Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

Meng Zhaowen is back.

He took off his glasses, wiped the moisture off the lenses with the corner of his shirt, and put them back on. His eyes, which always exuded elegance and melancholy, were now filled with solemnity.

"Have some water." Liu Zhen handed over an old kettle.

Meng Zhaowen took it, but didn't drink it; she just held it tightly in her hand.

"The police called Han Dongcheng," he said bluntly, "less than an hour after Zhao Hongtu died."

Liu Zhen paused, and the arc of electricity at his fingertips suddenly shot up an inch, emitting a faint crackling sound.

"Han Dongcheng..." Liu Zhen slowly uttered the name, "The name Zhao Hongtu uttered before his death was indeed correct."

"Han Dongcheng reacted quickly," Meng Zhaowen added, his fingers tracing the rough surface of the kettle. He sensed danger. At this moment, he was either tightening his defenses, retreating into his shell, or... setting a trap, waiting for us to walk right into it."

"So we need to know which path he has chosen." Meng Zhaowen stood up and walked to his side. "I'm setting off immediately for the outskirts of Jingyuan Villa. Every blade of grass and every tree there will become my eyes and ears. I need to find out how much Han Dongcheng knows and what preparations he has made. Only by knowing yourself and your enemy can you win every battle."

Liu Zhen didn't turn around, he just nodded.

He raised his hand, palm up, and a thicker arc of electricity appeared out of thin air, leaping in his palm and illuminating the inextinguishable flame of revenge in his eyes.

"Go scout," Liu Zhen said in a low but firm voice. "I need time to recover my strength."

He turned around, his gaze sharp as lightning: "Han Dongcheng thinks he understands the rules, that he can weave a safety net with money and power. But he doesn't know that the real danger never cares about any cage."

"Its only responsibility is—destruction."

……

Meng Zhaowen arrived in the shadows outside Jingyuan Villa, his dark gray trench coat wrapped tightly around his body, almost blending into the darkness.

Before him was a clump of holly that he had personally encouraged to grow; its roots were still shallow, and its leaves swayed gently in the cool night breeze.

His fingers slowly reached towards the plant, and when his fingertips touched the rough bark, a faint pulse traveled through his nerves to his brain—it was the life rhythm of the plant's slow-flowing sap, the most primal breath from the depths of the earth.

At that very moment, a night breeze swept across the top of the wall, rustling the wild grasses clinging to it.

A slender blade of grass drifted down in the wind and brushed against his cheek.

The touch was gentle, yet like a rusty key, it suddenly shoved into the deepest part of my memory, into a door that had long since rusted shut.

"Click".

The door opened.

Meng Zhaowen stopped moving, her eyes instantly becoming vacant.

He remained squatting, his fingers still pressed against the holly branches, but his consciousness had sunk into a yellowish old sunlight.

……

More than 20 years ago, in the courtyard of my hometown.

The locust trees are in full bloom, and sunlight filters through layers of green leaves, casting dappled, dancing spots of light on the blue brick ground.

The cicadas chirped incessantly, and the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of locust blossoms.

Six-year-old Meng Zhaowen was pushed to the ground by the village children, and his knees hit the stones, burning with pain.

He bit his lip to stop crying, but tears still welled up in his eyes.

Just then, a tall, thin figure rushed over.

"Who the hell dares to touch my brother!"

The older brother, Meng Zhaohui, kicked the leader away and pounced on him without saying a word.

The dull thud of fists hitting flesh, the wailing of children, the scolding of adults... In the chaos, Meng Zhaohui's back stood like a wall, firmly blocking his way.

That night, my father whipped my brother with willow branches for a full half hour.

My brother knelt in the yard, silent, his back ramrod straight.

Only when his father stopped, panting heavily, did he wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth, turn around and smile at Meng Zhaowen: "It's okay, I took it for you."

Later, my older brother was admitted to a university in the provincial capital. Before he left, he patted my brother on the shoulder and said, "Study hard and become a teacher in the future. Teaching children to be reasonable is more important than anything else."

Later, Meng Zhaowen really did become a teacher.

A Chinese language teacher at Chenxi No. 5 Middle School stood on the podium and repeatedly told his students, "A person can bend over temporarily, but cannot live on their knees."

His older brother had established himself in the provincial capital, and every time he came back, he would bring him pastries from the city and listen to him talk about his school life.

My brother always says the same thing: "Focus on teaching and don't get involved in messy things. I'm here for you."

I'm here with you.

These four words were his most solid support in the first half of his life.

……

The scene suddenly changed.

On an ordinary afternoon, he was grading essays in the classroom.

The sun was shining brightly outside the window, and students were playing and laughing on the playground.

My phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

He answered the phone, and a suppressed voice came from the other end: "Are you a family member of Meng Zhaohui? I'm his colleague... Something happened."

What does "something happened" mean?

He didn't understand at the time.

I felt a buzzing in my head, as if I had been hit hard with a stick.

When he arrived in the provincial capital and stood in the morgue, seeing that familiar face turn pale and stiff, he finally understood what "something happened" meant.

The official explanation: suicide out of fear of punishment.

He was suspected of making false accusations and framing others, and committed suicide by jumping off a building while under investigation.

Out of fear of punishment?

suicide?

How could the person who protected him since childhood, the person who said "I'm here for you," commit suicide?

Meng Zhaowen stood in front of the corpse, her mind blank.

He reached out to touch his brother's face, but was stopped by staff: "Family members, please accept our condolences and do not touch the body."

He withdrew his hand, his nails digging deeply into his palm.

At that moment, he suddenly remembered what his brother had said when he last returned to Chenxi City: "There are some unsettling things in the province lately, and I might be busy for a while. You can focus on teaching and don't worry about me."

So, it wasn't because he was busy.

That was going to one's death.

……

The next scene depicts a long journey that lasted seven years.

He quit his job, stayed in the provincial capital, and began to investigate on his own.

For the first six months, he was like a headless fly.

There were no connections, no way to get things done, and no one wanted to talk to the brother of a "false accuser."

He squatted at the entrance of the residential complex where his brother had lived, asking the neighbors, the convenience store owner, and everyone who might have seen his brother.

"Have you seen my brother? Did he show any unusual behavior in his last few days?"

"I heard he offended someone?"

Has anyone come looking for him?

The most common response was a shake of the head, with the occasional person lowering their voice and saying, "Young man, don't investigate anymore. Your brother has messed with the wrong person."

But he didn't believe in superstition.

Gradually, he pieced together the truth: his brother had inadvertently become a witness in a certain case.

The case involved Song Mingzhang—Wang Hongyuan's trusted advisor.

My brother only saw something he shouldn't have seen, yet he became someone who "had to be dealt with."

Seven years.

He spent seven years collecting evidence bit by bit.

The materials were piled up to be as tall as a person, and each page was obtained with time, money, and humility.

He visited every government office in the provincial capital, submitting countless documents.

The other party always says politely, "We understand the situation, go back and wait for news." Then they disappear without a trace.

But he didn't give up.

Because a person can bend over temporarily, but cannot live on their knees.

He himself must first believe in this principle.