附近人100块钱上门

During his visit to the psychiatrist with Gao Yang, Lin Xian had been cautious. He had disclosed nothing about his dreams, the Genius Club, or the future world they were entangled with. Now, with Zhou Duan Yun and Ji Lin dead, the entire Seven Deadly Sins group had been dismantled, save for the Hollywood actress Angelica. With the notebook back in his possession, there seemed to be nothing left to concern him.

Yet, despite the resolution of all threats and the flawless execution of their plan, Lin Xian felt an unsettling unease. Why, when everything had gone according to plan, did he feel this discontent?

He couldn’t understand his own feelings.

Creak—

The door to the control room opened, and Officer Liu entered, his gaze settling on Lin Xian.

“Lin Xian, we’ve figured everything out. Zhou Duan Yun returned to the country much earlier than we anticipated. He was clever, using multiple fake identities. He came back under the alias Chen Le, which is why we initially couldn’t track his entry.”

“Your strategy was brilliant, Lin Xian,” Officer Liu commended with a click of his tongue. “At first, I didn’t see why you insisted on removing Zhou Duan Yun’s criminal records from the reports. But now, I understand—you were setting a trap, using Ji Lin as bait to draw Zhou out!”

“With Ji Lin now sentenced to death and the others gone, only Zhou Duan Yun and Ji Xin Shui were left unprosecuted. They both knew too much about each other, always capable of turning the other in. Zhou was in a tight spot, especially with his mother still here. Ji Lin could have used her as leverage once he got out, or perhaps Ji Lin knew something that forced Zhou to act. Either way, Ji Lin was the perfect lure.”

“Sadly, Ji Lin was a master of surveillance himself. To keep off his radar, we couldn’t follow him too closely. We only intervened when his electronic anklet signaled his death. But that was a necessary risk. On the upside, we found plenty of incriminating evidence on Zhou Duan Yun’s phone, implicating both him and Ji Lin.”

Officer Liu gave Lin Xian a thumbs up. “You’re a genius, Lin Xian!”

Clap.

Lin Xian closed the notebook sharply, remaining silent.

Officer Liu’s deductions were partially correct but incomplete. The police believed releasing Ji Lin was a ploy to snare Zhou Duan Yun. That wasn’t entirely true. In Lin Xian’s original plan, Zhou Duan Yun, Ji Xin Shui, and Ji Lin were all destined to face justice for their crimes, a life for a life.

During an interrogation with Ji Lin, Lin Xian had pressed, “Did you have a hand in killing Xu Yun and Tang Xin?” He intentionally avoided mentioning others like Professor Leon or Dr. Ponsmai, or their plot against him.

When Ji Lin fell silent after being questioned a second time, his silence spoke volumes. It was an admission of guilt for the murders of Xu Yun and Tang Xin. From that moment, there was no room for sympathy or forgiveness between them—they were irreconcilably opposed, one shadowed by guilt, the other driven by justice.

Even so, for a fleeting moment, Lin Xian had hoped Ji Lin was innocent of those accusations.

Ultimately, the deaths of Ji Lin and Zhou Duan Yun, though somewhat unforeseen in their timing, aligned with the overarching plan. It was only a question of who would fall first, and whether it would be by mutual destruction or legal execution.

However, one question lingered in Lin Xian’s mind: Why had everything unfolded so swiftly and smoothly? Why the rush for Ji Lin and Zhou Duan Yun to conclude their deadly dance? And why had both converged at the psychiatrist’s villa?

Those questions might never be answered, with both men now silenced by death.

Officer Liu observed Lin Xian, lost in thought. “What’s wrong? You don’t seem too thrilled.”

Lin Xian looked up, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe… I’m just tired.”

“You really look it,” Officer Liu remarked, concerned. “You didn’t seem this way yesterday… Maybe the bloodshed got to you? You should head home and rest.”

Nodding, Lin Xian picked up the brown notebook and left the police department. Instead of heading home, he caught a taxi to MX Company. The receptionist had messaged him earlier, saying an American lawyer was looking for him.

An American lawyer? What for?

Once in his office at MX Company, Lin Xian had the receptionist send the lawyer up.

“Hello, Mr. Lin Xian.”

The lawyer who entered had an unmistakably Chinese appearance, possibly Chinese-American or a Chinese expatriate working in the States. He extended a hand to Lin Xian. “My name is Wang. I operate a private law firm in America, catering to affluent clients. I’m here today as Mr. Ji Lin’s lawyer.”

“For what reason?” Lin Xian inquired, his interest minimal. “To sue me?”

“Oh, no,” Lawyer Wang hastened to clarify, “You misunderstand. Ji Lin contacted me two days ago to draft a will. He instructed that, should anything happen to him, all his assets would be left to you.”

Lin Xian was taken aback. “Ji Lin wants to leave his estate to me?” He laughed dismissively. “Why? I have no desire for his money. Are you aware of the crimes he committed? His legal troubles?”

