Chapter 22 - Deeply In Love With You [Quick Transmigration]

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Sudden Change

 

 

The alley was dim and damp, even under bright daylight. Twisted trees clung to the derelict path like creeping vines, weaving the abandoned stretch into a wild thicket. Every now and then, a faint rustling echoed from within, only to be swallowed by the eerie silence punctuated by distant footsteps.

 

"Ahhhh!!!"

 

A figure fell to the ground, pinned by several men who had caught up to him. No amount of struggling could break him free.

 

His hair was yanked up—his face bore the scrapes of gravel and dust, blood streaking his skin. He looked utterly wretched.

 

"Running? What, you're not running anymore?" Brother Hai yanked the man's head back by his hair, slapping him hard across the face. "All these years, and this is the first time I've seen someone dare owe me money and not pay up!"

 

"Hai-ge, I swear, I don't have it." The man's mouth bled as he panted. "If I had the money, I'd have paid you! Just give me a bit more time—I've put everything into this round. I'm gonna turn it around, I swear! I will!"

 

His voice carried a trace of madness. Brother Hai released his hair, stood up, and drove his foot into the man's back, pressing him down hard, his tone dripping with mockery. "You? Make a comeback? From that casino? Try in your next life. If you can't repay the debt, your organs might fetch a decent price at least."

 

Someone pulled out a knife. The man's face went pale. As the blade tapped his cheek and the group momentarily loosened their grip, he summoned all his strength to break free. Ignoring the gash on his face, he lunged forward in desperation. "I'll fight you bastards to the end!"

 

His shove sent a few stumbling back, but Brother Hai stepped aside, then drove a sharp kick into the man's chest, sending him crashing to the ground. The others quickly recovered and began kicking him.

 

"Fuck!"

 

"Today you're dead, you hear me?!"

 

"You dare hit me, you bastard!"

 

Each kick landed with brutal force. The man curled up on the ground, shielding his head as best he could, but then—suddenly—his entire body trembled. He loosened his arms and, with a dazed expression, clung to one of the men's legs.

 

"Give it to me... give it to me..."

 

That man yanked his leg away in horror, kicking the man back down. Sprawled on the ground, the man began to convulse violently. His fingers clawed at the dirt, heedless of the pain, as he rolled back and forth muttering incoherently, "Just a little... just a little is enough... I can't take it, it's too much..."

 

He grabbed handfuls of his own hair, the acrid stench of urine beginning to rise around him. A few of the men watching frowned in disgust.

 

"He's hooked... on something," Brother Hai muttered, frowning.

 

Gambling could ruin a man's fortune—but drugs? Drugs turned men into ghosts. Once someone was addicted, nothing mattered more—not even life. Any hope of recovering their money was gone.

 

"Ahhh..." The man on the ground had already lost all awareness. Froth and drool ran from the corner of his mouth, smeared with blood. There was no dignity, no trace of humanity left.

 

"Fucking disgusting!" one of the men spat.

 

"What now, Hai-ge?" a skinny man asked. "Even if we wanted to sell his organs, they're probably worthless now."

 

"Fucking hell!" Brother Hai kicked the man twice more, each strike aimed viciously at the chest.

 

"Calm down, Hai-ge. He's got no money, but he's got a wife and a son." Another man stepped in to block him, pulling out his phone. On the screen was a video—a student award ceremony. The face in the video was Liao Yan's.

 

But that wasn't the important part. The key detail? The scholarship prize amounted to several hundred thousand yuan.

 

Brother Hai paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "You get that much money just from doing well in school?"

 

"The father's useless, but the son's got a bright future," someone chimed in. "Honestly, we should've just waited a few months instead of coming out here like this."

 

"True," Brother Hai nodded, finally appeased. "Let's go back."

 

But just as the video was turned off and they lowered their heads, they noticed the man on the ground had gone completely still. Frothy saliva mixed with blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.

 

"Hai-ge, something's wrong," one of them said nervously, pressing his fingers to the man's neck. He turned back, his face pale. "He's not breathing."

 

The group fell into a brief, stunned silence. Sure, the guy had a drug problem—but they'd beaten him too. Who knew which kick had done the real damage?

 

One man looked toward Brother Hai, cautiously. "What should we do?"

 

Debt collection was one thing. Killing someone—that was a different matter altogether. If the police got involved, no amount of money could save them.

 

Brother Hai took a deep breath, eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. "We're in the middle of nowhere. No cameras, no witnesses. He died of withdrawal. We're just being good Samaritans and burying the body."

 

The others nodded silently. Two men lifted the corpse, carrying it toward the forest at the end of the alley.

 

The smeared blood on the ground was half-heartedly wiped away by the soles of their shoes.

 

...

 

A wide runway welcomed a returning plane. In the bright, bustling airport terminal filled with chatter and the rumble of luggage wheels, a call connected, and the phone was pressed to a young man's ear.

 

"I just landed," he said with a smile, stopping by a sunlit window.

 

"Did you do well?" Zong Que asked, catching the lilt in his voice.

 

"Mm. Third place," Lin Heng exhaled. "The competition was tough this time."

 

He had always known there would be people out there smarter than him—better than him. But only by truly stepping into the arena did he realize just how vast the world was. There were geniuses everywhere. And some of them worked even harder than he did.

 

The pressure was unimaginable. Just thinking back on the contest still made his heart pound. There had been an element of luck, too. If he had slipped up even slightly, he might not have placed at all.

 

"That's impressive," Zong Que said.

 

Lin Heng's competitions had long surpassed the bounds of national events.

 

"How's it going on your end?" Lin Heng asked, his palm gently tightening around the phone at the sound of his praise.

 

"One more day until my contest. We're still in training. I'll be flying back the afternoon after." Zong Que paused, then asked, "How are you getting home?"

