The painting from that day remained vivid in Zhang Haiyan’s memory. Beside the songbird was a giant snake, its eyes fixed hungrily on its prey, seemingly ready to swallow it whole.

His godmother had seen countless people, and her words carried weight; in his memory, she had never misjudged anyone’s nature. However, she never explained her insights, often expressing them only as imagery, claiming that reasoning with people was always futile.

Yet the hidden meaning in that painting constantly flashed through his mind at various stages of his life. The most profound moment came when he realized that Zhang Haixia could no longer stand. Was the songbird Zhang Haixia? He often wondered if his godmother had foreseen that day, when his character would harm those around him, even if that person had the voice of a virtuoso and could soar. With just a hint of negligence, they could perish by his hand.

If Zhang Haiyan had spent less time joking around with Zhang Haixia and more time being sincere, perhaps he wouldn’t feel so anxious. After all, Zhang Haixia understood the metaphors of life better than he did. He could have told Zhang Haiyan that the experiences one undergoes plant seeds in the heart, and the unbearable pains of Zhang Haiyan’s childhood had evolved into the bizarre logic of his actions today, along with the hellish scenes he had witnessed. Beyond the suffering, various desires lurked within, enticing him from within.

It would be a long time before Zhang Haiyan understood that he would eventually have to confront the snake in his heart. It would also take him a long time to realize that He Jianxi lying beside him felt like being in a snake’s den, instilling a sense of dread.

This moment of awakening was crucial for both Zhang Haiyan and He Jianxi. After He Jianxi woke up, he felt completely weak and achy, even the act of breathing seemed to fill his lungs with the taste of blood. Fortunately, his character was resilient, and after regaining his composure, his three souls and seven spirits returned to their rightful place.

Zhang Haiyan had already gotten up and was reading the newspaper by the window. A crack in the curtains allowed the morning sunlight to stream in, illuminating the foreigner he had knocked out the night before. The man still lay unconscious, looking as if he were dead.

He Jianxi felt a sense of relief; upon waking, he seemed not to have seen anything too out of the ordinary. He tried to recall the events leading up to this moment. The illegal liquor trade had been legalized, he had lost his job, received severance pay, and planned to go to San Francisco to find his cousin. He had bought a ticket for the “Baon” ship and then slipped and fell while trying to go to the restroom.

Hmm, after that, he couldn’t remember anything at all. He really shouldn’t have gone to that restroom.

Zhang Haiyan, noticing the change in He Jianxi’s breathing, knew he was awake. He put down the newspaper and looked at him, and He Jianxi froze for a moment.

He realized that the face Zhang Haiyan turned towards him was not Zhang Haiyan’s face but that of a foreigner.

He looked again at the foreigner, Steven, who was tied up there.

He Jianxi paused for a moment, carefully considering, glancing between the two faces, and confirmed: Zhang Haiyan was gone, and there were two identical foreigners in the room.

For a moment, he couldn’t tell which was more absurd: waking up to find himself in a bathtub with two naked men or waking up to find two identical foreigners in the room. But he was certain of one thing: he couldn’t close his eyes. If he did, and then opened them again, his worldview would collapse once more.

“What is your name?” the foreigner reading the newspaper on the sofa asked him in fluent Chinese, his voice the same as that of the plague god from before.

Ah, the grand logic hasn’t collapsed; it’s still the work of that plague god. He Jianxi let out a sigh of relief.

Can this plague god transform into anyone at will? That would be acceptable; it’s easier to accept than the ghostly twins.

“My name is He Jianxi, which means ‘He who will share the candlelight by the West Window.'” He Jianxi once again proved himself to be a resolute person. He sat up and decided to accept everything so that he could get back on track.

Seeing He Jianxi looking at his face, Zhang Haiyan explained, “This is magic, don’t worry. My name is Zhang Hailou, but you can call me Zhang Haiyan. ‘Moonlight Flying Mirror, Clouds Forming Sea Tower’—that’s how the Malays pronounce my name.” Zhang Haiyan stood up and said, “Since we’ve met, I believe you already know what I do. Bringing you here was not my intention, but I had no choice. Now, if you want to safely disembark and head to San Francisco, I need your cooperation.”

He Jianxi silently stared at Zhang Haiyan without responding. He guessed that Zhang Haiyan didn’t really care whether he agreed; he was just speaking for his own amusement, and if He Jianxi didn’t comply, he would likely be thrown into the sea.

Sure enough, Zhang Haiyan immediately began issuing orders: “First, what I need you to do is keep an eye on this person. Here’s a knife. If he tries to escape, you must stab him from this position. Remember, it has to go in straight from this spot and to this depth. I’ve marked it for you; it has to be this deep to pierce the heart, and he will die immediately.”

Steven’s eyelids twitched.

He Jianxi was dumbfounded. Zhang Haiyan looked at him and said, “You need to remember one thing: if you don’t kill him and he regains his freedom, he will definitely kill you. I need to walk around the ship for a bit. Do you remember the pirates from last night? We need to eliminate the threat to the people, remember?” With that, Zhang Haiyan slashed Steven’s calf with a knife, causing Steven to open his eyes in pain and struggle for a moment. Zhang Haiyan ignored him and continued speaking to He Jianxi, “Also, he’s been awake for a while; he’s just been pretending to be asleep. Make sure to keep your distance.”