Chapter 90: "Just listen to me."

At the age of ten, my parents went bankrupt, and my younger brother and I were taken to move to a factory in the suburbs.

The factory appeared to be a canned food processing plant on the surface, but aside from the roaring noise of machines, there were also adults who called themselves family, muttering and nagging.

Among the "family," there was a patriarch who usually gave lessons to everyone, pointing at the red and green lines on the screen, gesturing exaggeratedly with both hands.

His spit sprayed onto the faces of those in the front row, and they wiped their faces, then clapped along with everyone else.

I asked my parents how my brother and I would go to school.

They said, no rush, once the patriarch led them to make money, they would arrange the best education for us.

They’d also buy a big house, a luxury car, anything we wanted.

My younger brother, Zu Qi’an, like an idiot, said he also wanted a Bumblebee toy, and our parents kissed his face, saying, even a golden Bumblebee would do.

Zu Qi’an believed them.

Even after bankruptcy, our family wasn’t exactly struggling to survive.

Both kids hadn’t yet completed the nine-year compulsory education.

My grades were good enough, and even though my brother was a dimwit with a brain full of nonsense, I could stuff what I knew into his head.

Education wasn’t an issue for now.

The problem was my parents’ mental gap.

At the time, I didn’t fully understand.

Occasionally, I went to the patriarch’s lessons to look at those two red and green lines.

The two lines crawled across the screen like roaches, rising and falling.

After the lesson, I approached my parents again, tactfully suggesting that my brother and I could return to the small house we’d temporarily stayed in before, so as not to interfere with their pursuit of big money.

They replied that our houses had long been sold off, and they’d borrowed a large sum from relatives and friends.

No one would agree to take care of two kids.

In other words, if we left the factory, my brother and I would be alone, without family or support.

At fourteen, I had a sudden realization.

It was either a pyramid scheme or a cult.

Those two idiots had sold themselves into it.

This realization came thanks to my good-looking face.

I smiled at everyone, polite and sensible.

My childish features hadn’t fully faded, my chin was starting to sharpen, and my cheeks still had soft flesh.

My big eyes, even when squinted, couldn’t hide that unguarded innocence.

With this, I occasionally got to use a phone to go online.

After searching what I needed, I’d let my brother play games like Candy Crush on it.

I also tried to escape, but there were people watching outside the factory 24/7, and the "family" kept tabs on our every move.

If I lingered too long near the factory’s edge, my parents would warn me not to wander so far.

I tried calling the police, but when the call connected, I realized we were abroad.

A string of foreign gibberish came through, and before I could switch to translation software, the call was cut off.

I deleted the call log and returned the phone.

Not long after, the police called back, and the patriarch answered.

“I know you accidentally pressed the wrong button. It’s not your fault,” the patriarch said to me.

“In our big family, you and Xiao An are the only kids. We all treat you like our own.”

As he spoke, he paced around the factory dorm, stopping behind me, his hand resting on my back.

“I caused you trouble,” I said.

“I’m sorry I’m really sorry…”

The patriarch’s fingers brushed my nape, just like how he clung to those two lines during lessons, tracing over my protruding bones.

I couldn’t speak for a moment.

The patriarch toyed with the short hairs at the back of my head, saying, “Since I’m your patriarch, of course I won’t blame you, am I your patriarch?”

I thought seriously for a few seconds, wondering if this was the patriarch’s personal behavior or if my idiot parents had finally sold me too.

It didn’t seem to matter much.

Even if it was personal, all I could do was complain to my parents.

And then they’d follow through and sell me.

They might even throw in my brother, since we looked alike.

“Yes,” I said, turning to smile at the patriarch, obedient and good-looking.

The patriarch froze in place for a long time, then his lips curled uncontrollably, his expression slightly twisted, his voice low: “Then what should you call me?”

I tilted my head: “Dad?”

A pretty kid saying the pretty words disgusting adults loved to hear.

I glanced at the patriarch’s figure from the corner of my eye.

This man was practically ready to drop his pants.

He hadn’t yet, but he would eventually.

I turned back, looking at the empty dorm.

The patriarch didn’t usually stay here; even though he had a room, he rarely used it.

“Xiao Zu wants a Bumblebee toy, Dad. Can you buy one for us?”

I thought for a moment, then waved my hand, as if to whisper something.

