Killing Must Strike at the Heart

Wu Heng sipped his cola while watching the surveillance feed, quietly waiting for his enemy to return.

About twenty minutes passed.

He saw a black business van pull into the courtyard on the monitor.

A spirited man of about sixty, carrying an apple the size of a basketball in his left hand and a black briefcase in his right, walked into the house.

With the hum of the elevator, the old man stepped out onto the second floor.

Wu Heng dragged the young man by his right leg and slowly walked out of the room.

The old man had just come upstairs with a cheerful expression, only to see a blood-soaked Wu Heng and his son on the floor.

His originally kind and gentle expression shifted violently.

The apple in his hand dropped to the floor.

"Son, my son! Doctor, what have you done?"

The old man wailed, glaring with gritted teeth at the black-market doctor he had hired to secure a heart source for his child.

"I am not a doctor."

Wu Heng used his own voice.

"You..."

The old man's expression was a mix of hatred and terror; he recognized the voice—it was the voice of the supply body from the basement.

"I understand."

"How much you love him!"

Wu Heng dragged the old man's child's corpse, walking toward him step by step.

"You had a plan, a hope, and a dream laid out for him."

"He was going to have a healthy body, a mapped-out future."

"You would cherish him, watch him grow, and he would have an infinitely beautiful life."

Wu Heng slowly reached the old man, watching the light gradually fade from his eyes.

"And I..."

"Denied his past;"

"And stripped away his future!"

With that, he tossed the corpse in his hand onto the floor in front of the old man with a wet thud.

"Here, take him back!"

"This is all that remains of him... flesh and blood, flesh and blood that is about to rot!"

Hearing these words, the old man stared blankly at his dead child.

Yes, his dream was completely shattered.

He no longer had the capacity to keep glaring at Wu Heng with hatred.

Recalling his own lonely life, having finally gained a son in his old age, he was now a white-haired man burying his own child, left all alone in the world.

"Ah~"

The old man let out a crazed howl.

He then lunged toward the living room table, grabbed a fruit knife, and slashed his own throat with a vicious force.

He staggered a few steps and collapsed beside the young man's corpse, fearing his child would be too cold alone and wanting to keep him company.

Wu Heng stood quietly in place, watching the old man's actions.

People only truly understand the depth of pain when they experience the suffering they have inflicted upon others.

What parent doesn't have children? What parent would willingly watch their own child die?

This old man was neither right nor wrong, but he deserved to die.

After all, in this world, Wu Heng himself had a mother too.

Although he lacked memories of his upbringing, he had truly inhabited this body for twenty years, his soul slowly repairing itself as the body grew from the womb.

Thinking of this, a desire to return home immediately took root in Wu Heng's heart.

He opened the large briefcase the old man had brought and looked inside; it was filled with stacks of cash, roughly estimated at one million.

This must have been the payoff the old man had prepared for these people.

With a thought, Wu Heng stowed the money from the briefcase into his own personal space.

He stood up and walked to the elevator, pausing for a moment to glance back at the two corpses on the floor.

"Old man, thank you for the money, and thank you for letting me witness the darkness!"

The old man, his blood drained, simply lay there in silence, striking an indifferent pose.

He confirmed that the old man was truly dead.

Wu Heng turned and returned to the first floor, rummaging through the middle-aged man's room once more.

He found his phone and keys inside a black plastic bag in a drawer. He pressed the power button, but the phone didn't respond; it must have been dead.

It was a solid black, full-screen phone with a dented casing that revealed a few silver-gray spots. The back was engraved with "FARE," likely the brand.

The glass screen was spiderwebbed with seven or eight cracks—damage from his predecessor's past clumsiness.

The shattered screen reflected the face of the refined male doctor. The fragmented image, distorted by the cracks, looked like a doctor's gaze from hell.

"Heh."

Wu Heng sneered and picked out a gray trench coat from the room to wear.

Not bad, I like trench coats.

Wu Heng checked himself in the bathroom mirror and splashed some water on his face.

He walked out to the courtyard, wearing the doctor's face, and flashed a smirk at the security camera hanging above the gate before climbing into the old man's black business sedan.

He checked his current location—already in the northern suburbs—confirmed the route, set the navigation for the quickest path back to the city, and ignited the engine.

In the distance, the villa was already engulfed in flames.

"Nice cut!"

Wu Heng stood in the "Plum Blossom Cut" barbershop, looking at his new slicked-back hairstyle. His robust physique filled out the well-fitted trench coat, making him look both handsome and spirited.

"It's because you have a good foundation."

Tony the barber complimented him from the side.

The ample blood supply had allowed Wu Heng's muscles to adjust to their optimal state. His body was now streamlined, strong, and agile.

His eyes were deep and sharp, his nose bridge high and straight, and his fair, clean-shaven face possessed a chiseled, cold handsomeness. He had even grown five centimeters, reaching about 183 centimeters in height.

Back on the wilderness road, he had pulled the car over, walked a distance, and stored the refined doctor's skin suit into his space.

He had dodged pedestrians all the way to the station, washed up at a faucet, bought a new trench coat and trousers, and taken the bus back to the city to reach this barbershop. He had grown tired of his predecessor's slovenly hairstyle.

Time to go home.

Wu Heng muttered to himself, feeling a sense of trepidation. He hadn't even felt this nervous when facing the Hell Priest of Ice.

Inside Beiquan City, Wu Heng followed his memories until he reached the Sunshine Residential Complex where he lived.

Three girls were standing by the entrance, seemingly waiting for a ride.

"Hey, he's so handsome. Look, Lili is staring."

The girl in the white dress on the left said to the girl in the middle with a smile.

"If you like him, go talk to him. Take him down tonight." The middle girl nudged the girl on the right, named Lili.

"What are you thinking? Besides, what would I even say to him?" Lili asked.

"Anything. He's a man, and men are simple creatures. Watch me."

"Hey, handsome!"

The middle girl waved her fair little hand at Wu Heng as he walked past.

Wu Heng was eager to return home and had no interest in dealing with these people.

Ignoring the women and the security guard, he swiped his card at the electronic gate and walked straight to Room 402.

"Hahaha, Xiao Yuan, he didn't even acknowledge you." The girl in the white dress laughed out loud.

"He just didn't hear me!"

The middle girl picked up her phone and started typing to mask her embarrassment.

Wu Heng stood at his front door, took a deep breath, and knocked gently.

There was no response. He remembered that at this hour, his mother would still be at work and his younger sister would be at university; the house was empty.

In this life, Wu Heng also came from a single-parent family. His father had died in an accident when his predecessor was three, just two months after his sister, Wu Duoduo, was born.

His mother, Yang Huifen, had raised two hungry children on her own. She survived the hardest years on her husband's compensation, then, refusing to sit idle and watch the money dwindle, she transitioned from a full-time housewife to finding work, struggling to raise her two children.

Wu Heng took out his keys and opened the door.

The living room had a simple, beige decor, and the eighty-square-meter apartment was divided into three bedrooms.

On the wall above the television hung awards from his and his sister's childhood: "Model Student," "Best Child," and his mother's "Outstanding Employee" certificates.

On the wall to the right was a family portrait of the three of them. Wu Heng felt his heart, which had been pounding like an engine, finally calm down and grow at ease.

Would you be willing to trade your collection, monthly tickets, or recommendation tickets for two cups with me?