his entire body taut with strain.

But that energy had nowhere to go, bottled up inside, making him breathe heavily and flush.

Guan Yingjun hung his head, forcing the words out between clenched teeth, "Just tell me… I'm asking you."

Jian Ruochen blinked, studying Guan Yingjun's expression carefully. The man could say something like that, but the look on his face wasn't just coaxing.

He was genuinely struggling, wrestling with himself.

Why?

Jian Ruochen couldn't work it out immediately. He grabbed the chain of the handcuffs and yanked with all his might. Taken by surprise, Guan Yingjun was yanked forward.

Jian Ruochen leaned close to his ear, egging him on, "Detective Guan, if you've got the nerve, put me in the interrogation chair right now. Think of a reason to interrogate me… a narcotics infiltrator or a spy from another country? I'll—"

Guan Yingjun went rigid, like a solid rock.

He stared wide-eyed in shock, "Jian Ruochen!"

Suddenly, this stifled, near-hysterical shout from the throat cut him off.

Jian Ruochen glanced down and saw the faintly bulging vein in Guan Yingjun's neck throbbing.

Guan Yingjun felt as if his sanity was about to slip away with the wind, "If I had wanted to interrogate you, I wouldn't have brought you here, I wouldn't have waited until now, and I wouldn't be sitting here talking with you!"

He unlocked the handcuffs and straightened up, putting some distance between himself and Jian Ruochen, barely maintaining his precarious composure, "I'm taking you to see Li Changyu."

Jian Ruochen narrowed his eyes slightly.

Guan Yingjun was really off.

This behavior didn’t seem to be about proving his guilt at all.

How strange.

Why would Guan Yingjun take him to see Li Changyu?

From a behavioral motivation standpoint,

Detective Guan didn’t seem to be trying to prove he was "guilty" but rather forcing proof that he was "innocent."

So forced that it almost felt like…

self-persuasion.