The patriarch leaned down, and I quickly kissed his cheek, saying softly while he was stunned:

“Before, our parents promised us a golden Bumblebee, but they never kept that promise.”

A week later, Zu Qi’an got his golden Bumblebee.

Of course, it wasn’t real gold, just metal with a gold-colored coating.

The transaction started with the golden Bumblebee, clearly priced.

A kiss on the cheek got you something, holding hands got you something, sitting on his lap like a little toy got you something.

I didn’t ask for anything for myself; it all went to Zu Qi’an.

At first, my brother was thrilled, but later he got confused.

A lot of the stuff wasn’t what he liked or could use, and our parents’ expressions grew stranger by the day.

He overheard them scolding me: “You only got these things? Do you even have a brain?”

I told him, “This is what I sold to you, on credit. Do you know what credit is?”

Zu Qi’an: “It means… I have to pay?”

“Or you offset it with something else,” I taught him.

“But you’re an idiot who can’t make money or give me what I want, so just listen to me.”

“The way they’ve been looking at you lately is weird.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“A bit.”

“Then spit at them.”

“I’ll get scolded, or beaten!”

“Then curse back,” I taught him.

“They won’t hit you. I’ll stand in front of you. They won’t hit me.”

Zu Qi’an waited a long time to “pay his debt.”

He gradually became the factory’s little troublemaker, annoying everyone, but I protected him fiercely.

No one could say anything, or I’d look heartbroken.

Finally, when I was fifteen, I told my brother one day, “Come to the patriarch’s dorm tonight.”

Zu Qi’an was reluctant: “Didn’t Mom and Dad say the patriarch only tutors you? You learn and teach me.”

I said, “Bring your golden Bumblebee.”

Zu Qi’an: “Oh.”

That night, I was called away by the patriarch.

His dorm was still empty, though the bed had new sheets and pillows.

The patriarch jerked his chin at me: “Take off your clothes, kneel on the bed, and bend over.”

I said, “Okay, Dad.”

The patriarch started undoing his pants.

I saw the door crack open slightly.

My brother, sneaky as a rat, was peeking from the doorway, freezing when he saw the patriarch’s sagging bare butt.

“Don’t be afraid, Xiao Sheng. Dad just really likes you,” the patriarch confirmed to me.

“You’re fifteen, right?”

I smiled obediently, softly saying, “Smash his head in.”

The next moment, the patriarch felt a kick to the back of his knee, lost his balance, and fell to his knees.

Zu Qi’an climbed onto him, smashing his head with the metal Bumblebee, over and over.

Zu Qi’an was furious.

He didn’t actually understand what the patriarch was about to do, but his little brain keenly sensed I was angry, so he got angry too.

They say there’s some special connection between brothers.

Zu Qi’an didn’t notice any connection.

He just felt that if even good-tempered me couldn’t stand it, he shouldn’t either.

I said to smash his head in, so he did.

Well, he still owed me a lot.

Zu Qi’an was only ten, and his kid strength wasn’t enough.

He smashed for ages and couldn’t break anything.

The patriarch came to his senses and fought back, flipping Zu Qi’an to the ground.

I stepped aside, smiling as I watched my brother pounce like a wild dog, going at the man with life-or-death ferocity.

This idiot at least knew where to hit, especially since the patriarch had dropped his pants himself.

The screams grew louder, and soon the factory lit up.

I thought the “family” would come soon, seeing their “money tree” curled up like an overcooked shrimp, trembling from nerve reflexes.

Maybe his head was half-smashed by now, and Zu Qi’an was still trying.

This little loser couldn’t even smash someone properly.

But it wasn’t the “family” or our parents who rushed in.

A group in tactical uniforms stormed in, pointing guns at everyone in the room.

Zu Qi’an was still carrying out my orders, raising his hand to smash again before someone grabbed him.

He turned, baring his teeth to show menace, but the person hugged him, patting his back.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…”

Zu Qi’an wouldn’t have it, struggling fiercely, waving the golden Bumblebee toward me.

The groaning patriarch on the ground was cuffed, his legs still bare, the pathetic flesh between them shriveled into a tiny lump.

Someone on the earpiece called for medical help.

When checking his consciousness, they heard him mutter: Zu Qisheng filthy whore.

I stepped past everyone, crouching in front of my brother.

