Chapter Ninety-Nine: The Night Before (Part Two)

As Yang Luo was engaged in conversation with Xu Jingyuan at the Yaji Hotel, elsewhere, at a hotel directly under the provincial bureau, Lin Heng sat on the pristine bed, quietly gazing out at the night scene beyond the window. It was not a grand pane of glass in a presidential suite, but rather a modest sliding window. On the bedside table rested the urn.

There was another person in the room. Jiang Chao’an’s gaze drifted between Lin Heng and the urn, finally settling on the latter.

“Officer Lin, the day after tomorrow you’ll be departing for the Imperial Capital. Do you intend to bring Ms. Shen Yunxi... with you?” It was clear Jiang Chao’an chose his words carefully, striving to avoid mentioning “ashes.”

Lin Heng turned, shook his head, and smiled. “I’m not so fragile as to be unable to hear ‘Yunxi’s ashes’... But I haven’t decided where to place them. Whether in Qingxia City, the site of our old orphanage, or the Imperial Capital—any of these places could work, yet each seems somehow unfitting.”

“I can submit an application to have Ms. Shen Yunxi’s ashes stored in the Imperial Capital’s cemetery,” Jiang Chao’an offered, naming the nation’s most renowned burial ground.

Lin Heng refused without hesitation. “Yunxi was just an ordinary person, not a ‘martyr’... That place doesn’t suit her.”

With Lin Heng’s reply, Jiang Chao’an did not press further. Ultimately, Lin Heng himself was the priority. The living outweighed the dead, especially one who possessed extraordinary abilities. As long as Lin Heng made his way north to the capital, wherever he chose to keep Shen Yunxi’s ashes was of little consequence.

“Director Jiang, did you handle the matter I entrusted to you when I arrived at the hotel?” Lin Heng suddenly shifted topics, questioning Jiang Chao’an about another issue.

“You mean the compensation for that rural household in the suburbs? Because you took some of their clothes when you emerged from the forest?” Jiang Chao’an gave a wry smile. “It’s been settled. We compensated them three hundred yuan according to the market value of those clothes. In fact, the family thought the garments had been carried off by the wind and, since they were so cheap, didn’t even bother to look for them. Officer Lin, I have to say, you are remarkably conscientious.”

Jiang Chao’an spoke with a touch of admiration. Of course, there was something he hadn’t mentioned: upon learning that Lin Heng had received the “Mystic Elixir” from an entity called the “Ashen Shadow Envoy” in those woods, the entire mountain range had been cordoned off. Ten or so households relocated, and over a thousand experts and investigators scoured the forest in hopes of finding any trace left by the “Ashen Shadow Envoy.”

Lin Heng knew none of this. Upon hearing Jiang Chao’an’s words, he merely smiled lightly. “Conscientious? Perhaps ‘pedantic’ fits better. I imagine, Director Jiang, when you heard my request, you thought me rather old-fashioned, did you not?”

Jiang Chao’an smiled, sidestepping the question. “But in my view, people like you are the best to get along with—those with principles are far more worth befriending than those without.”

The compliment did not truly brighten Lin Heng’s mood; instead, he shook his head, his smile growing more subdued. “People without principles...”

Seeing Lin Heng’s expression, Jiang Chao’an realized what he was thinking about and tried to amend his words, but Lin Heng raised a hand to stop him, speaking on his own:

“When I became extraordinary, feeling the power surge within me... I was actually afraid.

“This power is overwhelming, vast beyond measure, making me feel as though I could accomplish anything in this world. If I wished, I could trample anyone underfoot, act recklessly, unleash all the darkness within me without fear of reprisal.

“In that moment, I even understood Yang Luo a little—such power intoxicates. To strengthen it, to assert its supremacy, to kill those you resent, those above you, even the innocent—all seem forgivable. Because this power embodies its own rule—a rule above all others...

“Do you understand what I mean, Director Jiang?” Lin Heng gazed earnestly at Jiang Chao’an, who was at a loss for words, lapsing into deeper silence.

Seeing no response, Lin Heng continued, unconcerned. “So, when I realized this... panic and fear immediately gripped me.

“I feared that I, too, might be manipulated by this power, become someone like Yang Luo, make the same decisions—killing without remorse, disregarding all rules. But if I were to become that person, what right would I have to mourn Yunxi? What right to hate Yang Luo? Wouldn’t I have become the very thing I despise?”

Lin Heng took a deep breath, calming himself, and then, as though pronouncing a verdict, declared, “That is why I must restrain myself, control my power, and not use it to disregard the law, to become lawless—because I refuse to become what I loathe.

“To take what belongs to others demands compensation; to harm the innocent requires restitution. That is the rule—I am willing to submit myself to the law, to be bound by it. No matter how minor the statute, I will obey it. This is my creed. If I cannot, then I have no right to shamelessly mourn Yunxi, nor to draw a clear line against what I seek to oppose.”

Lin Heng’s words were resolute, his eyes filled with unwavering determination.

Jiang Chao’an felt the force of that resolve. For the first time, he found himself admiring the steadfastness of the man before him. He drew a deep breath.

“Officer Lin, even if you were not extraordinary, you would be an outstanding enforcer of the law,” Jiang Chao’an said sincerely.

Lin Heng, however, had already subdued his aura; the determination so evident moments before had faded entirely. He smiled faintly, saying nothing more.

...

After Jiang Chao’an left the room, Lin Heng was alone. With no one around, in the quiet of the hotel, he sat on the bed, staring out at the night, lost in prolonged silence.

But just then, his phone vibrated softly, startling him. He took it out to see a notification: his email account had just been accessed by “another device,” causing his expression to change.

...At this point, all his communication accounts were under strict surveillance—how could anyone have the opportunity to steal his credentials?

He clicked open the email, and in the next moment, his face froze.

There, in the drafts folder, a newly created message awaited:

“After reading, delete this email, or I’ll do it myself.
...
Tomorrow’s train north: Train No. ZX7198.
Departure time: 16:00.
Stops: XX Station...
My carriage: No. 27.”

There was no need to ask who sent it.

At the bottom of the draft, a paragraph stood out:

“This is your last chance. If you wish to act again, it may be a long time coming. If you don’t want to carry that regret to your grave, then show me your resolve.

...Then, I’ll crush you, just as I crushed that woman.

Of course, you can take this draft and run, trembling, to Nine Division and cry for help. If you choose a life as low as a dog, I’ll let you go—such a choice will put my mind at ease.”

It was an outrageously arrogant message.

Yet Lin Heng’s face showed neither anger nor hatred. In his eyes, only the coldness of ancient, unmelted ice could be seen.

After a long while, Lin Heng closed his email, set his phone aside, and, as if making a decision, clenched his fist.

(End of chapter)