Lawyer Wang offered a patient smile. “Mr. Lin Xian, please let me explain. All of Ji Lin’s assets are legally acquired, not tainted by his criminal activities. Even if he were convicted of murder, these assets would still be safeguarded by the law. Most of his holdings are in the United States, and transferring them via a will is completely lawful.”

“He owned real estate, copyrights, stocks, and film shares—all in America. Handling these assets internationally can be complex, so I urge you to come to America to sort these matters more efficiently.”

“Regarding his bank deposits, this envelope contains a $12 million check from Citibank and a note from Ji Lin. I advise spending this money in America, as transferring it to China could be overly complicated—”

“Stop,” Lin Xian interjected, raising a hand. “Lawyer Wang, am I not making myself clear? Do whatever you want with Ji Lin’s assets—donate them or whatever. I want no part in this.”

“Mr. Lin Xian,” Lawyer Wang persisted calmly, “I understand this is difficult to accept, but Ji Lin considered you a close friend to leave everything to you. It would be respectful to honor his last wishes.”

“A friend?” Lin Xian reclined in his chair, his smile weary. “Sorry, I never saw Ji Lin as a friend. Not for a single moment.”

Stunned by Lin Xian’s response, Lawyer Wang paused before placing a white envelope and his business card on the desk.

“Mr. Lin Xian, please reconsider. While $12 million might not mean much to you, it was Ji Lin’s final wish. Moreover, the copyrights, dividends, and stocks are worth billions. Here’s my card. When you’re ready, we can discuss this further.”

With a polite bow, Lawyer Wang exited the office.

Lin Xian massaged his temples, feeling unusually irritable. He casually tossed the lawyer’s card into the trash, then opened the white envelope. The first item he saw was a $12 million check from Citibank. Underneath, a handwritten note caught his eye.

Taking out the note, he recognized Ji Lin’s handwriting: “I owe you a life. Now I’m paying it back.”

Lin Xian stared at the note, his fingers whitening with tension. It read like a farewell. Ji Lin knew he was going to die! But how? How had he known it would be Zhou Duan Yun who would kill him and not the other way around?

Re-reading the note, Lin Xian grasped the depth of Ji Lin’s foresight. His hand fell limply onto the desk as he gazed toward the door through which Lawyer Wang had departed.

Perhaps he had been overly confident after tricking Ji Xin Shui. If Officer Liu could partially deduce his plan, how could Ji Lin not have seen through it?

A genius like Ji Lin probably understood Lin Xian’s strategy the moment he noticed the absence of Zhou Duan Yun’s name from the police reports. No wonder Zhou had fallen into the trap so readily. Ji Lin had likely orchestrated his own capture!

“It appears Ji Lin walked into my trap willingly.”

A sense of discomfort gnawed at Lin Xian. In the police station, he had pondered the smooth execution of their plan. Now he understood—Ji Lin had been complicit.

Ji Lin’s note about owing a life likely referenced his own schemes against Lin Xian. “Paying it back” meant using his own life to draw out Zhou Duan Yun. It was a calculated risk on Ji Lin’s part, not assured of the outcome. Hence, he had prepared a will.

That was typical of Ji Lin, always meticulous, perhaps hoping to deliver Zhou Duan Yun neatly, but instead meeting a chaotic end at Zhou’s hands.

Lin Xian sighed, not out of sympathy for Ji Lin, but for the sheer scale of events that had transpired: the deaths of Xu Yun, Tang Xin, Zheng Cheng He, Ji Lin, Zhou Duan Yun—each a link in a chain of relentless pursuits and fatal strategies. All the violence had culminated in one final message…

Turning the note over, Lin Xian read three more words etched in a delicate yet profound script: “I’m sorry.”

….

At a checkpoint in New Donghai City, next to a garbage truck, Lin Xian skillfully slit the throat of a male inspector. He had become adept at ensuring a fatal strike while controlling the direction of the blood flow, keeping the uniform clean for later use.

Today, though, Lin Xian was exhausted. He hadn’t gone home. After locking his office, he retreated to the lounge and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately. In his dream, he moved mechanically, following a predetermined script. He located CC, joined the Face Gang, climbed into the garbage truck, hacked the security door, and ambushed the inspectors. How he had arrived at each step was a blur.

As Lin Xian dropped the inspector’s body to the ground and began removing the uniform, he noticed CC watching him intently.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

CC’s eyes darted away before she spoke softly, “This afternoon, behind Li Cheng’s house, you told me you weren’t VV.”

“Of course I’m not,” Lin Xian responded. “You said it yourself; I couldn’t be VV.”

“But…” CC hesitated, then said, looking directly at Lin Xian, “Right now, you really seem like VV.”

Lin Xian chuckled, tossing aside the knife. He faced CC, acknowledging her observation. “I know what you mean. You think I looked cold-blooded when I killed just now, like VV?”

“No,” CC interrupted, shaking her head. “Not because of that. It’s your expression, your aura… It carries the same sadness…”

Lin Xian paused, reflecting on her words. He turned to the window of the garbage truck, catching his reflection—a face both familiar and strange, tinged with sadness.