Zu Qi’an was held tightly, his face mostly covered, leaving one eye visible in the gap.

He saw me take the toy from his hand, toss it aside, and pinch his outstretched pinky, shaking it.

“Calm down, Xiao Zu,” I said.

Zu Qi’an stopped moving.

“Are you the police?”

I asked.

It was a pointless question; their combat uniforms clearly marked their identity.

Even abroad, the country hadn’t given up on rescuing trapped citizens.

Even if the trapped ones were just two brats with no real concept of money, while the others had long been brainwashed, making it harder to get them to leave.

“Give him to me,” I said, opening my arms.

The officer let go, and Zu Qi’an immediately bolted into my arms, clinging tightly, sneaking a glare at the newcomers.

I turned his face back, our eyes meeting for a long time.

Slowly, I wiped the blood splattered on his face.

Then I rested my head on his narrow shoulder, gripping the back of his head tightly, whispering, “Listen to me.”

Zu Qi’an hugged me back, his hand pressing on my back, leaving a small red handprint on my light-colored jacket.

We didn’t need to explain our relationship to the officers.

Beyond the obvious age difference, our faces, showing both past and future, said enough.

Anyone who saw us would only think I was quietly comforting my scared brother.

Under everyone’s gaze, I whispered at a volume only we could hear:

“No matter what they ask, you don’t know, you’re not sure, you’re scared, you don’t remember anything.”

Zu Qi’an: “Mm.”

I asked, “Are you scared?”

Zu Qi’an: “I wasn’t just now, but now a bit. Are we moving again?”

I said, “Yes, to a place with fewer people.”

Zu Qi’an hugged tighter: “You’ll still be there, right?”

I asked, “Do you want me to be?”

Zu Qi’an thought for a bit: “I still owe you, bro.”

I hummed: “Then I’ll be there.”

Fifteen is a special age, the start of criminal responsibility, something I’d pieced together without checking on a phone.

The patriarch specifically asked if I was fifteen, likely calculating the same thing.

The legal age of consent in criminal law is fourteen.

Without coercion or abuse, the law allows for a certain degree of “consent” capacity.

But Zu Qi’an was only ten.

The police took us back to the country.

During the investigation, the officer who had hugged Zu Qi’an sat across from me, his face stern.

“Did you tell him to do it?”

I held a cup of hot water, blowing on the steam, my lashes lifting slightly as I looked at the officer.

I looked for a long time, my face seeming a bit damp in the steam:

“I haven’t seen Xiao Zu in a while. Is he still scared?”

The officer’s lips moved, his brows knitting together:

“He’s getting psychological counseling. You should be with him.”

“Xiao Zu and I are five years apart. When he was born, our family was doing well, and our parents spoiled him. He cried a lot as a kid. Later, at the factory, they stopped caring for him, so he stuck with me.”

I said, “There were no other kids in the factory. I could only teach him everything I knew before I was ten. I’m grateful you came. Next year, he’ll be eleven, and I’ve got nothing left to teach him.”

The officer: “Weren’t you scared?”

I curved my eyes, showing a clean smile: “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”

The officer struggled to continue the conversation, and they weren’t using forced interrogation anyway.

My case involved forced molestation and self-defense, nested within a transnational cult engaged in illegal fundraising.

Evidence found on the suspect and testimonies from other brainwashed victims were enough to define the case.

But the suspect insisted I had directed my brother to act.

When the suspect roared about being set up, the female officer across from him felt her temples throb, barely restraining herself from slamming his bandaged head onto the iron table.

As for us brothers, we were both cooperative and uncooperative.

They couldn’t get anything out of me; every question led to emotions.

My brother insisted he was scared and angry, and if pressed further, he’d get frantic, smashing things and demanding to know where I was.

We didn’t mention our parents, and they didn’t mention us, as if we were strangers to each other.

Once the investigation was nearly done, the public security bureau handed the case to the prosecutor’s office for prosecution, and the court would handle the trial.

The officer in charge of me, also looking after me, planned to send me back to our parents.

Originally, our parents had clearly failed their guardianship duties.

If applied for, the court could assign a new guardian.

Whether it was another capable family member or a designated third-party guardianship agency, anything would be better than our parents.

I refused, saying I still wanted to stay with them.

