Chapter 20 – Innocence

The conference room at Weiyao Technology’s headquarters was brightly lit.

A ten-meter-long oval table occupied most of the space, capable of seating up to thirty people for meetings.

Meng Yi had never imagined that one day he would be sitting here. Beside him were Lu Anchi and Qin Yuezhang, while opposite them sat Xu Anran in a well-tailored suit. All eyes were fixed on the technician presenting at the front of the room.

On the north wall of the room hung a large-screen computer, where a man in a white lab coat was giving a presentation.

“Our Blizzard system, though primarily designed to treat mental health conditions, is ultimately an auxiliary product that complements the work of neurologists. Blizzard creates a simulated, concrete subconscious layer—the Snowscape, commonly referred to as a ‘dreamscape.’ The psychological traumas patients have experienced in reality will resurface here. Our technicians will develop tailored solutions to heal these wounds based on individual cases.”

Qin Yuezhang had long heard of Blizzard, but this was his first time hearing such a detailed explanation. He listened with great interest, occasionally nodding in agreement.

Much of the technician’s presentation overlapped with Qin Yuezhang’s professional expertise, and at certain points, he couldn’t help but marvel at the ingenuity of Blizzard’s original designer.

“After several generations of research, we’ve largely overcome the challenges related to life-threatening risks,” the technician said, flipping to the next slide.

Lu Anchi’s fingers twitched slightly, while Xie Ning, sitting beside him, straightened her posture.

“All participants, including the patient, must have their primary consciousness completely suppressed to enter the subconscious layer—the Snowscape. Therefore, before their primary consciousness is reactivated, participants will be in a state of disorientation, which can be understood as ‘amnesia.’ However, there’s no need to worry. Our Blizzard system will load coded memories into each person’s subconscious, such as ‘who am I’ and ‘where am I,’ to help patients integrate into the Snowscape.” The technician gestured with his arm and smiled.

Meng Yi clicked his pen. “Why go through all this? It seems… odd.”

What he really wanted to say was that it felt unnecessary.

The technician pointed at the screen. “At first, we thought so too. But what happens in the Snowscape is beyond our control. If a person’s primary consciousness isn’t reactivated, dying in the Snowscape will simply return them to reality—they’ll wake up. Just like how dying in a dream doesn’t stop us from waking up and continuing our lives, right?”

Meng Yi nodded.

“But if their primary consciousness is fully reactivated in the Snowscape, then encountering danger—or death—carries a real risk to their life and health.”

The human consciousness is a mysterious thing, composed of countless neurons. It is powerful, yet also fragile.

Qin Yuezhang frowned. “As you said, without primary consciousness, one is in a state of disorientation. So how do they know how to act or what to do? It’s like how in dreams, we often let our thoughts run wild. But that doesn’t seem to have any therapeutic effect.”

“As expected from a renowned psychologist, you’ve pinpointed the key issue.” The technician raised an eyebrow, offering a flattering remark before continuing leisurely, “This is where another core technology of Blizzard comes into play—the Anchor Point.”

The first half of my life seemed trapped in a vicious cycle, one called “proving my innocence.”

Anyone could casually claim I wasn’t a good person, while I had to spend years of painstaking effort to prove that I was. Even as the son of a murderer, I could still strive to be a good person.

Yes, when I devoted myself to being good, no one believed me. But the moment I truly lost my mind, everyone turned around and accused me of not being good enough.

It was laughable.

They demanded that I open my bag for them to inspect and judge, all under the noble pretense of “proving my innocence.”

It wasn’t until much later that I realized one thing—other people’s opinions didn’t matter, and I didn’t matter to them either. They enjoyed mocking the weak—it was just a spice in their lives, not a necessity.

The only one truly trapped in the laughter, from beginning to end, was me.

I stood protectively in front of my woven bag, putting on a tough front while inwardly trembling. “I told you I didn’t steal anything. There’s nothing in my bag.”

The more I resisted, the more convinced they became that I had something to hide.

An old woman rasped, “Young man, just show them. Once they see, they’ll have nothing to say.”

Someone else chimed in, “Yeah, if you’re not guilty, just open it!”

“If it were me, I’d show everyone without hesitation!”

“Could it really be him? Maybe he’s been trouble since he was young…”

I took a deep breath, ultimately succumbing to that ridiculous “proving my innocence” farce.

“Fine, look if you want.”

As soon as I said it, the young man stepped forward, dragged my woven bag out from under the seat, and slashed it open with a small knife from his keychain.

The bag wasn’t high-quality—once torn, the threads unraveled rapidly, leaving the bag limp like a corpse.

The women’s clothes inside spilled onto the floor. I had packed them neatly, sorted by color—it had taken effort. But ruining that order took no effort at all.

He smirked, squinting at me. “Still as popular with the ladies as ever, huh? Living off women now?”

I didn’t answer.

Because the moment he said those words, I remembered who he was—his name was Sun Danhao. We had attended the same high school.

All the things I thought were behind me came rushing back.

Sun Danhao carelessly sifted through my belongings, tossing the neatly packaged clothes everywhere.

A clean garment slid to someone’s feet. They didn’t pick it up—just recoiled as if touching my things might infect them with the possibility of becoming a murderer or a thief.

Sun Danhao said, “This is the only way to search thoroughly. I’m just helping clear your name.”

Was he? Such a righteous excuse.

Of course, nothing was found. But he shrugged indifferently. “Guess it really wasn’t you.”

I stood in the train’s aisle, staring at the scattered clothes.

Red, green, white, purple—bright, glaring colors strewn across the floor. It wasn’t just clothing. It was my dignity, trampled and humiliated over and over.

No one stepped forward to speak up for me. No apologies, no resolution. The farce began abruptly and ended just as suddenly. The onlookers had only wanted entertainment—who would stand up for a mere spectacle? They just found it dull, shrinking back into their seats, disappointed that the story hadn’t taken a more interesting turn.

The train conductor arrived belatedly, pausing at the sight of the mess before approaching me. “Sir, do you need any help?”

I opened my mouth but only shook my head.

I was used to this, wasn’t I? Since childhood, the most kindness I could expect was cold indifference.

Sun Danhao seemed relieved. He lounged in his seat, eyeing me sidelong. That look seemed to say that after all these years, I was still the same coward.

I crouched down, gathering the clothes back into the torn bag. The fabric was ruined—I couldn’t seal it properly. All I could do was clutch one corner to keep everything from spilling again, making sure it didn’t block anyone’s way.

The woman who had lost her belongings loudly demanded that the conductor check the surveillance footage and give her answers. But none of that concerned me anymore.

The couple beside me kept their distance. Their child kept reaching for the oranges I’d left on the table, only to be scolded by his mother each time.

At that moment, I thought—to hell with proving my innocence!

The moment their suspicious eyes landed on me, an invisible stain had already marked me. No matter how much I tried to prove myself, it wouldn’t change a thing.

A deep-seated resentment festered in my bones, burning through me like a slow fire.

The train entered a tunnel, plunging everything into darkness. The window became a murky black mirror. In its reflection, I saw my own face.

Expressionless. Pitiful. Pathetic.