Chapter Seventy-Four: That Detestable Man

After mercilessly cursing the men of that island nation in his heart and bestowing upon them the label of being worse than beasts, Lin Yang finally felt a bit better. He then turned his focus back to what Zhang Zifeng was recounting.

“Poison gas bombs? Bacterial capsules? Why have I never heard the old man mention these before?” Lin Yang frowned deeply, a cold glint flashing in his eyes as he voiced his confusion.

The events of World War II left all the people of China with a deep-seated hatred for that island nation, especially for its men—barbaric, thuggish, shameless, and depraved. In short, their men were capable of every evil imaginable.

Lin Yang’s dislike for them ran to the very core. One had to admit, he was a young man with an unyielding sense of national pride—if he’d been born during the war, he’d probably have been sharpening his blade for battle even before birth. Hearing those bastards were once again scheming against China made him grit his teeth in fury. With nowhere to vent his anger, the cigarette in his mouth became the victim, bitten until it was a shredded mess.

If someone handed him a kitchen knife right now, he’d probably charge straight at the islanders in a rage, ready to deal with them himself.

Had he not heard this from Zhang Zifeng’s own mouth, Lin Yang would never have believed it. The seemingly peaceful society was, beneath the surface, rife with murderous plots, intrigue, and treachery—especially that island nation, which never gave up its ambition to swallow up the vast land of China. In that moment, Lin Yang even felt that calling them beasts was too kind—they were nothing but scum.

“It’s all state secrets. You—first, you’re not a soldier; second, you’re not a member of the covert group. Even if the old man’s rank is as high as the sky, there’s no way he’d tell a kid like you such things!” Zhang Zifeng was speechless, muttering inwardly, “You think this is child’s play? Even if you knew, what use would that be?”

Hearing Zhang Zifeng’s explanation, Lin Yang could only give an awkward, sheepish grin. It was true—he wasn’t in the military, nor was he part of the old man’s covert team. There was no reason to tell him.

“By the way, Uncle Feng, you said that eight years ago, you caused the old man harm. Can you tell me exactly what happened? The old man’s never mentioned it.” Zhang Zifeng clearly wanted to avoid the topic, but Lin Yang, alert and attentive, sensed his intention. Even so, since it concerned the old man’s wellbeing, he pressed on relentlessly. The last time he’d seen Tiger Girl Lin Qingcheng, she’d said the old man’s health had been failing recently.

To treat an illness, you have to address the root cause. If Zhang Zifeng could be healed, Lin Yang would have complete confidence in treating the old man as well. That’s why he’d delayed, unwilling to treat the old man without absolute certainty. Given his age, he didn’t dare to experiment recklessly.

The question struck a nerve—this was the one subject Zhang Zifeng hated most in his life. His body involuntarily twitched, and faced with Lin Yang’s unwavering gaze, he could only sigh deeply and finally reveal the story.

“Uncle Feng, you mean there was actually a traitor inside the covert group?” Lin Yang asked in astonishment. If he had a mirror, he’d have seen how ridiculous he looked with his mouth hanging open wide enough to fit an egg inside.

Ah, his handsome face was completely ruined—self-destruction!

Zhang Zifeng nodded grimly. Apart from suspecting a traitor, he couldn’t imagine how their plan to clear Experiment Site Number Three could have been leaked. Over twenty men had gone in, only to walk straight into a trap set by the enemy. Half the team became sacrifices to the HSV virus. Even the old man, the most important figure in the country, was infected. Luckily, his infection was relatively mild; otherwise, he would never have survived these years. But a chronic virus was still a virus, and without an effective antidote, the old man’s health had only gotten worse as time went by and the virus ate away at him.

“Don’t tell me the old man couldn’t see through it?” Lin Yang pressed, not ready to give up. He sensed the matter ran far deeper than Zhang Zifeng would admit; otherwise, he wouldn’t have left the Lin family over a single incident.

As Zhang Zifeng himself had said, if he hadn’t shielded the old man at the critical moment, it would’ve been the old man now lying sick and dying in bed. The old man ought to be grateful, but reality was clearly more complicated. Lin Yang felt as if his thoughts were sinking into a quagmire—he was overthinking things again.

He was always prone to overthinking—what a painful trait for a man to have!

“Do you think the old man couldn’t tell?” Zhang Zifeng answered with a rhetorical question, a bitter smile on his lips as the image of the man he’d hated for years flashed in his mind.

If that bastard hadn’t betrayed them, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be enduring this living hell, nor would the old man have been hurt, nor himself suspected by the old man. It was all the work of that one traitor—yet, in the end, he’d been softhearted, unable to pull the trigger and do what was necessary, leaving that bastard free to this day.

