Chapter 23 - Deeply In Love With You [Quick Transmigration]

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Chapter 23: Disruption

 

 

Liao Yan froze, heart clenching once more. "What kind of favor?"

 

"That classmate of yours—Lin Heng, right?" Brother Hai tossed the phone at him. "He's doing better than you. Probably got more prize money too. Didn't even blink when he lent you that cash last time. Kid's probably loaded."

 

Liao Yan caught the phone, barely managing to keep from stepping back. "What do you want with him?"

 

"Nothing much," Brother Hai said with a tight grip on Liao Yan's shoulder, his fingers digging in. "We're just short on funds. Call him. Ask him to meet up. That's it. Help us this once, and we'll never bother you or your mom again. Whatever your dad did—none of it will be your burden anymore. Deal?"

 

Liao Yan winced in pain, his face drained of color. "You already said I owe him money and haven't paid it back. Of course our relationship isn't good—why would he agree to meet? And he never goes anywhere without a driver. Probably has a bodyguard too. If anything happens, we'll all be finished."

 

That gave Brother Hai and his men pause. One of them leaned in and muttered, "He's right. That kid's never alone. No chance to get close."

 

"That's exactly why we need him to lure the kid out," Brother Hai said, looking straight at Liao Yan. "The reason's simple too. Just tell him you're paying him back."

 

Liao Yan froze.

 

"If you don't," Brother Hai went on with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes, "we know the name of your university. Imagine us spreading the word there—about your junkie of a father. Think you'll keep that scholarship?"

 

Liao Yan bit back the pain and stared straight into his eyes. "If I help you, that's no different than you telling everyone my dad was a junkie. Either way, I'm done for."

 

That would be a crime. His family's mess—he could own up to that. But dragging someone else down with him? Never.

 

"Damn brat's got a backbone!" Brother Hai snapped, grabbing him by the throat. The veins stood out on Liao Yan's face as the pressure grew, Brother Hai's voice dropping to a dangerous low. "Listen here. If you don't make that call, I'll go inside and kill your mom right now. Don't think I won't. Your dad's already rotting in some unmarked ditch. Want your mom to join him?"

 

They were running out of time. No telling how long that corpse would stay hidden. They needed to vanish soon—or they'd all be buried.

 

Liao Yan saw the madness behind his attacker's eyes, and slowly, shakily, he shook his head.

 

Only now did he truly understand—his kindness, his silence, his endless compromise had only fed the beast. The more he retreated, the more vicious their pursuit.

 

"You gonna make that call or not?!" Brother Hai's grip tightened.

 

Liao Yan nodded at last. When they finally let him go, he bent over, heaving dryly. Nothing came up. His eyes were glassy, red-veined. He stared at the faint sliver of light seeping through the crack in the door — and dialed the number.

 

The call barely rang once before it connected. "Hello? How can I help you?"

 

"Huayang Road, Alley 36... there's been a murd—"

 

He didn't finish. The others caught on and lunged for the phone.

 

"You little bastard, you've got a death wish!"

 

Liao Yan twisted and smashed the phone against one man's head. Even as he was slammed back against the wall, his expression turned manic. "Shows what amateurs you are," he spat. "My life's already ruined. If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me."

 

There was no more room to give. He had nothing left to surrender. And even in poverty and despair, he refused to become like him—the so-called father who'd dragged them into this pit.

 

"Fuck you!" One of the thugs couldn't hold back. He slammed his fists into Liao Yan's stomach, once, twice—but panic was already setting in.

 

"Hai-ge, what do we do now?!"

 

They weren't afraid to kill—but they sure as hell feared dying.

 

"Run!" Brother Hai growled, clutching Liao Yan's hair. "Even if I don't make it out tonight, I swear I'll come back and end you."

 

"I'll be waiting." Liao Yan's mouth was smeared with blood, yet he laughed so hard that tears nearly spilled from his eyes.

 

"Go!" Brother Hai threw him to the ground. They all scrambled into the car and peeled off into the night.

 

No traffic this late. The cops would be there soon. There might not be evidence yet for what happened to Liao Feng, but if they killed Liao Yan? That would be murder, plain and simple.

 

The car vanished into the shadows. Liao Yan stayed on the ground, head bowed, blood dripping steadily from the corners of his mouth.

 

He'd done it.

 

He wasn't the son of some dead addict. Not anymore.

 

When a trembling, bloodied hand lifted the phone again, the sound of sirens pierced the night. In seconds, the alley was lit up like day.