Zu Qi’an only asked where I was, saying he wanted to be with me.

Relying on two minors, our parents applied for emergency relief housing from the local government, a temporary arrangement.

They still had to find work quickly.

I went home first, following the officer.

Seeing my parents after so long, I seemed happy, rushing to embrace them.

By then, I’d started growing taller, surpassing my mother and matching my father.

I whispered in their ears, “Remember, this house was gotten because of me and Xiao Zu. This is what you owe us.”

My parents stiffened.

I pressed close to them affectionately, adding, “The officer is still here. You should smile and pat my back.”

The officer left me a note with his contact information.

“If you have any trouble, contact me. I’ll help if I can,” he said, patting the head of this boy he’d known for over half a year.

I held the note, smiling: “Okay, thank you.”

The note neatly bore his name: Meng Yu’an.

***

“Wait,” Chu Zu said.

He checked the case mentioned in the story’s background.

There was indeed a case involving a boy being molested and a death, which he’d used to replace something else.

The development hadn’t gone too wrong.

When Chu Zu had Xiao Zu smash someone’s head, Little Yellow Chicken was still suggesting using “Master Wang” to ensure a solid hit.

But he hadn’t written Meng Yu’an, not even a mention.

Where did this guy come from?

The system was puzzled too, checking: “Meng Yu’an is a detective transferred to the Special Case Investigation Division Nine. Given the timeline it’s possible he was involved in that case.”

“Did we come out ahead here?”

Little Yellow Chicken wasn’t sure.

“From a plot logic perspective, we hit the jackpot. Now the two brothers’ madness has a cause. Go to the exchange and sell what needs selling, and their crazy skills are complete.”

“Even if I don’t change anything else and follow the original plot, all of Meng Yu’an’s actions are perfectly reasonable.”

He was the detective who rescued the brothers from the cult, spending over half a year with Big Zu.

Reuniting with an old acquaintance and finding the victimized kid from back then had become a financial street tyrant would naturally spark many thoughts.

He even broke the tyrant in the end, so it’d be odd if he didn’t keep thinking about it after leaving.

“If I could rewrite other characters’ backstories, this is how I’d do it.”

Chu Zu said, “But it feels off. Are we really that lucky?”

The system recalled that, aside from the host’s planned content, they’d encountered plenty of messes.

“After the worst comes the best…?”

Little Yellow Chicken hesitated only briefly before realizing, “So, our mission is already complete!”

“Just keep playing your madman role and push for revising the current economic law to the third law!”

Chu Zu didn’t continue revising the setting.

He thought for a long time in his consciousness sea.

The system, unsure what the host was pondering, stayed quiet.

After deciding, Chu Zu said slowly, “No more setting tweaks for now. I’ll meet Meng Yu’an first.”

“Per the plot, where’s Xiao Zu right now?”

System: “Xiao Zu is currently hosted by ‘Cat and Mouse Game,’ running according to the original story and your revised character settings, at the game center.”

Chu Zu: “Perfect. I’ll play a round to check the game mechanics.”

On the street, a man in a long brown leather coat strolled away with a briefcase, as if on a leisurely walk.

Meng Yu’an thought he might have seen something wrong.

Why was Zu Qisheng on Financial Street?

By now, he should be around 23 years old.

A few years ago, Meng Yu’an had received a text from Zu Qisheng, saying he’d been accepted to a foreign university.

In the text, Zu Qisheng thanked Officer Meng:

“If Officer Meng hadn’t saved us, my brother and I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

But Meng Yu’an knew he couldn’t have mistaken him.

Zu Qisheng’s face…

It was hard to make a mistake.

He’d grown taller, his build more solid, but that face was too distinctive.

Anyone who saw it wouldn’t forget, no need to memorize features.

Even after eight years, he recognized it instantly.

“Old Meng… Old Meng!”

A colleague from Special Case Investigation Division Nine called twice, then waved a hand in front of his face when he didn’t respond.

“You just got here and you’re zoning out?”

“Did you see Zu Qisheng?”

Meng Yu’an said.

The colleague frowned: “Who? Never heard that name.”

Meng Yu’an: “The case from eight years ago.”

The colleague was speechless:

“…So many cases, what are you talking about?”

Forgetting was normal.

Before transferring to Division Nine, both Meng Yu’an and his colleague had been detectives in the criminal police unit.

