Chapter 688: That's Not Right!

Jiang Feng fell silent.

He lowered his head, watching Ling Zhaixing sitting on the ground; her shoulders were still trembling slightly, and her stray hair covered most of her face, making her expression unreadable.

Her fingers rested on the blue‑brick floor, the pads pressing against the cold bricks, the tips turning slightly pale.

Jiang Feng withdrew his gaze and turned toward the bed.

"Jiangnan Wang."

When he spoke, his voice was low, yet everyone in the room heard him clearly.

Jiangnan Wang had been leaning against his pillow; hearing the call, his body straightened a bit.

One hand braced the bed rail, the movement tugging at the wound on his chest; his brows twitched, yet he did not pause. He raised his other hand, clasped his fists together, and threw a punch toward Jiang Feng.

"Mr. Jiang, please speak."

Jiang Feng looked at him.

"I need you to investigate Ling Zhaixing's background."

He paused, his gaze dropping to the top of Ling Zhaixing's bowed head, where a stray lock had been lifted by the wind and fallen back down.

"If she truly was taken by the Flying Star Gang…"

Jiang Feng's voice faltered at that point.

His brows knit slightly, as if something was lodged in his throat, making it hard to continue.

He watched Ling Zhaixing curled on the ground for a few breaths, then carried on.

"Do your best to find her family."

Jiangnan Wang nodded immediately after hearing this.

A serious expression settled on his face; he sat up slightly from the pillow, his tone far more solemn than before.

"Mr. Jiang, rest assured…"

"Your words, I will certainly give my all."

He paused, then added another sentence.

No matter what, Mr. Jiang saved his life this time.

Acting on behalf of Mr. Jiang is also proper.

Jiang Feng turned his head, his gaze returning to Ling Zhaixing.

She remained seated on the ground, motionless. Sunlight streamed through the window behind her, bathing her shoulders in a warm hue, yet she felt no warmth at all; she was like a stone soaked through with water—heavy and cold.

Jiang Feng stared at her for a few breaths, then lifted his hand.

He flicked his finger lightly in the air, producing an extremely crisp snapping sound.

The sound was faint, yet in the quiet room it rang clearly, like a pebble dropped into deep water—'dong'—sending an unseen ripple outward.

Ling Zhaixing's shoulders jolted.

She seemed to be yanked out of a deep, long dream, her whole body shuddering violently before she slowly lifted her head.

Her eye sockets were still red; the watery sheen beneath had mostly dried, yet fine red threads covered the whites, making her look as if she hadn't slept for days.

Her gaze was unfocused, as if she couldn't find a focal point; she scanned the room, first landing on Jiang Feng's face for a couple of breaths, then drifting slowly to Jiangnan Wang on the bed.

She stared at Jiangnan Wang for a long time.

Yet those eyes no longer held the swirling hatred they once did; in their place was something even emptier.

Her lips moved as if to speak, but she finally pressed them into a thin line, uttering no sound.

Then she slowly rose from the ground.

Her movements were a bit clumsy; she braced the foot of the bed and the edge of a low table, lifting herself inch by inch, bending her knees then straightening them, swaying a moment before she steadied.

She gathered the collar of her outer robe, turned, and walked step by step toward the doorway.

Song Dianjun stood at the doorway, watching her pass by his side; his steps halted briefly, but he neither blocked nor moved.

After Ling Zhaixing's silhouette vanished around the corridor corner, he turned back and looked at Jiang Feng.

"Mr. Jiang…"

Song Dianjun pondered for a moment, his voice pressed low as if fearing distant ears.

"Should we send someone to follow Miss Ling?"

Jiang Feng shook his head.

"No need."

He walked to the window, gazing at the canopy of the old locust tree beyond the courtyard wall; sunlight filtered through the leaf gaps, scattering dancing specks of light across the ground.

He knew well Ling Zhaixing's skill; unless a Heavenly Person Expert was watching, no one could hope to keep up with the girl's steps.

His gaze lingered on those light spots for a while.

Moreover, he felt these matters were for Ling Zhaixing to overcome herself.

The things she once steadfastly believed in now shattered before her piece by piece; whether to reassemble them or discard them, she must do it with her own hands.

Others cannot do it for her.

……

Not long after leaving Jiangnan Wangfu, Ling Zhaixing found herself on the street.

She didn't know how long she had walked, nor where she had arrived.

Shops lined the street side by side; a child chased a bamboo‑woven ball past her, brushed her arm, then ran off.

She gave no reaction.

Her steps moved forward one by one, without direction or purpose. She simply kept walking, like a doll whose springs had been removed, propelled only by its remaining inertia.

Her mind was empty.

Those images remained, but were no longer so sharp.

Master's smile, the scene of senior brothers sitting around dividing money, the Jade Buddha placed on the main hall's offering table…

Everything was separated by a layer of mist, hazy, and when I reached out to touch, I couldn't grasp anything.

She didn't know what she was.

An orphan taken in by the Master?

The youngest disciple of the Flying Star Gang?

Or a chivalrous woman who acts on behalf of Heaven?

She stood on the bustling street, watching the people coming and going before her, those faces flashing past her eyes in a hurry, and none of them recognized her.

She seemed like a fragment missed by this world, stuck in a crevice, unable to rise nor fall.

She lowered her head and kept walking forward.

Front people suddenly increased.

The order on the street resembled a pot of porridge being stirred; the Crowd surged apart to both sides, revealing a gap in the middle.

Ling Zhaixing didn't look up, she merely moved her steps passively along the flow of the Crowd.

Then she heard a voice.

"Catch the thief!"

The voice was sharp and piercing, as if shouting with all its strength, tinged with panic.

"He stole my bag!"

Ling Zhaixing heard it.

She hesitated for a moment under her foot, but still didn't look up.

She stood There, unmoving, with no intention to move.

She didn't care about the thief.

Now she cares about nothing.

But the next second, a figure burst out from the Crowd, moving as fast as a gust of wind, heading straight toward Ling Zhaixing.

Ling Zhaixing didn't dodge, and the person didn't slow down; the whole body collided solidly with her Shoulders.

Ling Zhaixing was knocked back half a step, staggered briefly before regaining her footing.

The person also came to a halt.

He was a tall, thin man, wearing a drab grey short jacket, clutching a bulging cloth sack, his facial features flushed red from running, his forehead slick with sweat.

He gasped heavily, lowered his head to glance at Ling Zhaixing, seeing a frail young woman, then looked at the Crowd behind catching up; the Panic on his face faded a bit, replaced by a brazen impatience.

"Looking for death!"

He shouted at Ling Zhaixing, his voice hoarse and thick with the local accent. He raised his hand and shoved Ling Zhaixing, trying to push her aside so he could keep running.

Ling Zhaixing was shoved again, stumbling another step backward.

She lifted her head.

She looked at the unfamiliar man before her, his face reddened from running flashing before her eyes.

The thief felt uneasy under her gaze and cursed again.

"What are you looking at, get away!"

Then he turned sideways, about to dash past Ling Zhaixing.

Ling Zhaixing stood her ground, and this time, she didn't move aside.

"Put the bag down…" she paused, then forced out a sentence.

"You're wrong to do that."