 

…

 

[Host, Liao Yan was threatened into calling Lin Heng.] 1314's voice rang out.

 

Zong Que's pen stalled, ink spilling onto the page. He reached for his phone.

 

[When did this happen?]

 

In the original timeline, Lin Heng had been kidnapped the summer after their first year of high school. Because Liao Yan's mother had been injured, Lin Heng visited too often, drew attention—and those men noticed.

 

Even though Liao Yan had warned Lin Heng to stay away, no one had expected that the thugs harassing the Liao family would suddenly target Lin Heng instead.

 

That summer had once passed peacefully. The gentle boy had earned the honors he deserved.

 

But now, fate had shifted. Even with the timing changed, was this tragedy truly inevitable?

 

[Tonight. But he was smart. He used the call as a cover to report it to the police,] 1314 replied.

 

[What's the situation now?] Zong Que didn't waste time scolding the system for its dramatic pacing.

 

The overly sentimental system hadn't expressed worry—so that meant Liao Yan was safe.

 

Smart indeed. That boy, though torn between his pride and insecurity, had an unyielding spine.

 

He had always been trying to find a way out—and this time, he found the right one.

 

[The police caught a few of them, but some got away,] 1314 reported.

 

Zong Que's brows knit slightly as he dialed a number. "Hello, Zheng Jiang, do you still have any more comrades working in this line?"

 

When facing men this ruthless, a strong will was crucial—but you also had to be careful not to corner them, or risk provoking a deadly backlash.

 

"I do," Zheng Jiang said, standing below an apartment building, staring up at the now-dark window. "Besides your little friend, is there anyone else you need to protect?"

 

[Host, the way he said that kinda makes it sound like you're cheating on Lin Heng~] 1314 teased.

 

Zong Que ignored it and said, "The person this time is named Liao Yan. He's a classmate. He just called the police after being threatened by a group trying to use him to lure Lin Heng into a kidnapping. Some of them escaped."

 

Zheng Jiang's voice turned serious. "Is he okay?"

 

"He's fine," Zong Que answered.

 

"Good. The police will be watching that area closely. I'll get someone to you right away. No charge this time," Zheng Jiang said, then ended the call.

 

As Zong Que scrolled through his contacts and dialed another number, he muttered: [Don't start talking like Lin Heng.]

 

1314 had thought it was being ignored—then lit up at the reply. [You think I sound like him? Really? Am I that charming too?]

 

The call connected after three rings. A clear, warm voice answered, "Hello, Zong Que? What's going on so late?"

 

"For the next few days, make sure you have someone with you when you go out," Zong Que said.

 

Lin Heng's tone turned curious. "Did something happen?"

 

"You've got a million in prize money. Someone might be watching you," Zong Que replied, though he couldn't explain how he knew.

 

Lin Heng, mid-motion drying his hair, paused. The soft bedside lamp cast a warm glow. "Alright. I'll be careful."

 

The prize money had come from multiple sources, all managed by him with his parents' full trust.

 

He knew the saying: 'A gentleman is not guilty, but his wealth may invite guilt.' But calling at this hour just to say that…

 

"Take a few more people with you," Zong Que added.

 

"Alright," Lin Heng replied with a gentle smile. "I'll take good care of myself—so you don't have to worry."

 

"Mm," Zong Que murmured. He felt reassured.

 

"You've got a competition tomorrow. Get some rest," Lin Heng reminded him gently.

 

"Okay," Zong Que answered.

 

After the call ended, Lin Heng set his phone aside, finished drying his hair, and lay down to sleep. The competition would end tomorrow—and with it, so would many things.

 

...

 

As Zong Que stepped into the competition hall, Lin Heng awoke to birdsong outside his window. After washing up, he set off for school, bathed in morning sunlight.

 

The classrooms rang with the rhythm of recitation, but the rest of the school remained quiet. Far down the road, only a janitor's figure moved faintly. Lin Heng made his way toward the back teaching building. He wasn't here for class today—he'd come to transfer his student records. This was the perfect time to avoid being seen or attracting attention.

 

Just as he reached the building, a figure came rushing down the stairs and turned sharply out of the doorway. The two came face to face, and Lin Heng instinctively stepped aside—only for them to nearly crash into each other.

 

"Liao Yan?" Lin Heng blinked, finally recognizing the person in front of him. His eyes fell on the purplish bruises faintly visible beneath the bandages on Liao Yan's face. "What happened to you?"

