Chapter 148: A Nation in Mourning

The next day.
The largest funeral parlor in Jiang City—Eternal Peace Hall.
The atmosphere was so heavy it felt as if water could be wrung out of the air.
The entire square was packed tightly, surrounded by the media with their long lenses and spontaneous crowds of citizens.
A sea of black-clad people stretched as far as the eye could see.
White and yellow chrysanthemums formed a vast ocean of flowers, and at the center of the square hung a massive black-and-white photo of Chen Yu, his face adorned with a mischievous smile.
Beneath the photograph, a bold line of black characters stood out glaringly:
—“Hero Chen Yu Memorial Service.”
All of Jiang City, indeed the entire nation of Xia, was bidding farewell to this young man who, in a live broadcast of his own death, exposed a shocking conspiracy but ultimately fell alone on a deserted island.
This grand spectacle, broadcast live in its entirety, was meant to convince everyone beyond doubt that Chen Yu was truly gone.
Gone for good.

Inside the mourning hall, mournful music played softly.
Members of the city’s criminal investigation squad stood in crisp uniforms, white flowers pinned to their chests, their eyes reddened from weeping.
Su Qingzhu stood at the forefront, looking as if her soul had been drained.
Her gaze was fixed unblinkingly on that black-and-white photo; her beautiful eyes swollen like walnuts, tears streaming down like broken pearls, unstoppable.
She couldn’t believe it.
No matter what, she could not believe that the man who was always cocky and irreverent, never serious but always managing to turn the tide at the most critical moments, had simply become a cold, lifeless photo.
Just days ago, he was still bantering with her, looking at her with those frustrating yet endearing eyes that made you want to laugh and cry at once.
How could he just be gone?

Beside her, Yan Zheng’s face was darker than the bottom of a pot.
As the captain of the city’s criminal investigation squad and Chen Yu’s nominal “guide,” he was to deliver the eulogy personally today.
His hand trembled slightly as veins bulged while clutching the speech notes.
No one knew that this nationally sensational funeral was orchestrated entirely by him.
No one knew that he had told an enormous lie.
He had deceived everyone.
He had deceived Su Qingzhu before him, deceived all his colleagues, deceived the billions watching on television.

Liu Hong wore a plain black dress, standing on the other side as Chen Yu’s “family.”
Unlike Su Qingzhu, she did not sob uncontrollably but stood quietly, tears silently slipping down her cheeks, radiating a heartbreaking sorrow.
This woman had first believed her husband was dead, then discovered he was a deranged killer, and now was sending off the man who had pulled her from the abyss.
Heaven had been cruel to her beyond measure.

“Ahem...”
Yan Zheng cleared his throat and stepped onto the stage.
He looked down at the countless sorrowful eyes before him, at Su Qingzhu’s tear-streaked face, and spoke in a low, hoarse voice:
“Today, with the deepest grief in our hearts, we gather here to bid farewell to our comrade, our hero...”
His voice cracked repeatedly, choked with emotion, forcing him to pause and wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.
The pain, the regret—it was heartfelt and flawless.
Su Qingzhu’s cries grew louder, nearly fainting.

Across the global live stream, the comment section was flooded.
“Farewell, hero!!”
“Boohoo, my Yu God! I refuse to believe this is real!”
“This is what a hero’s farewell looks like! Not like those actors who hog the trending charts even in death!”
“Rest in peace, Zombie Brother, may heaven be free of murder cases!”

Chen Yu’s “death” was now an ironclad fact, and his heroic image was firmly cemented, elevated to a pedestal.

...

Meanwhile,
In a secret medical facility hidden from the world,
Chen Yu leaned against the hospital bed, expressionless as he watched the huge LCD screen on the wall.
The screen broadcasted his own funeral live.

Watching the solemn scene, the sea of chrysanthemums, and his own ridiculously handsome memorial photo,
Chen Yu’s lips twitched.
“Damn, making such a fuss? You’d think some big shot died.”
He couldn’t help but mock silently.
“I’ve been alive for twenty-three years and never had this kind of glory; now I’m dead, and there’s a national memorial? Worth it.”

When the camera focused on Su Qingzhu, her face wet with tears, Chen Yu’s irreverence vanished instantly.
What replaced it was a suffocating heaviness and guilt.
That silly girl was genuinely heartbroken.
He could even imagine how much pain she was feeling now.
That debt was owed to Yan Zheng’s old silver coin head.
And Liu Hong too...
Seeing her lost, broken expression, Chen Yu sighed.
That woman’s fate was unbearably harsh.
His emotions churned.

