Chapter 534

Child Fate Bay

Lan Mama

police

alley

Zhujiang beer can

Xin Xin Chen Xiao Han Duo Hai Sheng

Murong Jia Jia

Lan Mama

jade pendant

Yuxi

police station

Water Realm Soul Search

Demonic Path

master

Taoist robe

older sister

reincarnation

Demonic Path

Water Realm Soul Search

can

Zhujiang

Lan Mama

Child Fate Bay

orphanage

Lan Mama

police

police station

jade pendant

Yuxi

bank

older brother

police officer

Yuxi

can

Lan Mama

Chen Xiao

Xin Xin

Han Duo

Hai Sheng

Murong Jia Jia

Lan Mama

Child Fate Bay

Water Realm Soul Search

Demonic Path

master

Taoist robe

reincarnation

orphanage

orphanage

orphanage

orphanage

orphanage

orphanage

orphanage

orphanage

Ok.

Now we need to produce glossary list after all lines.

We must output each line translation with 【N】 prefix.

We must ensure each translation is a single line, no line breaks inside.

We must not add any preamble.

I Hate

Then

My head was sweating, my heart was pounding with dread. It seemed to confirm my guess, and just a few minutes later, another piece of bad news arrived.

Two bodies were carried into Child Fate Bay; they had been found by police in a nearby alley. The two lively, lovable children lay uneasily on stretchers, their clothes tattered, and one child's dirty little hand still clung tightly to something.

It was a Pearl River beer can; the child clung to it until death, never letting go even at the moment he lost his life.

It's easy to imagine: in a dark, gloomy alley, the killer steps closer to the child. The child is helpless, crying, panicked, with no one able to help.

Perhaps the child was thinking, "This person wants to steal my can, my things." So the child desperately protected what outsiders would see as a casually discarded thing worth nothing.

Even after his soul was drawn away and his marrow drained, he never loosened the hand that gripped the can. He was frightened and helpless, so he curled up in a corner, hugging himself, but that hand never let go.

Perhaps his thoughts before death were simple: one can for five cents, ten for fifty cents, a hundred cans would let him hand the money to Lan Mama, so his younger siblings could have a packet of candy again.

Children's thoughts are often innocent and single‑minded; they lack adult desire and adult ambition. Sometimes something adults can easily obtain might be a child's month‑long, even year‑long luxury.

It's a pity the child still died. His death state was exactly the same as Xin Xin's and Chen Xiao's son's. What I cannot forget is how he clung to the can, both hands gripping it against his chest.

When I picked up the already‑crumpled beer can, I cried, Han Duo cried, and the older kids in the orphanage all cried.

"You beast, a beast that exterminates its line, you bastard, a bastard struck by heaven's thunder!" Han Duo wailed wildly, spewing filthy and vicious words—everything I'd ever heard and never heard burst from her mouth. At that moment Han Duo had no trace of reason; besides pain and cruelty, only grief remained.

Her voice gave out from crying, the tears at the corners of her eyes turning red. Finally I had no choice but to knock her unconscious; I couldn't let her keep crying like that, for the old folks said that some people, if they grieve too much, will cry themselves mute.

The crumpled beer can was taken by police as evidence, and after the bodies were identified, the staff carried them away. Lan Mama steeled herself and called all the children inside. But when I opened the door in the middle of the night, I found not a single child asleep.

What met my eyes were faces of bewildered, helpless children; the little ones didn't even know what death meant, yet they were afraid, panicked. Even the older ones, though they covered themselves with blankets, I could still hear sobs coming from beneath the worn‑out quilts.

They… are the flowers of the motherland, and they should enjoy family warmth. Yet these young ones have learned how to earn money; their thoughts are simple and uncomplicated—perhaps they just want to hand the money to Lan Mama for a word of praise. But for such a utterly trivial little sum, they repeatedly brush shoulders with the god of death and are repeatedly bullied, covered in wounds.

That night I cried, cried without restraint; I've seen many dead people, but never have I felt such sorrow as today.

In the courtyard, Lan Mama sat on a chair, head bowed, sighing deeply; at nearly sixty she now looked even older. After his death, where will these children go? Who will manage this large orphanage?