 

Liao Yan hadn't expected the encounter either. Seeing the person before him brought a surge of complicated emotion to his chest. He pressed a hand over one of his injuries and said coolly, "Got into a fight. Is that so strange?"

 

Sensing the cold distance in his tone, Lin Heng quickly changed the topic. "Are you here for the transfer paperwork too?"

 

"Yeah. I've got something else to do, so I'll be off." Liao Yan clutched the file in his hands tighter, but just as he moved to walk past, a hand caught his arm. He turned sharply, ready to shake it off, but froze at the voice that followed, filled with concern.

 

"What happened to you?"

 

Liao Yan followed Lin Heng's gaze to his own neck. He pulled his scarf up instinctively and muttered, "It's none of your business."

 

"But—" Lin Heng frowned, heart clenching at the sight of the hidden injury.

 

He knew Liao Yan wasn't the type to get into fights. That excuse was clearly a lie. And a wound like that… something serious must have happened.

 

"I said, it's none of your business!" Liao Yan snapped, jerking his arm free. His breathing quickened. "So what if you know? What are you going to do—spill some of that pity you don't know where else to put?"

 

Lin Heng froze, hand mid-air. "What…?"

 

There was disbelief in his eyes. Liao Yan clenched his fists, blinking away the sting behind his eyes. He laughed bitterly, twice, then raised his head.

 

"What? Did I say something wrong? Don't you just love condescending charity? You've got everything—a perfect family, wealth, you even represent the country in competitions. You've got it all. The only thing missing is a chance to prove how kind you are—and then there's me."

 

Lin Heng's lips pressed into a tight line. "That's not—"

 

"Not what?" Liao Yan's voice trembled with rage. "Isn't it true that what you really want is for me to kneel and thank you for your benevolence? Well let me tell you, I'm not grateful. Not even a little. In fact, I can't stand you. I hate your fake kindness. I hate how you always act like you're better than the rest of us. I desperately want to take your place—so you can rot in the filth and feel what it's like to look up at someone else. So listen carefully: stay away from me. I don't want your pity. I don't want your handouts. And if you dare come near me again, I won't guarantee these bruises won't end up on your face."

 

With that, he turned and strode off, leaving Lin Heng rooted to the spot. He took a long, deep breath, but in his mind, the words Liao Yan had hurled at him kept playing over and over, sharp as blades.

 

His parents had once told him—Give a man a pint of rice, he'll be grateful. Give him a bushel, and he'll resent you.

 

Had he really overstepped?

 

Had he truly been wrong all along?

 

Lin Heng didn't enter the building. Instead, he slowly walked out of the school. When he had arrived, the sunlight was bright and warm. As he left, the shadows cast across the pavement highlighted his slender figure, his silhouette looking thinner, more fragile.

 

From behind the old tree outside the teaching building, Liao Yan stepped out. He gazed at the fading silhouette in silence, eyes burning with an ache he couldn't name.

 

Yes, he did envy Lin Heng—envied his privileged life, his talents, his ease. He'd thought more than once: If I had what he has, I wouldn't be any worse.

 

But that wasn't the whole truth.

 

In his darkest days, those carefully prepared notebooks… the emergency money that showed up just when his mother needed medical care… the anonymous donations from a "charitable foundation"… even the security guard who intervened at the hospital—so many moments, so many silent acts of kindness—all of them had Lin Heng's shadow behind them.

 

Lin Heng was like a light.

 

A light that had illuminated the dark path of his life, a light that had reached even the murky corners of his heart, exposing the ugliness he tried to hide.

 

But still… don't come near him again. Don't come near someone like him.

 

He'd escaped this time. Next time, he might not be so lucky.

 

His warning message was sent. Liao Yan pulled out his temporary SIM card, snapped it in two, and tossed it into a trash bin before disappearing into the streets.

 

...

 

The sun drifted from east to west, then slowly dipped below the horizon. The shifting patterns of light on the window washed over the boy curled on the sofa, then gradually dimmed, leaving him behind in the shadows—without pause, without regret.

 

His stomach growled.

 

Lin Heng reached down and touched his belly, sighing quietly. But he didn't get up to cook. Instead, he walked to the bedroom. In the dark, he bumped into a few things, then threw himself onto the bed.

 

His phone lit up on the sofa, screen glowing softly—once, then fading. Then again. And again.

 

...

 

Zong Que stared at the two missed calls on his screen, then dialed another number and headed toward the exit with urgency. "Hello? What happened to Lin Heng?"

 

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