“You need to go to a major hospital in the city for this illness as soon as possible. It’s best to get an MRI. Don’t delay it.” Gong Xiang escorted the elderly couple—supporting each other—out of the clinic. Turning back, he looked up at the faded signboard that hadn’t been changed in years: Doctor Gong’s Medical Hall, and let out a sigh.

The clinic had been handed down to him by his father. The Gong family had practiced medicine for generations, though all before him had been traditional Chinese doctors. After graduating from university, he worked at a hospital in Tonghe City. A few years ago, his father passed away, and his greatest wish was for Gong Xiang to come back and take over the clinic.

At first, Gong Xiang didn’t want to. First, a small county town left no room for someone with his abilities to grow. Second, he held no affection for the place where he was born and raised.

But in the end, it had been his father’s dying wish. After much deliberation, he returned.

The patients were all receiving IVs, so the clinic didn’t need him at the moment. He fished a cigarette box out from under his white coat and was about to light one when he saw two strangers walking toward him.

His first instinct: they weren’t locals.

Ji Chenjiao showed his ID, and Gong Xiang froze, cigarette box in hand.

After introducing himself, Ji Chenjiao asked, “You’re Liu Yixiang’s classmate, right? I’d like to talk to you about that fire fifteen years ago.”

The name “Liu Yixiang” was like a rusted needle suddenly piercing Gong Xiang’s nerves, sparking sharp pain.

He suddenly remembered that the very reason he had once hated his hometown enough to never return… was Liu Yixiang. Because of the pain and despair this land had inflicted on his good friend.

“Come in and talk,” Gong Xiang said, leading Ji Chenjiao and Ling Lie into his office and closing the door.

“I heard you once tried hard to explain to others that Liu Yixiang only killed because he was abused by Wang Shun’s family?” Ji Chenjiao asked. That dessert shop’s bill had been worth it—Ling Lie had relayed everything he’d heard.

Gong Xiang gave a bitter smile. “Yeah, I explained it. But what’s the use? The deed was done. People died. Yixiang was just a fool. Why did he have to throw his life away?”

He went on to recount how Wang Shun’s family had leached off Liu Yixiang and seized his parents’ inheritance. His story aligned roughly with what the dessert shop owner had said, but he revealed more about Liu Yixiang’s school days with him.

They had been classmates since elementary school and got along very well. The Liu family did business, the Gong family practiced medicine—both were relatively well-off families in the small town. Gong Xiang had always known what he wanted: to be a doctor like his father and grandfather, though not a traditional one. He wanted to be a surgeon.

Liu Yixiang didn’t have a clear goal for the future. His best friend could inherit the family business—so could he. But he didn’t want to go into business. He liked reading and research.

Gong Xiang had said, “That’s easy then. Be a doctor with me! Let’s both apply to medical school, go to the same university, look out for each other, and be lifelong brothers!”

And just like that, Liu Yixiang found a dream too.

But his life was derailed the year his parents died. At first, Gong Xiang heard that Liu Yixiang’s uncle had come from the township to help with funeral arrangements and taken Yixiang home with him. Gong Xiang was relieved—at least someone would care for him.

But Liu Yixiang stopped attending school and avoided all his friends. Whenever Gong Xiang went to visit, Wang Shun and Luo Qun would say Yixiang wasn’t feeling well and had locked himself in his room.

So Gong Xiang went to ask the teachers. They said Wang Shun had requested leave on Liu Yixiang’s behalf, citing emotional distress and a reluctance to see people.

Given the circumstances, everyone assumed it was normal for him to shut himself off. Gong Xiang had a vague feeling something was wrong, but as a kid, he couldn’t think deeper than that.

By senior year, Liu Yixiang still hadn’t returned. Remembering their promise, Gong Xiang sneaked over to the Wang household. When they met again, Liu Yixiang looked at him like a stranger.

Once so close, now Yixiang was silent, pale as paper, and slow to respond. Under repeated questioning, he finally admitted that his uncle had seized his inheritance, didn’t give him a penny, and wouldn’t let him study. Worse, they treated him terribly.

Furious, Gong Xiang tried to get the school involved. The teachers visited several times, but Wang Shun put on a convincing act, claiming Yixiang was grief-stricken and delusional. The school was fooled.

Gong Xiang passed his university entrance exams and got into medical school. Liu Yixiang, however, didn’t even take the test. After that, Wang’s family mostly left him alone. But after years of emotional abuse and cold violence, he had lost all motivation. He fell in with the wrong crowd.

Because of his delicate, feminine looks, even the other thugs bullied him and mocked him as a “pretty boy.”

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Who told you that Liu Yixiang’s right hand had been broken?”

“I saw it with my own eyes—right before the exams. He was in the hospital. Wang Shun claimed he fell down the stairs in a daze, but Yixiang cried in my arms and whispered that Wang Shun had broken it with a stick. He wouldn’t lie—not back then! Wang Shun’s whole family were monsters!”