"Lan Mama, you're not asleep yet." I walked over and sat beside her, calling softly: "Lan Mama, the dead cannot return to life; you must grieve and move on." I had held it in for a long time, and this was all I could manage as comfort.

Ah… a sigh, Lan Mama turned her face, her expression very dim: "Don't worry about me, old woman that I am—I can still hold up; I'll be fine, I'll be fine."

She kept saying she'd be all right, wandering and helpless, but I knew she wasn't really afraid of death; she was afraid that after she died, no one would look after these children.

"Lan Mama, could you let me see these children's records?" I thought, there must be some commonality among them that led to their falling into the killer's hands.

But Lan Mama's reply disappointed me. She said, these children are orphans—how could they have records and birth characters? Some of their names are ones she gave them. When they were picked up, if they had anything with a name written on it to prove identity, that was already considered good.

I could get no information from these children; I ran out of the orphanage into a side alley, crouched in a dark corner, yet at that moment my mind kept replaying the scene of these children's tragic deaths.

"Jia Jia, did you see all that?" I called softly, summoning Murong Jia Jia from the jade pendant.

Murong Jia Jia's figure appeared beside me, holding a tattered oil‑paper umbrella, still so hazy, untouched by mortal fire.

"Jia Jia, are you really my sister or not?" I suddenly asked.

She said, puzzled: "What's wrong?"

"I want to cry, I want to bawl my eyes out, I want a shoulder—can you give me one? Are you my sister?"

"Cry," Murong Jia Jia said, moving her body closer, but her form remained illusory; I could never touch her.

"Hai Sheng"

"Mm…"

"Your sister has already reincarnated; I… am not your sister, merely a lingering wisp of a soul left in the world."

"I know, but I'm so tired, I just want to sleep." Actually I should have let go, but I could never get past this hurdle. Actually I should have realized long ago that my master's words were just a lie—once the Daoist robe is taken off, my sister has entered reincarnation, so how could she appear before me again?

But people always like to deceive themselves, giving themselves a reason to live, a hope to go on.

"Jia Jia, can you help me find that killer? I want to kill him." At this moment I abandoned all kindness; even if I fell into the demonic path, I wanted to go berserk.

"Let me think… in my memory there is a way that could help you." Murong Jia Jia's words rekindled my hope, and I fixed my gaze on her, pressing: "What method?"

She furrowed her brows, saying: "Water‑realm soul search, but you have to get me something—the can that little boy was gripping in his hand. Because his dying obsession is all in that can; even if his soul can't be found, through the can I can still see something."

I had no hesitation whatsoever; I immediately set out. The beer can had been taken by police as evidence, and they were likely from the nearby precinct. If I went now, I might be able to get it back.

I ran to the nearby precinct and recognized the officer on duty as the very person who had taken the can from my hand.

"Big brother, may I have a word?" I stepped up, leaned close to his ear, and called him over.

"Big brother, do you still remember me? I'm from the orphanage, and I have a favor to ask." As I spoke, I pulled out a stick of Jade Stream cigarettes from my pocket and handed it to him.

I then stated my request. At first, this big‑headed, oily‑eared policeman shook his head repeatedly, saying: "No, no, this is evidence—it has to be turned in; if discovered you'd go to jail. Besides, it's just a broken beer can—useless to you."

"It's useful, it's useful—just give it to me!" I then hurriedly pulled out a prepared stack of bills and stuffed it into his pocket.

Although his tone remained just as unpleasant, his gaze had shifted and he didn't turn against me. I knew my guess was right—his character matched his face: greedy for money and lustful. So I went to the bank, got another stack, and gave it to him.

"It's just a beer can, a piece of scrap metal—what's the big deal, worth all this fuss?" He pulled the can out, shoved it into my hand, and muttered: "I can't understand why that kid, dead as he is, still clung to this worthless junk—and you, a grown adult, also want this junk. In this world, both rich and poor are sick."

"Big brother, do you know?" I gave a contemptuous look, but my expression didn't change: "Last year, during the salvage of the sunken ship, I was there too, and someone told me it was just a pile of scrap metal—so I came to hate him."

"What business is it of yours what they salvage? What do you hate?"

"Hate that iron won't become steel."