AGN -Chapter 159 Liang Zhu (Part 9)

Chen Huihong’s Maybach slowly drove into the underground garage without attracting anyone’s attention.

Everything went smoothly.

Before getting out of the car, Qin Huai put on his hat, scarf, and mask again. After making sure that even if Zhao Rong and Qin Congwen stood in front of him they wouldn’t recognize him at first glance, he kept alert to his surroundings, dragged his suitcase, and quickly slipped into the elevator.

Only after stepping out of the elevator and reaching Luo Jun’s door did Qin Huai finally breathe a small sigh of relief.

Zhang Shumei opened the door.

“Mr. Qin, your room has already been cleaned. Time was limited, so the bed is a temporary inflatable mattress. Please see if you can get used to it. If not, I can have someone move the bed from my room to the guest room,” Zhang Shumei said.

Luo Jun’s house didn’t have a guest room. His home consisted only of a master bedroom, a second bedroom, a studio, a media room, and a display room. The servant’s room had been used by Luo Jun for storage. Zhang Shumei, the live-in housekeeper, lived in the second bedroom.

Qin Huai took a look and realized that Zhang Shumei had temporarily converted the media room into a guest room. It was quite spacious—big enough to stay in, even larger than his own master bedroom.

“It’s fine, no problem at all,” Qin Huai said with a smile. He opened his suitcase and took out the twenty jin of pastries and raw dough for fruit-shaped buns.

This time, aside from the pastries and dough, Qin Huai only brought a change of clothes—there wasn’t much to unpack. He took his things and went to the living room.

Chen Huihong was already eating from a fruit platter.

Luo Jun was still sitting on the sofa watching TV. When he saw Qin Huai come out, he gave him a glance, cleared his throat, and said loudly, “Xiao Zhang, the usual—climbing vine.”

Five minutes later, Zhang Shumei, having finished packing, happily left with a large bag.

Qin Huai went to the kitchen to steam Gou’ers for Luo Jun. As soon as he entered, he found several bowls of ingredients on the stove.

Ingredients for chenpi (dried tangerine peel) tea.

The intention was obvious.

“Mr. Luo, are we making chenpi tea?” Qin Huai poked his head out and asked.

“Otherwise?” Luo Jun replied in a sarcastic tone. “Master Qin is truly busy—travels all this way just to quickly finish his task, not even willing to let the target drink an extra bowl of chenpi tea.”

Qin Huai: …

What palace intrigue drama have you been watching lately?

In any case, making chenpi tea wasn’t troublesome—it was just a side task. Qin Huai first put the Gou’ers into the steamer, then began brewing the tea. He also rummaged through the cabinet and found the ingredients prepared by Zhang Shumei, and started kneading dough.

Since he rarely came back, he should make some delicious pastries for Luo Jun and Chen Huihong so they could see the results of his recent training at Huang Ji.

After studying heat control for a week, his pastry skills had improved dramatically.

Soon, after the dough had been kneaded and left to rest on the board, the Gou’ers in the steamer were ready.

The chenpi tea still needed a bit more time, but that was fine—the buns weren’t fully colored yet. Qin Huai prepared red vegetable juice and worked creatively, timing everything precisely.

Just as the four Gou’ers finished coloring, the chenpi tea was also ready.

Luo Jun was already seated at the dining table. Qin Huai served three bowls of chenpi tea on a tray and sat down to eat with them.

Chen Huihong, who had been waiting impatiently, immediately picked up a Gou’er, took a bite, and happily squinted her eyes as she savored it.

Luo Jun remained unmoved. He didn’t even look at the buns, calmly picking up his spoon and slowly drinking the chenpi tea.

Spoon after spoon—this motion and demeanor were very familiar to Qin Huai, almost identical to how Luo Jun looked in memory, like a daily morning ritual.

After five or six minutes, he finally finished a bowl of tea.

Chen Huihong had nearly finished her second bun and was already feeling quite full, holding the remaining half without taking another bite.

Luo Jun set down his bowl but didn’t take a bun, appearing somewhat hesitant.

“Come on, don’t hesitate. It’s the same either way. Letting Xiao Qin see your memory won’t cost you anything. If he sees it and makes a new dessert that helps you overcome your tribulation, you’ll gain more years of life!” Chen Huihong persuaded as someone experienced.

Luo Jun glared at her unhappily. “You think I’m like you, forgetting everything? Do I care about living a few more years? If I die now and reincarnate, it’s still the same life.”

Despite saying that, Luo Jun moved his hand, picked up a bun, brought it to his mouth, hesitated for a moment, and took a small bite.

Almost at the moment he began chewing, a game notification sounded in Qin Huai’s mind:

“Ding! Congratulations on completing the side quest [The Taste of Memory]. You have received the reward: [A Portion of Luo Jun’s Memory].”

Luo Jun’s final memory had been obtained.

Qin Huai looked at Luo Jun and asked cautiously, “Do you… have anything else to tell me?”

Qin Huai knew very well that Luo Jun must understand what memory he was about to see.

Luo Jun remained silent for a long time. Qin Huai sat at the table waiting as well, not opening the game panel.

Finally, Luo Jun spoke, his voice slightly hoarse: “Remember her appearance. Don’t forget it.”

Qin Huai nodded, then opened the game panel and selected [A Portion of Luo Jun’s Memory].

He chose “Yes.”