Ji Chenjiao fell silent. Liu Yixiang had a fractured right hand—and the autopsy report on Huang Xuntong had also mentioned an old fracture on the right hand.

Gong Xiang’s face twisted in pain as he recalled his helplessness. Over the years, he’d seldom thought of Liu Yixiang. Time dulled the pain, and guilt did the rest. Back then, he’d been barely an adult, still dependent on his family, unable to help Yixiang—so he had chosen to run. He left for university, leaving his brother in that filthy place.

Every winter and summer break, Gong Xiang would return and see him. By the time Gong Xiang donned his white coat as an intern, Liu Yixiang had completely fallen—jobless, wasted, begging Wang Shun for money.

Liu Yixiang told him once how Wang’s family treated him. When he was younger, he still resisted. In his twenties, he gave up. “Let them do whatever they want,” he had said. Gong Xiang offered to hire a lawyer to fight for his rights. Yixiang always shook his head with a bitter smile. “Forget it. I’m already like this.”

Gong Xiang didn’t understand and began to drift away from him. Only in recent years did he learn a new term—PUA—and realized that Liu Yixiang had been gaslit for years.

But even so, hatred still burned in Liu Yixiang’s heart. The year of the incident, Gong Xiang returned for a month due to his mother’s illness. It was the most time he’d spent with Liu Yixiang since graduation.

During that time, Liu Yixiang seemed more optimistic—he was even working on Wang Shun’s construction site. When Gong Xiang asked him why, Liu said he had met someone like himself—someone he could talk to.

Ji Chenjiao interrupted, “Like himself?”

Gong Xiang hesitated. “Yixiang said they had similar experiences and could relate to each other.” He shook his head. “He said we were no longer from the same world. I was motivated; he had fallen. I couldn’t understand him. Maybe he was right.”

“Did you ever meet that guy?”

Gong Xiang thought for a while. “Once. Similar height. His last name was Huang. His face—forehead and nose—resembled Yixiang’s. Yixiang even said they were brothers.”

Ling Lie, who had been idly wandering around the office, stopped and turned to face them.

Ji Chenjiao asked, “Was his name Huang Xuntong?”

“I can’t remember,” Gong Xiang replied.

“Did Liu Yixiang ever say what they talked about?”

“They mostly vented. That Huang guy came to work with a group of men. They stuck together, but he couldn’t fit in. Always bullied. But he was poor and had no choice but to stick it out. Oh right—they all worked for Wang Shun.”

Evil was like a chaotic black sea. Amid the storm, shattered bubbles began to rise. At last—they began to surface.

After his mother’s health improved, Gong Xiang had to return to work. Before leaving, he invited Liu Yixiang to dinner. They got drunk. Liu Yixiang, just like back in high school when his right hand was broken, cried on his shoulder.

In a haze, Gong Xiang recalled his slurred voice: “Bro… my life’s been hell… Why am I so weak… Why does everyone bully me… I hate it… I hate them… Sometimes I just want to kill them… I can’t help it…”

The next day, Gong Xiang left Luochang County. Liu Yixiang didn’t come to see him off. That dinner had been their last meeting.

Three months later, the news came: Liu Yixiang had bludgeoned Wang Shun’s entire family to death and set the house on fire. Six bodies—burned beyond recognition.

All the workers scattered. Gong Xiang returned to attend the funerals. In the county, Liu Yixiang was now branded a backstabbing monster. Gong Xiang seemed possessed, explaining to everyone that Yixiang had been driven to it—but his voice was soon drowned out. He desperately searched for that “brother” named Huang, thinking he’d help defend Yixiang—but he was nowhere to be found. What brother? Probably ran the moment trouble started.

His father lashed out at him. No matter what, Liu Yixiang had committed murder. The Gong family saved lives—they could not defend a killer.

Eventually, the discussion died down—like fire extinguished, leaving only ashes. Gong Xiang left, bitter with hate for his hometown. Years later, he returned and took over the clinic. Sometimes, when people insulted Liu Yixiang, he’d still speak up for him.

“I was his best friend, but I couldn’t pull him out.” Gong Xiang shook his head bitterly. “He didn’t have to end up that way.”

Ji Chenjiao pulled up a photo of Huang Xuntong. “Look. Does he look familiar?”

The man in the photo was about forty, with sagging skin, thinning hair, and a hideous scar.

Gong Xiang stared for a long time. His hand started to tremble. “How could this be?”

Ji Chenjiao said, “Looks a bit like Liu Yixiang, right? As if he didn’t die… and lived on for fifteen more years?”

Gong Xiang was stunned. “He looks like him… but it can’t be! He’s dead!”

Ji Chenjiao pocketed the phone and exhaled deeply.

It couldn’t be Liu Yixiang—because Liu Yixiang had died in the fire fifteen years ago.

Unless he didn’t.

Unless the body by the window wasn’t Liu Yixiang’s.