Conan: When Shinjiu and Maolilan swap bodies

"but……"

At this point, Qingze paused.

"Since you've been through it, you know that some things happened that year."

Ran Mouri nodded.

That year, Qingze lost his sense of taste.

It's not passivation, but a complete, cold stripping away.

It was as if the world's colors had been instantly drained, leaving only gray and desolate ruins.

The feeling wasn't pain, but something deeper, like being slowly submerged in icy seawater soaked with despair, inch by inch, swallowing up all attachment to life, slowly, suffocatingly, and irrevocably.

He lost the desire and motivation to live.

"Some things just take advantage of your weakest moments, and by the time you want to resist, they've already breached your defenses, and you've lost all your weapons to fight back..."

Let's go crazy, let's destroy, let's drag this world down with us into despair.

That's what he was thinking at the time.

"It's a pity he didn't die."

Qingze tugged at the corners of his mouth, a smile as thin as a blade, filled with the biting mockery of fate.

Such a huge explosion, the entire research base was destroyed, yet he survived...

Ran Mouri knew what the smoke and fire she saw represented.

It was a meticulously planned, grand ritual of destruction, a sacrifice of oneself.

That was the death that Qingze arranged for himself.

This self-destructive impulse was so strong that it jolted her awake from that immersive dream.

The indescribable sorrow made her sob uncontrollably, her throat becoming hoarse from crying.

"You didn't die, which means God wants you to live."

Her voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable certainty.

Qingze chuckled, casually resting his cheek on his hand with his well-defined fingers, while his other hand slowly agitated the bubbly liquid in the aluminum can:

"If I had died then..."

He looked up, his eyes filled with a stagnant, lifeless depth. "How much less bloodshed can this world have? Ran Mouri, you should be praying for my death."

pat-

The spoon was gently placed on the table.

Ran Mouri raised her head, her gaze piercing straight at him:

"I don't want that! I don't want you to die! I want you to live. Qingze, I want you to live well!"

Looking at the pure, almost blinding persistence on "his" face, Qingze lowered his eyelids, concealing the turbulent undercurrent in his eyes.

He put down the Coke can, the metal striking the table with a crisp, cold sound.

He stood up, and the shadow instantly enveloped Ran Mouri.

A cold, viscous, and tangible aura of malevolence, like the breath of an abyss, spread out without reservation.

He looked down at her, a strange smile twisting his lips into a grin that was a mixture of madness, self-loathing, and depravity.

"The bloodshed you've witnessed in these past three years is but a small fraction of what I've experienced in my life over the past decade."

He leaned slightly forward, and the murderous aura he exuded almost solidified as it rushed towards them.

"Ran Mouri, I am an executioner, I am a serial killer, I am a madman in the eyes of others."

"I regard life as nothing, and I regard the law as dust. Don't try to reform me. Villains can never be redeemed."

He seemed to be scaring her, or perhaps displaying his distorted self.

He said, word by word:

"Ran Mouri, I only deserve to go to hell."

This malevolent aura was too strong, too terrifying; Ran Mouri felt herself trembling.

This can't be done, this shouldn't be done!

She suddenly reached out and gripped his sleeve tightly with her fingers.

"Don't talk about yourself like that!"

Don't hate yourself so much, don't have such a strong self-destructive tendency.

So many years have passed, haven't they?

Qingze's gaze slowly moved down and landed on her bandaged hand.

He raised his hand and gently peeled her tightly clasped fingers apart, one by one.

He released the last finger, his voice as soft as a sigh, yet as heavy as a thousand pounds, "You think what you saw was all the despair?"

He forced a cold smile. "For the next few years, every single day, I was in despair."

He grabbed the Coke can from the table, didn't even look at it, and threw it precisely into the corner trash can with a clatter.

He glanced at Ran Mouri, who was frozen in place and pale-faced, paused for a moment, and withdrew all his energy.

"Go and rest after you finish eating. Remember to apply ice to your eyes to reduce swelling. I have to go now."

After saying that, he fled in a somewhat flustered manner.

Ran Mouri watched his departing figure, her fists clenched.

Why do you hate yourself...?

"Why do you always say these things when I want to get closer to you..."

"Qingze, do you think I can't accept you like this?"

Or are you testing my sincerity?