Soon after, the camera panned to Yan Zheng giving the eulogy.
Seeing Yan Zheng’s repeated chokes and anguished grief, Chen Yu was dumbfounded.
“Holy crap! What a seasoned actor!”
“That performance—if he doesn’t win an Oscar, it’s a waste of that square face!”
“Tears just come naturally—he’s a born talent!”
Chen Yu laughed while mocking, finding it all rather amusing.

This was probably the strangest scene in the world:
A living man earnestly watching his own funeral and even critiquing the eulogist’s acting.
Too damn surreal.

But as he laughed, his expression slowly darkened again.
He knew this funeral was more than just a show.
It was a farewell.
From today on, internet celebrity detective Chen Yu would disappear completely from this world.
This was the severing of all his past and every retreat.
He would become a ghost, a nonentity, walking alone into the deepest darkness.

The funeral continued on the screen.
Chen Yu switched off the sound.
He did not want to watch anymore.
He feared that if he continued, his resolve would falter.

Closing his eyes, the image of Li Qing collapsing into his arms resurfaced in his mind.
“Live...”
That foolish woman had traded her life for his.
Now, she was trapped in hell.
Chen Yu’s fist clenched tighter.
To hell with ghosts, to hell with darkness.
For her, even if it truly was hell, he would break through it!

After an unknown length of time, the door to the ward opened.
Yan Zheng entered, having changed out of his crisp uniform into casual clothes, the sorrow wiped off his face, leaving only exhaustion and gravity.
“How do you feel?” Yan Zheng pulled out a chair and sat down, pouring himself a glass of water.
“Feels like I’m an Oscar-winning ghost,” Chen Yu smirked, “Captain Yan, with your acting skills, a career in entertainment would be a shame to miss.”
“Cut the crap.” Yan Zheng rolled his eyes, “This is a necessary procedure. To fool those bastards, we have to fool our own people first.”
“I get it.” Chen Yu nodded. “If their grief had flaws, those clever bastards would see through it.”

Though he teased, he understood Yan Zheng’s predicament.
This play had to be flawless.

“What’s with your body...?” Yan Zheng only now noticed that all of Chen Yu’s injuries had healed overnight!
And at this moment, Chen Yu was sitting on the bed with a leg crossed, conversing calmly, his breath steady and his condition looking good.
“Gifted, I guess!” Chen Yu laughed, unwilling to dive into that topic.
Yan Zheng stared deeply at him, then changed the subject.
“You’ve got too many secrets, kid; I’m used to it now!” Yan Zheng shook his head with a bitter smile and pulled a file from his briefcase, tossing it onto Chen Yu’s bed.
“Take a look—your new identity.”

Chen Yu picked up the file and opened it.
Inside was a complete set of new identification documents.
ID card, household registration, driver’s license—all authentic-looking.
Only the name and photo had changed.

Name: Azhe.
Age: 25.
Occupation: None.

Chen Yu stared at the ID photo of a scruffy man with a weary, defeated gaze—a stark contrast to his real self—and his lips twitched again.
“This photo editing is too realistic.”
“Azhe?” Chen Yu tossed the ID back on the bed. “Can’t you give me a cooler name? Like Dragon Overlord or something?”
“You think this is a novel?”
Yan Zheng took a sip of water. “This identity took a lot of effort to create.”
“Azhe—a lone orphan who struggled and scraped through the underbelly of society, addicted to gambling, drowning in high-interest debts, abandoned by his wife, now desperate and looking for a risky opportunity abroad to strike it rich.”

Chen Yu’s eye twitched uncontrollably.
“Captain Yan, do you have something against me? Setting me up with such a loser persona?”
This identity practically screamed “failure” on its face.
“This one’s safest and easiest to approach them with.”
Yan Zheng’s expression turned serious.
“That organization wants precisely someone who’s a deadbeat in the country, a worthless life, desperate enough to risk everything overseas. The more you look like a desperate gambler with nowhere to turn, the less suspicion you’ll draw.”

Chen Yu fell silent.
Yan Zheng was right.
A hero dropped from the sky could never infiltrate a shadowy criminal syndicate.
But a debt-ridden gambler pushed to the edge could.
This was his only ticket in.

“From today on, forget Chen Yu.” Yan Zheng stood and looked at him, speaking slowly and clearly.
“You are Azhe.”
“A scoundrel who would do anything for money.”

Chen Yu picked up the ID card belonging to “Azhe,” his fingers tracing the unfamiliar name.
He stared at the defeated man in the photo as if looking at another person’s life.
Indeed.
Chen Yu was dead.
Dead in that explosion, dead at today’s national memorial.
The only one who lived on was Azhe.

“All right then.”
Chen Yu pocketed the ID and looked up at Yan Zheng.
His eyes no longer held any trace of cockiness or levity.
Only a fathomless, icy abyss.

“Captain Yan,” he said,
“When do we start the journey?”