Chapter 36 – Fracture

The news of Weiyao Technology’s involvement in assisting with the Rose Murder Case had long since spread. Many journalists, as well as those looking to ride the wave of popularity or capitalize on the hype, had gathered outside the Weiyao Technology building.

This operation was no longer just about one life—it was also a test of Blizzard.

The public’s understanding of Blizzard had always been minimal, mostly pieced together from the fragmented descriptions shared by wealthy individuals who had experienced it.

One day, outside the Xue City Public Security Bureau.

A low-profile silver-white Phaeton slowly pulled into the open parking lot. The first thing to appear from the car door was a black high-heeled shoe—sharp at the toe, slender at the heel, gleaming with the sheen of leather, like a gentle knife.

A woman with a neat short haircut stepped out of the driver’s seat. Sunglasses obscured most of her face, leaving only the striking red of her lips to captivate.

She turned to close the car door, adjusted the collar of her trench coat, and strode purposefully toward the entrance of the Public Security Bureau.

The steady click of her high heels resounded like the tapping of a keyboard.

Meng Yi was the first to notice the woman with the commanding presence as she walked in. He stood up and said, “Hello, may I help you—”

The woman turned her head slightly, looking at him through her sunglasses, her expression cool as she replied, “I’m here to see your director.”

Meng Yi frowned. Who was this woman, demanding to see the director right off the bat? If everyone asked to see the director, wouldn’t Director Lu be overwhelmed?

Just as Meng Yi was about to respond, coincidentally, Lu Anchi happened to walk out from inside.

“Director!” Meng Yi immediately straightened up.

Lu Anchi asked, “What’s going on? Ma’am, do you need assistance?”

The woman turned to Lu Anchi, studying him briefly through her sunglasses before finally lifting a hand to remove them, revealing a pair of eyes with faint wrinkles at the corners.

Her dark irises shimmered like stars.

She was no longer young—even with meticulous makeup, the traces of time were unmistakable. Of course, she made no effort to hide them.

Just as unmistakable as the wrinkles was the shrewd cunning in her demeanor.

“Hello, you must be Director Lu, correct? I’m Jenny. Pleasure to meet you.” As she spoke, she extended her well-maintained right hand with confidence.

People like me have few redeeming qualities in life, but if there’s one worth mentioning, it’s that I find it very hard to truly bow my head and admit defeat.

I can endure, I can stay silent.

But the more others try to belittle me, the more they try to deny me, the more determined I become to prove that I’m the one who’s right.

Wei Qinzhou grabbed me by the collar, his ink-black pupils glazed with what seemed like mist in the darkness.

“Do you have any idea how close you came to ruining Wang Yuehan?”

I stared back at him expressionlessly. Even if I was physically at a disadvantage, I refused to let myself lose this battle of wills.

Perhaps I had been suppressing my emotions for too long. Perhaps this inexplicable accusation had enraged me. But more than anything, I knew that someone like Wei Qinzhou—a kind-hearted, overly benevolent fool—would never actually do anything to me.

So this time, I didn’t hold back.

“What exactly did I do that almost ruined her?”

“It’s because you did nothing!” Wei Qinzhou’s anger was barely contained. “How can you sleep at night with a conscience like yours? You even wanted to take photos—how could you? What were you planning to do?!”

I sneered, raising an eyebrow as I retorted, “I wanted to gather evidence of their crimes, report them to the police, and make sure every single one of those bullies who tormented me pays for it!”

The venom in my voice made Wei Qinzhou freeze. His grip loosened, and I immediately broke free.

“Don’t they deserve it? If they hadn’t harbored wicked intentions in the first place, how could I have exposed their faults? You were the one who told me to overcome all obstacles and bravely move forward. You taught us that, Teacher Wei!”

Wei Qinzhou stared at me as if seeing me for the first time, his fingers trembling from sheer fury.

In moments like these, words spill out unchecked, unconsidered. Words truly are a blade, sharpened to pierce a person’s weakest points.

