Zhang Haixia’s body sat silently in the living room of the Dong residence, life flowing away as he had already severed ties with the world, heading towards reincarnation.

Zhang Haiqi wiped the paint off her hands and approached Zhang Haixia, gently touching his seemingly sleeping cheek. She squatted down.

Oh, the years—she didn’t know how many times she had sent her child away.

“You’re home now, Xiazi,” she whispered to Zhang Haixia.

This child had always been quiet and obedient since he was little, with no faults except for indulging Zhang Haiyan. He always looked into Zhang Haiqi’s eyes, whether in class or while sleeping. He never sought to claim his mother’s affection; he simply sensed what she needed.

The flowers by the bed had never wilted; the children she raised had never gone astray. There were no complaints from neighbors, and she had never burned the rice.

When Zhang Haixia was around, everything operated like a precise clock.

Zhang Haixia was afraid of losing that peace and happiness, so he held on tightly.

Zhang Haiqi pressed her forehead against Zhang Haixia’s. The child’s forehead was cold, like the winter in the north, unlike the summer in Xiamen.

She picked up Zhang Haixia and walked to the backyard, hiding him among the graves. There were many tombstones in the cemetery. Each time was a farewell. She had thought countless times that she had gotten used to it.

No matter how long one lives, one never grows fond of such moments.

Zhang Haiqi stood outside the cemetery in the evening breeze for a long time. The wind swept through the tombstones, wailing and echoing around her.

When Zhang Haiyan woke up, he was completely naked, lying face down on the bed.

He thought about what had happened before, and the thought was quite suggestive. But he immediately remembered Zhang Haiqi.

“Mom,” he mumbled to himself, and then saw Zhang Haiqi sitting on the sofa opposite him, reading the newspaper, not paying him any attention.

Zhang Haiyan felt a sharp pain in his back and arms. He looked back but found nothing on his back or arms.

“Mom, what happened to me? What did you do to me?” As he spoke, he reached for the blanket beside him.

“I just took care of the wounds on your back,” Zhang Haiqi replied.

Zhang Haiyan sighed in relief, just as the door opened and a servant brought in breakfast. Zhang Haiqi still had her own face, and Zhang Haiyan instinctively wanted to spit out the blade, only to realize it was gone from his mouth.

The servant quickly left, and Zhang Haiqi said, “Stop messing around. I can use both of my faces here. Right now, I’m Miss Dong’s friend.”

Zhang Haiyan got out of bed, wrapped in the bedsheet, and searched for his clothes. His pajamas were at the edge of the bed. He hid in the corner to change and said, “Mom, what on earth is going on? How can you be Miss Dong? Why didn’t you recognize me on the boat? Were those things you told me yesterday true?”

Zhang Haiqi flipped through the newspaper. “If I’m not Miss Dong, then am I Mrs. Dong? I want to know if you’ve become a bad person like Zhang Ruipu while you were in Malacca. If you’re hanging out with Zhang Ruipu’s crowd, I highly suspect you’ve already defected. Of course, I’ll need to observe for a while.”

“Do you have so little confidence in me? Would I have any second thoughts about you, Mom?” Zhang Haiyan said.

“I have no confidence in you when you appear alone,” Zhang Haiqi put down the newspaper.

Zhang Haiyan’s gaze dimmed. “I couldn’t protect Haixia.”

“Alright, it’s time to eat.” Zhang Haiqi sat down at the dining table. “Didn’t I tell you a story when I was young? Things should be viewed from a long-term perspective. Do you remember?”

Zhang Haiyan shook his head. He was familiar with his adoptive mother’s routine; most of the time when she said this, it meant she hadn’t actually said it before and was just making it up on the spot.

“You will also die in a hundred years. Long-term regrets and repeated sighs will ultimately be glossed over by future generations. Things that will cease to exist can be overcome now. You just need to know that nothing can change the fact that you coexist with him in time and space,” Zhang Haiqi said.

Zhang Haiyan pondered this. As usual, he didn’t understand it the first time. Zhang Haiqi handed him a stack of documents next to her. “Give yourself a deadline to be sad, mourn as much as you want, then get back to business.”

Zhang Haiyan flipped through the documents. They were all similar to the ones about Zhang Ruipu from yesterday. At the back were documents about Mo Yungao, with a photo of a very capable man in military uniform. It said he was the squad leader of the Southwest Gold Border Army.

“This was before he got promoted. He quickly rose to the rank of division commander and took control of Beihai. Now this warlord is also under the jurisdiction of the United Army Government, but in reality, he still operates autonomously. The relationship with the government is quite delicate.”

“Is everything you said yesterday true?” Zhang Haiyan still couldn’t believe it. Zhang Haiqi replied, “Do you think I’ve aged even a bit?”

Zhang Haiyan examined her closely. Not only had Zhang Haiqi not aged, but for some reason—perhaps because she had been cooped up at sea—she appeared even younger.

This was actually impossible; after being out for so long, it was unlikely that there would be no signs of aging at all.

“Are you over a hundred years old?” That would make her the age of Zhang Taizu’s grandmother. He found it hard to believe. Zhang Haiqi clearly didn’t expect him to believe it and didn’t explain further. “It’s fine; you’ll believe it one day.”

“The Zhang family is so powerful. The Nanyang Archives were raided, and aren’t they going to take revenge on other archives?”

“We haven’t been able to contact the Zhang family since two years ago,” Zhang Haiqi said quietly. “But historically, there have been several instances where they only reestablished contact after more than ten years. The Zhang family sometimes goes into a period of silence; you can’t rely on them.”

“The boss is really willful,” Zhang Haiyan said, biting into a piece of bread, feeling uncomfortable because he didn’t have a knife in his mouth. Eating felt very strange. “To me, ‘mother’ is the Nanyang Archives, the boss. What are you planning to do? Are we going to take revenge for the sea shrimp?”

“Mo Yungao has been operating in Beihai for many years and is very mature. He is not like an ordinary warlord who just wants to occupy a place, collect taxes for a few years, and leave. Therefore, the United Army Government mainly focuses on appeasement and won’t deliberately provoke him. We only have two people left, and two people against an army in a city is very difficult, especially since he has many skilled minority experts around him,” Zhang Haiqi said. “But he is spreading disease in Nanyang, which looks like an experiment. The real purpose of what he is doing has not yet been revealed. I’m worried that he will—”

“Spread it domestically?”

Zhang Haiqi nodded. “The purpose is unclear. Mo Yungao acts erratically. If we don’t clarify this matter, I’m afraid it won’t just be a simple issue of revenge.”

“When we reported the Huataojiao case, didn’t the archives continue the investigation?” Zhang Haiyan had this question in mind.

Zhang Haiqi looked out the window. “The Zhang family has put this case on hold.”

“Why?” Since the Zhang family is responsible for monitoring strange occurrences, why would they choose to stop investigating such a bizarre case? This northeastern gang is being too capricious.

Zhang Haiqi remained silent. She actually knew the reason: the Zhang family’s interference in the investigation could only mean one thing—the halted case was related to the family patriarch.

“We need to rebuild the archives and deal with Mo Yungao. He already knows about the existence of the Nanyang Archives, and logically, he shouldn’t be allowed to live. But right now, our strength isn’t enough. We need to go to Changsha and find someone to help us.”