Reborn a day later, I emptied my enemy's possessions beforehand.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, and Hao Yuzhu's voice clearly changed, from casual to tense:

"Officer? What happened? I didn't do anything wrong."

"We're not saying you've committed a crime, we're asking you to cooperate with an investigation. You know Zhou Haibing, right?"

"Yes, I know him. I've known him for almost twenty years. What happened? What happened to him?"

"You'll see when you get here. Is it convenient for you to come over now?"

"Sure, sure, I'll be right there. The North City Branch, right? I know the place, it'll only take forty minutes."

The police officer hung up the phone and dialed a second number.

Kong Zhiqiang's reaction was similar to Hao Yuzhu's. He was nervous at first, but after hearing Zhou Haibing's name, he was silent for two seconds before saying he would be there soon.

The third call was made to Liu Changhe, who was busy in the warehouse. He heard it was the police asking him to come in and cooperate with an investigation.

He paused for a moment, then asked, "What happened to Zhou Haibing?" The police officer didn't answer directly, so he didn't press further, saying, "I'll be there right away," and hung up.

Captain Fang closed his notebook, turned around, and looked at Wang Jinshan, Sun Guiying, and Zhao Shuzhen. His gaze swept over their swollen faces, and his voice was neither loud nor soft:

"We will take a statement after they arrive, and we will notify you then. Please wait here for a moment."

However, I want to make it clear first—if these three people only received payment and did not participate in anything else, they can leave after the questioning.

We can't just detain people arbitrarily.

Wang Jinshan opened his mouth as if to say something, but then swallowed it back.

He nodded.

The three people were taken to the lounge next door.

Sun Guiying sat on a plastic chair, put the slipper she had thrown off back on, put her feet together, placed her hands on her knees, and lowered her head, seemingly lost in thought.

Zhao Shuzhen sat opposite her, her face still wet with tears, sniffling every now and then.

Wang Jinshan stood by the window, watching the cars coming and going in the parking lot outside, without saying a word.

The lounge was extremely quiet, with only the ticking of the wall clock and the occasional footsteps coming from the corridor.

None of the three spoke.

……

Zhou Dongsheng's home.

Zhou Dongsheng felt as if he had been thrown from a great height and landed on a concrete floor.

Every part of my body aches, a pain that seeps from the very bones, a dull, aching ache, like something that's been taken apart and then haphazardly put back together.

He lay face down on the cold floor, the chill spreading from his cheeks throughout his body, making him shiver and hiss in pain.

He struggled to turn over, lying on his back, where the familiar ceiling light came into view—the light was still there, but it felt like something was missing.

His mind was foggy, as if it were stuffed with a wad of wet cotton. His memory was stuck on yesterday afternoon when his father, Zhou Haibing, came to the house and said he had something to say to him. He was engrossed in playing a game at the time... and then what?

Then there is no more.

Zhou Dongsheng propped himself up on his arms and sat up. This simple movement aggravated the numerous wounds on his back, causing him to grimace in pain.

He glanced down at his arm, his pupils dilating sharply—

His arms were covered with bluish-purple bruises, some of them turning purple and black, others tinged with dark red, as if he had been repeatedly whipped with something.

His gray T-shirt was tattered beyond recognition, reduced to shreds hanging on his body, revealing crisscrossing scars on his chest and abdomen.

"Who the hell did this?!"

Zhou Dongsheng's voice was hoarse and shrill, squeezed out from behind his chapped lips, as if someone were choking him.

His gaze moved from his arms to his body, and then from his body to his legs. Every inch of exposed skin was covered in wounds, blue, purple, and red, in varying shades, a shocking sight.

He turned his head and saw Zhang Lijuan lying next to him.

Zhang Lijuan lay on her side on the floor, curled up like a cooked shrimp.

Her hair was a mess, and she had injuries on her face—a bruise on her left cheek and dried scabs at the corner of her mouth.

Her phone wasn't with her, and the ground was empty, without even a piece of paper.

She was wearing a pink slip dress, which was crumpled up and the neckline was askew, revealing half of her shoulder, which also had a few faint red marks.

"Lijuan, Lijuan, wake up!"

Zhou Dongsheng reached out and nudged her shoulder.

As soon as my fingers touched her skin, she moved slightly, mumbled something indistinctly, and then stopped moving.

He pushed her again, this time with more force. Zhang Lijuan's body swayed, and her eyelids finally moved, slowly opening.

Zhang Lijuan's eyes narrowed at first, then suddenly widened.

She sat up abruptly, the movement so fast that it aggravated her injuries, causing her to cry out in pain.

She looked down and saw the bruises on her arm, then touched her face. Her fingers touched the wound at the corner of her mouth, and she hissed in pain.

"How did I end up on the floor? What... what happened?"

Zhang Lijuan's voice was still shaky, and her eyes were unfocused, like someone who had just been pulled out of the water and hadn't recovered yet.

Her gaze swept across the room, landed on Zhou Dongsheng, and then froze as if someone had pressed a pause button.

His eyes were wide open, his mouth was agape, and he pointed a finger at Zhou Dongsheng's body, his voice distorted:

"Dongsheng, you...you're covered in injuries? Your clothes...your clothes are so torn? Who hit you?"

Zhou Dongsheng looked down at his arm again, and the scars looked even more shocking under his gaze.

His mind was still a mess; his memories were like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that had been shattered, and he couldn't piece together a complete picture.

His voice was urgent and flustered, and his words were incoherent:

"I don't know! I woke up like this! My whole body aches, like I've been whipped with a belt."

Zhang Lijuan frowned:

"Who did this? Who did this? Weren't we playing games at home yesterday? How did we end up sleeping on the floor? And you got beaten up like this?"

Zhou Dongsheng did not answer.

He pushed himself up from the ground, but his knees buckled and he almost fell again. He managed to steady himself by holding onto the wall.

He stood there catching his breath, and after the dizziness subsided, he began to scan the living room with his eyes.

Then he froze.

The living room was empty.

The sofa is gone, the coffee table is gone, the TV is gone, and the stereo is gone.

The floor was spotless, without even a crumpled piece of paper. Only a few marks left by furniture legs proved that something had been placed there.

He and Zhang Lijuan had just been lying on the floor in the middle of the empty living room, like two abandoned old objects.

"Where—where is this?" Zhang Lijuan also stood up. She was stunned by the sight of the living room, her voice filled with terror.

"How did we get here? This isn't our home, is it?"