“Did you even consider the consequences? Has Wang Yuehan not been kind enough to you?”

“All I know is that this will make those I hate suffer for what they’ve done! Why can’t you all just pretend I never knew about any of this?”

“Self-deception!” he spat coldly.

I said, “Isn’t that what they do too—pretend they don’t see my pain? If they can do it, why can’t I?”

“That’s not the same!” Wei Qinzhou snapped. “I always thought you were pitiful. Trapped in the mistakes of your father’s generation, suffering for no reason. I was such a fool—’the pitiful are inevitably contemptible.’ People like you…”

Wei Qinzhou didn’t pause, the words tumbling out: “You’re just like them—innately vile!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, his expression shifted slightly, his gaze flickering, lips trembling. It almost looked like regret.

But regret for what? That his words hadn’t been cruel enough?

My hands and feet turned icy, and suddenly, I felt an overwhelming sadness. The person I had once believed was full of righteousness might not be any different from the others after all.

His overflowing, misplaced sympathy had led him to casually spout platitudes, yet I had taken them as gospel.

Did he, deep down, look down on me just like everyone else? Did he truly believe that, as the son of a murderer, I was destined to follow in my father’s footsteps?

So any misstep I made would only serve as proof of their assumptions—proof that I, like my murderous father, was inherently depraved.

That the same vile blood ran through my veins, passed down through generations.

How laughable.

Wei Qinzhou, you’re no different from the rest.

No—you’re even worse. You disguise your hypocrisy with righteousness!

From a young age, I learned never to show my pain in front of others. Because it would only become a weakness for them to exploit.

I had to be strong, indifferent—make them think their attacks had no effect on me. They would grow disappointed, lose interest, never realizing it was my best defense.

I let out a low laugh and fired back viciously, “I’m innately vile? Then what about you? Are you any better? You’re just like them—you think I’m helpless and easy to bully, don’t you?”

“I—”

“Otherwise, why did you let those three walk away, but you’re here strangling me and berating me?”

Even if I was in the wrong, was I worse than those three? Why did Wei Qinzhou single me out like this?

Why?

Wei Qinzhou fell silent, at a loss for words. After a long pause, he finally said, “You’ve disappointed me.”

“Oh? Then so be it.” I shrugged at him, feigning indifference. “Save your condescending pity. I don’t need it.”

Wei Qinzhou was so furious he couldn’t speak. He nodded repeatedly before abruptly turning on his heel and storming off.

Only when his figure had shrunk into the distance did I allow my spine to relax, the mocking smile on my lips to fade.

This war of words might have seemed like my victory, but I didn’t feel any joy. Instead, my heart ached with a sense of loss, as if I had stepped into empty air and fallen into an abyss—no ground beneath me, no way to know what fate awaited.

I took a deep breath and suddenly felt something cold on my face. When I reached up to touch it, I realized—at some point, I had started crying.

The dried tear tracks left my skin taut. I wiped away the useless moisture and silently told myself:

I wasn’t wrong.

Just you wait, Wei Qinzhou. One day, I’ll prove to you that it wasn’t me who was wrong, that I’m not the one who’s innately vile!

But in the years that followed, I never got that chance.

The farce ended with the case being closed due to insufficient evidence.

The members of the volunteer teaching group, shaken by the incident, lost all desire to stay and chose to leave early. The school, embarrassed but unwilling to admit it, didn’t even hold a farewell gathering.

They left quietly—what had begun with fanfare ended in bitter irony.

I heard that during the police interview, the officers had asked Wei Qinzhou if there were any other witnesses at the scene. Without hesitation, he shook his head and said regretfully, “No.”

I didn’t know why he did that—to protect me? To keep me from getting tangled up in the mess?

Or was it because, with the case already doomed to end without resolution, he saw no point in involving me further?

That answer remains unknown to this day. After all, the dead cannot answer any questions.