Chapter 21

In an unknown alley, the middle-aged man took out a ring from his pocket and put it on.

This was his void ring, which he had kept in his pocket since he started his disguise. He only put it on when the disguise ended.

A qualified disguise pays attention to every detail. In the role of a down-and-out mercenary in his deal with Old Shax, he couldn't have a void ring, even though it looked like a normal ring when not in use. However, mercenaries didn't need rings, even decorative ones.

The void ring contained the data box he had traded with Old Shax. In a secluded area of Geta District, he used the void ring to store it, as carrying the box was troublesome.

After changing back into his regular clothes and returning to the hotel, Xia Lan didn't turn on the room's lighting magic lamp because the moonlight was beautiful tonight.

He pulled the curtains wide open, allowing the moonlight to fill the room.

Sitting on the windowsill, Xia Lan looked up at the sky, where the purple moon shone with a clear, enchanting light.

His deep, cold eyes seemed to be stung by the moonlight, his eyelids slightly closed, his head hanging down. He was looking at his hands, the hands that had killed countless people.

He had killed many people.

With reasons, without reasons, like an executioner.

Tonight, he had killed an innocent person again. He didn't want to kill him, but he did, because he was accustomed to eliminating anything that could harm his future.

For example, the young constable tonight. If he hadn't taken action, his disguised identity might have been wanted by the capital, which would have affected his future plans, even leading to disastrous consequences.

Never underestimate or ignore a small matter, because one day it might turn into a fatal backlash.

Over the years, he had experienced and endured it all.

His body seemed to react on its own, the thought of not killing being too fragile to control his habit of eliminating danger.

Every time his sword took a life, the blood dripped down the blade, and the complex expressions of the dead left him numb.

His heart was cold, his blood was cold.

He had once suffered, as if millions of ants were gnawing at his body and soul.

His other self questioned and tormented him, shaking his beliefs.

As the blood on his hands increased, the pain grew fainter, as if he had lost his humanity.

Numb, heartless.

Some people live not to enjoy happiness but to endure pain. He had a responsibility to live, and his steps could not stop.

Who could understand the heart-wrenching pain beneath his numbness and heartlessness?

The sun rose, and the night passed.

In the alley between Geta District and Tonghua District, this was Delof's second visit, but this time, he was alone.

Delof was almost forty, and he had become accustomed to his current life. After nearly twenty years in the capital's guard hall, he finally became the chief constable of Tonghua District, no longer the young, passionate, and impulsive man he once was.

He had a happy family, a virtuous wife, and filial children. He was no longer the man he used to be. As he became more mature and adept at handling all sides, his once difficult promotions became smooth.

He cherished his current life. In his future, he might be promoted to a senior, idle official in the capital's guard hall headquarters, accumulating a substantial fortune by the time he retired.

So he tried to keep his work stable and peaceful, not wanting any unexpected events to disrupt his future plans.

Last month, his assistant offended someone and was stripped of his position. The headquarters sent him a young man, a promising young man without a powerful background.

Delof liked him because the young man reminded him of his younger self, full of passionate righteousness and a sense of responsibility. He would stubbornly investigate every crime case, tirelessly seeking the truth.

This attitude made Delof uncomfortable, so he understood why his younger self was not favored by his superiors and why his promotions were blocked. Whenever he tried to handle things perfunctorily, the young man would confront him without regard for the rules. Which superior would like such a subordinate?

A few days ago, the murder case in the alley was dangerous. Delof, who had once been a famous figure in the capital's guard hall, knew that the real culprit was someone he couldn't provoke. So he planned to pass the hot potato to Geta District, but his young assistant became stubborn again. If he hadn't suppressed him, the young man might have caused more trouble.

What puzzled Delof was that after the incident, the young assistant didn't seem resentful or dissatisfied. His work was normal, except for the fatigue on his face, which seemed to be due to lack of sleep. So Delof didn't pay much attention to it.

However, his young assistant was late today, and when a murder report appeared before him, he trembled.

Misfortune always comes with ominous premonitions.

