Chapter 37 – Honesty

Who doesn’t know Jenny?

A nationally renowned journalist, famous for her sharp writing and incisive insight. She has dominated the news industry for nearly thirty years, with countless award-winning reports to her name. Her portfolio alone could fill a tome as thick as a thumb, a testament to the scale of her influence.

The Highway Schoolgirl Sudden Death Case, which once shocked the nation, was first reported by Jenny, sparking nationwide debate.

Talented individuals often carry an air of arrogance. And this is a particularly beautiful and charismatic woman, no less.

She certainly has the right to be proud.

Someone as ordinary as Meng Yi could only think to describe her as “the embodiment of beauty and intellect.”

Lu Anchi raised an eyebrow and shook Jenny’s outstretched hand, completing the greeting: “Hello, I’ve long heard of your reputation. Meng Yi, prepare tea in the reception room.”

At least Meng Yi had that much sense.

The two entered the reception room, where Lu Anchi gestured for Jenny to take a seat and asked, “Ms. Jenny, you’re not here just to tour our bureau, are you?”

Jenny replied, “There’s been a case in Xue City recently.”

“If you’re here to interview about the Rose Murder Case, I’m afraid that’s not possible yet.”

Jenny pursed her lips. “I am actually quite interested in this case. After all, I was the one who reported on his father’s case back then. The Chinese say one should see things through to the end—perhaps I really do share some fate with this father and son.”

Lu Anchi smiled noncommittally.

“Of course, I understand this is a confidential phase, and no interviews are being granted.” Jenny paused, then raised her eyes to meet Lu Anchi’s gaze, asking slowly, “I just wanted to ask about my son.”

Lu Anchi was taken aback. “Your son?”

Jenny’s eyes curved into a smile, the warmth finally reaching her gaze. Mentioning her son, perhaps any mother would be unable to suppress a smile.

“His name is Qin Yuezhang.”

Yan Ru—or rather, the real Qin Yuezhang—listened silently as I finished speaking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hand twitch, lifting slightly before quickly dropping again.

He wanted to reach out but ultimately held back.

After a brief silence, he spoke. “He wasn’t bullying you because you had no one to rely on. He just believed you should be different from those scumbags.”

“What a shame, then. I must have disappointed him.” I turned my face away, coldly adding, “But you’re not him. How would you know what he thought?”

Qin Yuezhang didn’t bother arguing the point, simply stating, “So, you’ve been guiding me to take those photos all along to prove to him that what you did back then wasn’t wrong?”

Yes, my motive was that simple.

Pathetic? I think it’s more tragic than anything.

Didn’t Wei Qinzhou say I was inherently despicable?

Then I’d make his best friend do the same thing I did.

Wouldn’t that prove my actions back then were justified?

Proving my innocence. Those are the four words I hate most, yet it feels like my whole life has been trapped within them.

The only pity is that this is a dream.

The only pity is that Wei Qinzhou has long been dead.

The chirping of insects surrounded us, so vivid it felt like the real world.

If this were reality, we’d likely be sitting across from each other in hostility. Me in shackles, him bathed in light.

How could we ever sit together so peacefully like this?

Blizzard truly is something extraordinary.

I stared into the distant darkness for a long time before saying, “I’m actually a little curious. You regained your memories long ago—why didn’t you expose my identity?”

Qin Yuezhang countered, “How do you know I regained them long ago?”

“Your eyes changed.” I smiled faintly. In a way, I felt like I’d outplayed this renowned psychologist. “After we arrived at Xuehua Middle School, your gaze shifted. You said I looked at you like you were a dog, but the way you looked at me was more like a doctor observing a difficult patient. Especially after Wei Qinzhou appeared—that’s when I became certain.”

That veiled intensity in his eyes was too deliberate. Especially coming from him—it just didn’t fit.

Qin Yuezhang seemed intrigued, gesturing for me to continue.

“Human memories are associative, triggered by many things—scents, colors, specific objects, or even familiar faces. Let me hazard a guess—this is also the principle behind how Anchor Points can awaken subjective consciousness in Blizzard, right?”

Qin Yuezhang turned to me in surprise. I explained, “Does it sound familiar? Those are your words. I’ve watched your lectures—I snuck into one when you visited Xue City University.”

Qin Yuezhang raised an eyebrow. He probably never imagined someone like me—a street vendor, living an ordinary, unremarkable life—would attend his lecture.

He asked, “Then why did you become certain after Qinzhou appeared?”

“You avoided him too deliberately. From start to finish, you didn’t exchange a single word with him—not even a glance. Deliberate avoidance isn’t disdain—it’s guilt.”

Qin Yuezhang nodded in agreement, finally giving me a proper look, as if seeing me anew. “I hadn’t even noticed that myself. Yan Ru, you’re very clever. Under different circumstances, you would’ve made an excellent student.”

Would I?

All this time, we’ve knowingly been playing each other’s roles. Fortunately, tonight we’ve laid everything bare, so I need to seize this opportunity.

The campfire still burned brightly in the distance, the crackling of dry wood faintly reaching my ears.

“You regained your memories long ago. Why didn’t you tell Xu Anran and Gu Lanshan the truth? You could’ve extracted the information you needed from me earlier and ended this operation sooner.”

This time, Qin Yuezhang fell silent. He didn’t answer.

In the years that followed, I would ask him this question repeatedly, but he’d always respond with a mysterious smile, refusing to give me an answer.

Instead, Qin Yuezhang turned the question back on me: “Is Qinzhou really dead?”

Instinctively, I glanced toward the campsite, where the projection from my memories stood dutifully outside Wang Yuehan’s tent, guarding her against fear and danger.

That was just a mirage of Wei Qinzhou’s past self—a puppet moving mechanically according to my memories. In reality, the last time I saw him, his face was serene, as if he were merely asleep.

Wei Qinzhou was truly dead.

Just like Fu Xiaoling back then, he died of cardiac arrest.

I lowered my gaze, fingers tightening around the hem of my shirt. “He’s dead, but I didn’t kill him.”

Qin Yuezhang frowned briefly, but his expression quickly smoothed over. He must’ve already accepted this fact, though perhaps a sliver of hope remained.

“What happened to the body?”

I said, “As a renowned psychologist, is your method of completing a mission really this blunt—just asking directly?”

Qin Yuezhang replied, “I believe you didn’t kill him. Back then, Qinzhou mentioned you to me. He sometimes spoke without thinking, but I trust his judgment of people.”

Praise—everyone loves to hear it.

Then he shifted gears. “What was your goal in escalating this matter? Or let me rephrase: What was your real purpose for entering Blizzard?”