But he really couldn’t do it. That traitor wasn’t just anyone—he was his own twin brother, his only sibling, who at the end betrayed him, the covert group, and the entire country.

“The old man certainly saw through it.” Lin Yang had never doubted the old man’s intelligence or cunning. “So, what happened afterward?”

Curiosity can kill, and Lin Yang’s was even more intense than most. Once, driven by curiosity about the differences between men and women, he’d secretly watched the works of Miss Aoi, the beautiful Ozawa, and Miss Iijima. That curiosity had led him down a path of no return, and in the years without a woman, he could only rely on those masterpieces.

Now, he was dying to know what happened next, his eyes fixed on the exhausted Zhang Zifeng, refusing to let him dodge or lie.

Secrets will always be revealed. As for Zhang Ziheng, the exposed traitor and Zhang Zifeng’s bastard brother, he seemed to have been prepared all along. After luring his brother into the trap at Experiment Site Number Three, Zhang Ziheng vanished without a trace—gone as if he’d evaporated into thin air.

Guilt, shame, confusion—at the time, Zhang Zifeng felt as though he’d fallen into endless darkness, betrayed by his own brother and responsible for the deaths of more than ten comrades. Even with his steely resolve, he was deeply shaken. On top of that, infected by the HSV virus, he never recovered.

Pain in both body and soul—a fate truly worse than death.

Leaving the old man was Zhang Zifeng’s reluctant but considered decision. He felt he’d failed both the old man and his country.

“That bastard was your own brother?” Even with a heart as broad as the Pacific, Lin Yang couldn’t help but widen his eyes in disbelief, staring at the sighing Zhang Zifeng and demanding an answer.

Yes, what could be more heartbreaking than being betrayed by your closest kin? Now, reflecting on Su Qin’s words from before, Lin Yang finally understood a little. Zhang Zifeng’s reluctance to trouble the old man was, in truth, a weight of guilt and conscience.

Stubborn and prone to overthinking—such labels were nothing short of accurate for Zhang Zifeng. In truth, the blame for this incident was not his alone; he was a victim as well. Yet he insisted on shouldering all the responsibility, refusing to seek the old man’s or the country’s help, even as he lay gravely ill.

“So what happened in the end? Did that bastard ever get what he deserved?” Lin Yang demanded, indignant.

A traitor to his country, his comrades, his organization—such a bastard deserved only hell.

“He vanished. After that day, no one ever saw him again.” Zhang Zifeng ground out the words through clenched teeth, his fists so tight they audibly cracked.

“Vanished? Like he evaporated?” Lin Yang found it absurd. That kind of scum got away scot-free—what a blind world!

Good men die young, while evil lingers for a thousand years. Now, Lin Yang truly appreciated the depth of that saying—he almost wanted to applaud it. Whoever wrote it must have been a villain themselves to know it so well.

“And after that?” Lin Yang pressed on. He really wanted to see that bastard suffer in hell—or better yet, send him to the Devil himself, where it was even worse.

“After that? Hahaha, you can see it for yourself.” Zhang Zifeng let out a bitter laugh. Years of torment had ground down this once unyielding man, leaving him a shadow of his former self. If not for his wife and daughter, he’d likely have ended it all long ago.

Having finished, Zhang Zifeng closed his eyes, refusing to say more, as if to shut out the world and its troubles.

Sensing the man’s turmoil, Lin Yang wisely got to his feet and quietly left. At the door, he paused, turning to look again at the man lying in bed, tears silently slipping from the corners of his eyes—the same man who once stood tall and carried the sky on his shoulders, the uncle who’d shed blood on the battlefield and served his country heroically. Lin Yang felt a suffocating heaviness in his chest.

Good deeds are rewarded? He no longer believed it. In this era, where money and power trump all, righteousness seemed a word of the past.

He clearly remembered when he first set foot in society, full of idealism. Once, seeing an old woman fall, he’d rushed to help, asking with concern if she was alright.

In the blink of an eye, three burly men dashed over, grabbing his arm and angrily accusing him, “Kid, pay up a hundred thousand or we’ll haul you to the police!”

Such bullies! Lin Yang was left bewildered—how had the world become so dark? Good people—who dared to be good anymore?

He taught those thugs a lesson they wouldn’t forget, and under the indifferent stares of bystanders, ducked his head and fled the scene.

Recalling these events, he began to understand Zhang Zifeng’s stubbornness and guilt.

He closed the door softly and, seeing the empty first floor, raised a brow and wondered where those three women had wandered off to—it had been half an hour and still no sign of them. He headed up the stairs to the second floor.

It was quiet—still no sign of the three. Just as he was about to call out, wild laughter erupted from the third floor.

Hearing their unrestrained cackling, Lin Yang couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, thinking, “Damn, how utterly shameless.”