Delof looked at his young assistant, who died with his eyes open, and his expressionless face suddenly broke into a forced, dry laugh.

His hands were still in the position of covering his neck, and Delof saw the clean, precise wound, identical to the one on the black-clothed corpse from a few days ago.

He knew that the young assistant must have secretly investigated and recklessly confronted the killer. If he hadn't said something, he wouldn't have died.

So he must have said something, because Delof understood his assistant, just as he understood his former self.

But he was luckier than his assistant. He had offended many people and survived, while his assistant had died.

How could he explain the assistant's death to his superiors? The young man was not an ordinary person, and the superiors would definitely ask for reasons. His plans for a smooth future seemed to be shattered.

After leaving the headquarters of the capital's guard hall, Delof's hands trembled slightly, and when he returned to his quiet, empty office in Tonghua District, the trembling became intense.

Delof knelt on the ground, his fists pounding the hard floor, his face streaming with tears, as his conscience and guilt tormented him.

In the report to the headquarters, he blamed everything on Geta District and described the assistant's death as a result of his personal reckless actions.

He had wronged the young assistant, and it was his fault that he died. He had even twisted and exploited his death to protect his own future.

If he hadn't passed the case to Geta District and investigated it himself, his assistant wouldn't have died. If he had noticed the assistant's unusual behavior earlier, he could have prevented his reckless actions, but he did nothing.

Delof knew he had changed, becoming someone he no longer recognized. He had become like the superiors he once despised, achieving nothing and just getting by.

Because he had considered more.

When the stakes of his career and family were weighed against the assistant's death, he chose the former.

The commotion in the office caught the attention of his colleagues and subordinates. After a few inquiries, Delof dismissed them, lying on the floor, his eyes vacant, staring at the ceiling, mumbling words no one could hear.

In a tavern on the capital's oak avenue.

The tavern was closed, as it didn't operate during the day, but there were people inside, drinking.

"Have you been drinking here for days? Why don't you go find the new man you seduced?"

In the dimly lit bar, a middle-aged man was wiping a silver bottle with a white cloth.

Nini Luo leaned against the bar, her body swaying, and after taking a big gulp from her bottle, she shook her head, her face flushed and drunk. "No need, we'll meet again at the right time."

"Why?" the middle-aged man asked.

"Nothing, everyone has their own things to do," Nini Luo shrugged casually.

"Is drinking all you need?" The middle-aged man stopped his actions, took a bottle from the shelf behind him, and placed it on the bar.

"Um—" Nini Luo turned around, replacing her empty bottle with another, and smiled. "I only drink now."

"What about your subordinates?" The middle-aged man shook his head and continued his actions.

"I sent them out to play. I told them there would be big moves later, so I gave them some time to indulge," Nini Luo opened the bottle and started drinking again.

The middle-aged man said, "You seem to be in a good mood."

"Because I always make myself feel good," Nini Luo chuckled. "I've been wondering for a long time, why do you always wipe that silver bottle?"

The middle-aged man paused, his gaze softening as he looked at the silver bottle. "Because it's the only gift my wife ever gave me."

"Where is your wife?" Nini Luo asked curiously.

"Dead."

"How did she die?"

"I killed her."

After saying that, the middle-aged man continued wiping the bottle, and Nini Luo didn't ask any more questions.

"By the way, how long have we known each other?" Nini Luo suddenly asked.

"Not too long, three years."

"Three years—" Nini Luo leaned back, spreading her arms, as if reminiscing. "I remember that year I just arrived in this country."

"That year, I was just preparing to leave this country," the middle-aged man said.

"But we met."

"So I didn't leave," the middle-aged man said meaningfully. "But now you're preparing to leave before me."

"Eventually, we'll all leave, just at different times," Nini Luo said indifferently.

Everyone has their past, and some live in their past because it's the meaning of their lives.

Nini Luo continued drinking, and the middle-aged man continued wiping his bottle. They both had their pasts, and they both kept their pasts hidden. A certain event in the past brought them together, and they came to the center of this country because they each had something to accomplish.

This was the meaning of their lives.