 

"My mom's flight lands around the same time, so I'll just wait at the airport and we'll go back together with the driver," Lin Heng said playfully. "Worried about me?"

 

"Mm."

 

That familiar, affirmative sound made Lin Heng's heart thump uncontrollably. His cheeks flushed with heat. He knew Zong Que was just concerned about his safety—but still, he couldn't help reading more into it.

 

If someone didn't care, why would they always worry about your safety?

 

He took a steadying breath, not realizing just how gentle his voice had become. "Don't worry. I'd never do anything behind your back."

 

Zong Que didn't reply right away. Lin Heng fidgeted, about to say something to lighten the mood, when he heard Zong Que speak again: "Don't joke about this. It's important."

 

The warmth on his face deepened. Lin Heng took a deep breath and pulled the phone slightly away, calming his voice. "Relax. The security here's good. I'll keep your warning in mind and won't go wandering off on my own. You just focus on your contest."

 

"Mm." Zong Que responded softly.

 

"The driver's calling. I'll hang up for now," Lin Heng said with a small smile as he glanced at the new incoming call.

 

"Alright."

 

As the call ended, Lin Heng ran a finger over the screen. Then he picked up his suitcase and walked toward the airport exit, answering the new call as he went. "Hello? Uncle Wang, I've landed. I'll be right out…"

 

...

 

In the second semester of their second year at First High, quite a few students had already secured guaranteed placements at top universities. Even if not the most elite, most of them were headed to popular and competitive majors. Still, the classrooms hadn't emptied out—some students stayed on to complete the curriculum, others were just waiting on administrative procedures.

 

News of Lin Heng's third-place win in the international competition swept through the school in no time.

 

"Third place? That's insane!"

 

"If anyone's the school's pride, it's him!"

 

"Third? Who came in first?"

 

"I think it was that genius from City A—the one who got invited to enroll straight from middle school."

 

"Wow, impressive."

 

When someone was so far out of reach, admiration was all that remained. They became a figure you could only look up to, never touch.

 

Liao Yan listened to the flood of praise around him, glancing at the seat Lin Heng used to occupy. Lin Heng had come to campus briefly and left just as quickly. After graduation, chances were, they'd never cross paths again.

 

As the bell rang for evening self-study, students gradually left campus. In just ten minutes, the place had nearly emptied out. Liao Yan followed the crowd to the bus stop. Once onboard, he sat by the window and took a deep breath as the city passed by.

 

The debt collectors hadn't shown up in a while—maybe they had finally found Liao Feng, or maybe something else had held them up. Either way, he knew he had to wrap up school matters quickly and get his mother out of this city.

 

The bus reached its stop. The night was pitch-black. Gravel crunched beneath his shoes as Liao Yan used his phone's flashlight to light the way. He thought of the dumplings his mom said she'd make and unconsciously quickened his pace.

 

But as he turned into the alley, the light from his phone fell on a car—familiar and foreign at once. In that instant, it was as if all the blood in his body turned to ice.

 

Liao Yan spun around, ready to bolt.

 

Behind him, a man's voice drifted over, low and dangerous: "You wouldn't want me knocking on your door in the middle of the night, would you?"

 

His footsteps halted—too late. In seconds, several men seized him, wrenching his limbs and pinning him against the wall.

 

His phone was yanked from his hand. The dim light that had just lit his way now stabbed at his eyes.

 

"What do you want?" Liao Yan blinked rapidly, forcing back the burn behind his lids. He strained to see the man in front of him.

 

Compared to a few months ago, the man looked far more disheveled. A scruff of beard darkened his face, and his bloodshot eyes were filled with something sharp and violent. Just looking at him made one's heart skip a beat.

 

"Of course we want money. Bet you've got a nice pile of scholarship cash by now," the man—Brother Hai—said as he tightened his grip around Liao Yan's neck. "Your dad can't pay up anymore because of his drug habit, so now it's your turn to pay."

 

Liao Yan's pupils shrank. Head tilted back, he asked hoarsely, "How much is left?"

 

"Three hundred thousand," Brother Hai said. "What you paid before was just the interest."

 

"I'll give it to you," Liao Yan said, closing his eyes for a moment. As long as he could shake them off, the money could be earned again.

 

Once the debt was cleared, he'd take his mother and vanish. Change their names, disappear—make sure that man would never find them again.

 

"Where's the money?" There was a flicker of barely restrained excitement in Brother Hai's eyes.

 

"Let me go, and I'll give it to you." Liao Yan met their wary gazes. "I won't run."

 

They released him. He turned around, opened his backpack, and pulled out a card from a hidden pocket at the very bottom. "It's all in here—three hundred thousand. Give me the loan contract."

 

"You're not pulling a fast one, are you?" Brother Hai eyed the card. "Carrying that much on you?"

 

"My mom wanted me to pay it all off too. From now on, that man's debts have nothing to do with us," Liao Yan replied.

 

It wasn't that he didn't want to call the police and have these people arrested. He just couldn't take the risk. He was this close to starting a new life with his mother. If even one of them slipped through the cracks, or if they were ever released later… their peace would be shattered.

 

"Mm. Give him the contract," Brother Hai ordered. One of his men handed Liao Yan a document—signed and fingerprinted.

 

"You've got more guts than your old man."

 

Liao Yan handed over the bank card and said coldly, "He's not my father."

 

He hadn't had a father for a long time.

 

"Alright." Brother Hai logged into his bank account, checked the balance, and nodded. "Looks good."

 

"Hai-ge, three hundred thousand won't last long overseas…" one of the men murmured beside him.

 

Liao Yan took a deep breath, turned to leave—only to be stopped again.

 

"Hey, do us one more favor, will ya?"

 

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