"If you keep doing this, don't blame me for taking drastic measures..."

Chapter 308 He really is sick

Motorcycles sped through the streets.

The winter wind carried a biting chill, turning Qingze's ungloved hands red.

He seemed oblivious to everything, silently twisting the accelerator faster and faster, making the winter wind even more biting.

On the street, a traffic policeman on duty felt something suddenly flash by.

Did something just pass by?

"There was a motorcycle speeding, seriously speeding, at least 180 km/h!"

"Driving that fast in the city?! Are you out of your mind?!"

"Judging from this, it's only a matter of time."

"We're not going to pursue them?"

"How can you catch up? Can you even catch up?"

"That's true... I hope that when these racers die, they don't affect other people..."

Aozawa returned to his residence in Beika Town, still feeling the chill.

Inside the house, the potted plants that Ran Mouri bought were drooping and withered, their leaves yellow and curled, looking like they were about to die because no one had watered them.

Qingze stared silently at those few glaring patches of withered yellow.

Finally, he turned and went to the kitchen, where he took out a kettle.

Turn on the tap, and your fingers, which have been frozen almost to the point of numbness, become stiff and unresponsive.

He placed the kettle heavily on the counter, looking at the pair of hands that were red from the cold and trembling slightly.

This isn't his hand; it's Ran Mouri's hand.

He turned the tap on the hot water and immersed his hands deep into the warm water.

The warm touch enveloped the frozen skin, gradually awakening the numb senses.

Water was poured into the flowerpot from the kettle, and he watched as the dry soil gradually became moist, like a thirsty person swallowing sweet rain.

He ultimately wanted to live.

Otherwise, he wouldn't still be alive now.

He longed for warmth and light, just as a plant longs for rain and the sun.

But when warmth came, he felt unworthy.

He's conflicted, he's torn.

He wanted it, yet he dared not possess it.

When Ran Mouri tried to back away, he grabbed her hand, and when she came closer, he pulled away.

He himself couldn't explain what kind of mentality this was.

He thought to himself, "He really is sick."

Very ill.

My phone rang in my pocket. I picked it up and saw that the caller was Eri Kisaki.

"Xiaolan, where are you? Why aren't you home? Your foot isn't even healed yet, where have you gone?"

Her voice was somewhat anxious and tinged with unease.

"I'm buying groceries, what's wrong?"

Hearing their daughter's voice, the couple on the other end breathed a sigh of relief.

Eri Kisaki complained:

"It's all because of those annoying reporters who kept asking your father questions, which affected my work. I had to put my work aside for a couple of days and come back to rest..."

Qingze said with a troubled voice, "It's really annoying..."

Eri Kisaki said earnestly, "Ran, don't go running around lately. I have a feeling this isn't as simple as it seems..."

In the past two days, the topic of Shinichi Kudo has suddenly become very popular.

Countless reporters inexplicably began digging into whether this "savior of the Japanese police," who had been missing for a year, was dead or alive.

Some people even drew parallels to Kogoro Mouri.

The reasoning sounds quite reasonable.

There must be a connection between the disappearance of Shinichi Kudo and the rise of the previously silent Kogoro Kudo.

What is the reason behind the "Sleeping Kogoro" being asleep?

What? "Sleeping Kogoro" has lost his ability to sleep.

The various topics generated a lot of buzz, with half of the reporters flocking to Shinichi Kudo's friends, neighbors, classmates, and parents, while the other half went to Kogoro Mouri.

As Kogoro Mouri's wife, Eri Kisaki was also affected.

Reporters surrounded her law firm, making it impossible for her to work normally, so she had to take a temporary leave of absence.

As for Ran Mouri, who is both Shinichi Kudo's childhood friend and Kogoro Mouri's daughter, she will only encounter more harassment from reporters.

This is also why Qingze's irritable mood and absence from school these past two days did not arouse the couple's suspicion.

"I think it's probably revenge," the girl sighed, her voice tinged with unease and sorrow.

"When Shinichi first disappeared, some reporters did discover the problem, but it was all just speculation and small-scale reporting, and it did not attract much attention."

"The sudden influx of reporters on this topic must be a conspiracy; they want to find Shinichi this way..."

Qingze knew that this was retaliation from Binga.

The internet, public opinion.