Before the transfer, Meng Yu’an’s last case involved cult activities.

He still remembered the screams he heard when storming the settlement.

Illegal fundraising, brainwashing, kidnapping, and violence were common there.

He requested action from the operations team, got approval, and led his squad to breach.

The one screaming was the cult leader they were there to apprehend.

One victim held a weapon, the other stood far off, their nearly identical faces showing opposite emotions.

During the investigation, Meng Yu’an once suspected Zu Qisheng had directed Zu Qi’an to act.

Zu Qi’an had barely interacted with the suspect and wouldn’t have gone to his dorm at night.

And Zu Qisheng’s age was just right there.

But the suspicion was absurd.

They’d been taken to the factory young, with no education or legal awareness.

Could Zu Qisheng have planned a crime before ten, even researching laws?

Records recovered from the suspect’s phone only showed Zu Qisheng’s attempts to escape and the suspect’s own search:

What’s the legal age of consent in China?

Over time, Meng Yu’an thought he’d overthought it.

Forget the rest given how much Zu Qisheng cared for his brother, it was hard to believe he’d let a ten-year-old face a brutal adult alone.

Reconstructing the scene, his mind was likely blank, unable to react until the team stormed in.

Their interactions also revealed some of Zu Qisheng’s personality.

The case, with its large funds, many people, and complex evidence, took nearly eight months to investigate.

Meng Yu’an looked after Zu Qisheng for those eight months.

Meng Yu’an was a golden bachelor, the type who ate enough for himself and didn’t worry about others, always busy, with no clue how to care for kids.

And Zu Qisheng’s habits were strange.

Meng Yu’an would casually bring back gifts from colleagues for the kids.

Zu Qisheng accepted them, asking who sent them.

If Meng Yu’an couldn’t recall, he’d chalk it up to him.

After a few times, he noticed Zu Qisheng kept a small notebook, listing the sources of all the little gifts.

When asked what it was, Zu Qisheng said it was a debt ledger.

Meng Yu’an seriously told him this wasn’t the factory; they were the people’s police, with a duty to help.

Zu Qisheng said okay, then added, “Then I’ll pay a lot of taxes when I grow up.”

He said, “My brother too.”

Meng Yu’an often wanted to send him to a counselor, sitting side by side with his brother.

“Not everything needs to be weighed and priced, especially not yourself,” he said.

Zu Qisheng still said, okay.

Clearly, Zu Qisheng hadn’t understood Meng Yu’an’s meaning, nor did anyone on Financial Street, nor did they want to.

He watched Zu Qisheng suddenly enveloped in red light, a sign of entering the game center.

“I’m heading to the game center first. We’ll meet up later,” Meng Yu’an said.

His colleague warned, “Take it easy. We’ve only got ten thousand in funds, and mandatory game time is coming up.”

Meng Yu’an acknowledged, opening his wristband panel and selecting the game center.

Red light shimmered over his body, and the next moment, he stood before a massive building resembling a Las Vegas casino.

Golden light pulsed with the rhythm of the revolving doors, neon lights reflecting off the wet ground, the water mirroring the building’s billboard Financial Street Game Center.

The scene before him was mottled, dazzling.

The air was thick with the scent of perfume, cigars, despair, and ecstasy.

Meng Yu’an followed small groups of players into the game center.

The crystal chandelier overhead surged like waves, lighting every corner.

Looking up, a massive electronic screen hung in the center, displaying ongoing popular game matches, with players’ names followed by their bets and odds.

In the few seconds Meng Yu’an was stunned by the extravagant opulence, a game update shot to the top of the leaderboard due to heavy betting.

“Zu Qi’an, Takahashi Tomohiko”

He heard excited voices nearby, unable to suppress their agitation.

“Mr. Zu placed a bet! He’s betting too.!”

“I saw it, I’m all in. Who else would dare bet on that mad dog Zu Qi’an!”

“Didn’t Mr. Zu basically stop betting on his brother’s games?”

“Your intel’s as outdated as my great-grandma’s. He stopped small bets a year ago. Doesn’t consulting earn enough?”

“Hey, I haven’t checked what this game is.”

“Wait, now that you mention it…”

The voices suddenly turned sharp, joy flipping to thick unease, even horror.

“Why is it Rock-Paper-Scissors?”

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