Chapter 227: Inheriting the Father's Business

When Jin Liangjin opened his eyes again, he was on a yacht.

He moved his neck slightly, only to discover that his hands and feet were bound with nylon rope; the posture of this binding was very strange, as Jin Liangjin was kneeling on the floor with his ankles tied together, and when he tried to shift forward, he realized the rope on his feet was connected to the one on his hands.

Jin Liangjin's back was pressed against something like a pillar.

Ling Wu was standing not far from him, gazing in the direction of Beidu City; after admiring the glow of the fire, he spoke slowly: "Awake?"

From this position, Jin Liangjin could not see Ling Wu; he rested the back of his head against the pillar and looked up at the vast, boundless sea, remaining calm and unruffled: "Why do this?"

"A-Wu, are you trying to kill me?"

Movements gradually came from behind him.

It sounded like footsteps.

"Sss—"

Ling Wu's slender figure slowly walked from the edge of Jin Liangjin's vision to the center; he was still wearing that magnificent tailcoat, his thin shoulders looking as if they would scatter at the blow of a hurricane, his mouth pressed into a cold, hard line, and his cold, pale hands dragged a long wooden bench over.

In his left hand, he held a plain, unadorned kitchen knife; the handle was silver, the blade edge was cold, but the back of the blade was so bright it could clearly reflect a person's face.

Neither father nor son spoke.

Both understood without saying a word.

Ling Wu lowered his head, not even glancing at him, and meticulously sharpened the sufficiently keen kitchen knife on a whetstone: "Jin Liangjin, when you anticipated death... did you ever think it would be today?"

"No." Jin Liangjin was very confident: "Never."

His tone was serious and earnest, yet no fear could be seen on his face; for Jin Liangjin, he had sent many people to their deaths with live ammunition—fathers, brothers, teachers, and friends—and he had long since lost any sense of reverence for life.

Jin Liangjin: "A-Wu, you still hate me, don't you?"

"Actually, I don't understand; I clearly showed mercy and let you go to the Federation, so why are you still so persistent? I can give you everything: power, status, money, men, women... these things you could get just by waving your hand."

"Yet you insist on being so obsessed with hatred; what is the point? What is the reason?"

Jin Liangjin had a very strong ability to learn, but he could not learn to give up himself for others, could not learn to worry for another person, could not learn to be attached, could not learn to be concerned.

His world had been closed from beginning to end.

Jin Liangjin did not need anyone else to appear; he was completely and utterly self-centered—those who followed him would prosper, and those who opposed him would perish.

Simple and brutal.

Ling Wu pressed his palm against the back of the blade, his body rising and falling slightly; the sound of the blade rubbing against the whetstone was exceptionally clear in the deathly silence, as if invisibly performing a violent and bloody drama.

He asked: "Did you ever love my mother?"

"Did you ever love Shao Yu?"

"Love?" Jin Liangjin found it ridiculous: "Are you referring to responsibility, or loyalty and trust?"

Did he love Ling Tingwan?

No.

Did he love Jin Shaoyu?

No.

Did he love Ling Wu?

No.

Both of them tacitly remained silent.

Jin Liangjin knew his son was hard-hearted and that he could not escape death; he suddenly laughed, the sea breeze brushing against his burning cheeks, and memories flashed before his eyes like a revolving lantern—every face he had killed, every pair of terrified eyes.

At this moment, they all appeared in mid-air like phantoms, staring at him as he stepped into the abyss.

Jin Liangjin's fingers moved slightly, and as if recounting the achievements of his life, he said: "In this life, I have killed my father, my brother, my wife, my teacher, and my friends... to end up dying at the hands of my own son can be considered complete."

"Then I suppose this is me inheriting my father's business." Ling Wu coldly gestured with the kitchen knife.