Chapter 6: Restlessness

Gu Changqing drove southwest, stopping halfway to give Gu Quanan another injection, ensuring he slept more soundly. He took the opportunity to retrieve a pistol from his waistband. He stopped at a convenience store to buy a few things, then continued on until he found an unfinished construction site. After circling the area, he parked the car outside. He tore off a piece of cloth and wrapped it around his face, then dragged Gu Quanan out of the car. Stripping him of his clothes and tossing them back in the car, he found a photo to match his face and hairstyle before slinging him over his shoulder and carrying him into the building, where he dumped him carelessly on the ground.

He had to admit, this bastard looked exactly like him. The man was twenty-three years old. His own body was only eighteen, but years in the mountains had left his skin rough and prematurely aged. The two looked close enough. Any minor differences wouldn’t matter.

Gu Changqing first checked for any scars or birthmarks on the man, then found a bucket of dirty water nearby and dumped it over Gu Quanan’s head. Shocked awake, Gu Quanan tried to sit up but was kicked hard in the stomach, collapsing and vomiting water in great heaves.

Gu Changqing’s eyes darted around. He picked up a length of wood and smashed it down on Gu Quanan’s leg.

A scream tore from Gu Quanan’s lips, veins bulging on his forehead.

Gu Changqing brought the stick down on the other leg, snapping the five-centimeter-thick wood with a sickening crack.

With half the stick still in hand, he rained blows down relentlessly, as swift and merciless as a storm.

“I give up! What do you want from me?” Gu Quanan howled, clutching his head with one hand as he rolled on the floor. The other hand had already been broken in their earlier scuffle by a sharp elbow jab.

Gu Changqing crouched before him, placing the broken stick across his face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Why does Old Dao give you money?”

“I—I get money from him every month…” Gu Quanan gasped.

“Three hundred thousand every month? That generous? Is he running a charity?” Gu Changqing sneered, then struck him across the head, drawing blood.

“I did something for him…” Stars exploded behind Gu Quanan’s eyes as blood ran hot down his face, staining half of it crimson.

“If you talk straight, you’ll get less of a beating! Otherwise, I doubt you’ll survive much more,” Gu Changqing threatened coldly.

“I’ll tell you… A female tourist—she was a student—he drugged her in a bar and she died… Her parents came looking, so he paid me to cover it up…”

Gu Quanan could no longer care about hiding the truth; the blows came without mercy, and the voice was familiar. He realized if he survived this, he’d find out who this man was.

“Damn it, you monsters are capable of anything!” Gu Changqing cursed, laying into him again.

Gu Changqing had always despised people who abused their power.

Just as Gu Quanan thought he was about to be beaten to death and his mind faded into oblivion, Gu Changqing finally stopped, his voice cold:

“Which security office are you from? Who’s your superior? Who’s on your team?”

“Where’s your home? Who’s in your family?”

“What’s your bank password?”

In a daze, Gu Quanan spilled everything he could remember.

Only then did Gu Changqing pull the cloth from his face.

“Look at me! Who am I?”

Gu Quanan managed to open his swollen eyelids and, by the weak light outside, saw a face nearly identical to his own—cold, mocking, and utterly unreal. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him. He stared, incredulous, pointing at the other man. “You… you…”

At last, he realized why the voice sounded so familiar—it was his own.

“I am you,” Gu Changqing said, drawing out the jade dagger and thrusting it into Gu Quanan’s chest.

Blood spread across the jade blade like a spider’s web. Before his eyes, Gu Quanan’s body shriveled, withering into little more than a skeleton.

A faint thread of blood energy surged into Gu Changqing, strengthening him further.

Just as he’d expected, ordinary people didn’t yield much blood energy. In the hands of someone else, this technique would unleash carnage. But he was different. He was a good man.

With the jade dagger, Gu Changqing peeled the fingerprints from all ten of Gu Quanan’s fingers, as thin as a cicada’s wing. He carefully placed them in a small box.

Now he had a house, an identity, a car, even education and a job. Gu Changqing felt he’d done well for himself.

Moreover, with official connections, it would be much easier to track down the supernatural than working alone.

The only problem left was memory. He’d asked a few questions, but he knew nothing about the security office or Gu Quanan’s personal habits and mannerisms.

But that was only a small issue—he already had a solution in mind.

Hoisting up Gu Quanan, who now weighed a mere twenty or thirty pounds, he folded him up and stuffed him into the backpack he’d carried.

There was a river in Angang that led straight to the sea. Gu Changqing drove to the riverbank, packed a stone in with the corpse, and flung the bag far into the river. He found a spot along the shore to hide the bag containing three hundred thousand yuan and the box of fingerprints.

Then he went to a barbershop, producing the photo he’d taken of Gu Quanan earlier.

“Cut my hair to match this style, but make it a little shorter.”

When Gu Changqing left the barbershop, changed into new clothes, he looked like a completely different person.

This time, he drove around for a while before locating a local security substation.

He parked the car on the roadside some distance away, scanned the ground for a paving stone, and hefted it in his hand.

“Damn it, can’t bring myself to do it,” he muttered.

Steeling himself, he rolled on the ground twice, then stood and smashed himself in the head with the stone—once, then again.

Pain exploded in his skull; blood began to trickle down his forehead, blurring his vision.

Gritting his teeth, he struck himself a third time, so hard the world spun.

He tossed the half-brick far away, then pulled his gun and fired at a lamppost and then at a wall.

Head spinning, he staggered toward the police station.

Before he could reach it, officers rushed out, having heard the gunshots.

Gu Changqing collapsed at their feet.

Seeing the gun in his hand, one of them shouted, “Quick, call an ambulance—he’s one of ours!”

…

“I can’t remember…”

“Try harder. What exactly happened?”

“I told you, I can’t remember! You want me to try harder? Do you think if I could, I wouldn’t have?!” Gu Changqing snapped irritably.

“Fine, but if anything comes back to you, you must tell me. Whoever attacked an officer—no matter who they are—we won’t let them get away with it! We’re all behind you.”

The man facing Gu Changqing was a senior officer, higher in rank than him. Seeing that he was suffering from amnesia, he didn’t take offense at the irritability.

Anyone would be upset after something like this—especially struggling with lost memories. Frustration and agitation were natural.

“The hospital says you’re fine. Go home and rest for a few days. Being in a familiar environment will help you recover your memory,” the officer said.

Cases of amnesia after a head injury weren’t uncommon; some recovered within twenty-four hours, others took a month, several months, or even longer.

“So where’s my house? Who’s taking me back?”

Gu Changqing really was on edge now. He’d been in the hospital for three days, and the pearl in his head grew increasingly restless with each passing day, pressing in on him more and more.

It felt—well, like constipation—except in his brain.