[Memory loading—]

“Boom!”

Firelight, explosions, disaster.

When Qin Huai entered the memory, all he saw was devastation.

It was clearly night, but the flames lit up the surroundings. Everywhere were bombed ruins—collapsed buildings, charred debris, broken walls that occasionally creaked. There were no cries, no calls for help. It felt as though all life had been erased in the ruins.

Qin Huai looked up and saw planes circling overhead, continuously dropping bombs.

“Boom.”

Another bomb fell in the distance.

This was not the kind of realistic-but-fake bombing seen in movies—this was real. The explosions were loud enough to shatter one’s hearing.

This was not a disaster film. This was an actual disaster.

Luo Jun stood amid the ruins, leaning against a half-collapsed wall, calmly reading a newspaper by the firelight, as if everything around him had nothing to do with him—his expression relaxed, as though he were waiting outside a cinema for someone to finish watching a film.

Soon, the planes flew away, but Luo Jun hadn’t finished his newspaper. He turned a page and glanced up.

“Every day—it’s so annoying.”

After speaking, he brushed the dust off himself and moved to a brighter spot to continue reading.

When one page was finished, he moved to another. When one fire went out, he found another source of light.

Qin Huai found it difficult to evaluate such behavior, which resembled “borrowing light to study.” In such a place, with nothing around—no people, no anything—he simply joined Luo Jun and read the newspaper with him.

The two of them read until dawn.

Qin Huai even counted out of boredom—Luo Jun took out 22 folded newspaper “tofu blocks” from his pocket. Clearly, he had come prepared specifically to read newspapers during a night of bombing.

Normally, Luo Jun only carried three or four.

Luo Jun calmly folded the finished newspapers back into blocks, put them in his pocket, and walked toward the east.

Toward the direction of the rising sun.

At dawn, though the light was still dim, it was enough for Qin Huai to see the surroundings clearly. Everywhere bombs had fallen, only ruins remained.

Some houses were not completely destroyed—some low buildings had only broken tiles and burned wood; some had partially collapsed walls but intact structures; and a few, very fortunate ones, were nearly untouched, only their outer walls blackened by fire.

Luo Jun walked slowly, with Qin Huai following behind him. After passing several streets, faint cries could be heard in the distance.

People who had spent the night in air-raid shelters finally began to emerge after confirming the planes had left and daylight had arrived.

Some saw their homes reduced to ruins and collapsed in grief, clutching debris and crying, rummaging through the wreckage for valuables, snarling like feral animals at anyone who approached.

Some tried to take advantage of the chaos, threatening vulnerable women and weak young men with clubs to hand over their belongings, even though their pockets were already full, still greedily wanting more.

But most were people calling out for their relatives—rushing toward anyone familiar to ask if they had seen someone.

Chaos everywhere.

Luo Jun clearly disliked crowded disorder. He avoided people along the way, and after passing through several poor districts, Qin Huai saw distant Western-style houses.

These buildings were unfamiliar to Qin Huai, indicating that Luo Jun had left Sichuan and come to a new place.

The area of Western-style houses had not been directly bombed—only lightly affected. The buildings were mostly intact, likely due to geography. Qin Huai could tell this was indeed a place less likely to be bombed; there was a reason it had become a wealthy district during such dangerous times.

Luo Jun walked toward the innermost three-story Western-style house. Before he reached the door, a visibly anxious Liu Tao rushed toward him, examining his face, touching his cheeks, ears, and chin with dirty hands, as if afraid to miss something. Only after confirming he was unharmed did she check his neck and arms.

Her hands trembled, and her whole body shook with fear. She looked utterly disheveled—hair loose, clothes wrinkled, one shoe missing, sweat on her forehead, tears on her face, her silk dress torn in many places, and small wounds on her hands with sand embedded in them.

Luo Jun noticed her hands.

“What happened to your hands?” he asked.

Liu Tao didn’t answer. Tears fell uncontrollably as she choked out, “I thought you were dead.”

She explained that the place Luo Jun had gone the previous night had been bombed heavily, with many casualties, and she had feared the worst.

“Let’s not search anymore, okay? I won’t look for my parents anymore. Let’s go back to Shanghai. If that’s not possible, let’s go further south. It’s too dangerous here.”

She spoke about others injured or killed in the bombing, and how rumors suggested things would only get worse, pushing them to leave.

Luo Jun said nothing. He simply held her hand, calming her. Once her trembling subsided, he gently tidied her hair.

“Let’s go home first. Put on your shoes—there are many broken stones. Walking barefoot will cut your feet.”

Liu Tao followed him home.

Compared to their previous home in Sichuan, this Western-style house was much larger and more luxurious, with more furniture and furnishings. There were no newspapers in the living room—they had likely been moved upstairs.

Luo Jun asked Liu Tao to sit on the sofa, fetched her a pair of shoes, helped her put them on, then used a damp towel to wipe her face and hands.

She sat like a doll, dazed and still shaken.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Luo Jun said, sitting beside her. “I won’t be in danger.”

This seemed to trigger her emotions again—she trembled, looked at him, and tears fell once more.

“You’re crying again. You never used to cry,” Luo Jun said helplessly. “I remember you telling me that when you were young in the opera troupe, even when the master beat you with a stick until it broke, you wouldn’t cry.”

“That’s different,” Liu Tao said softly. “I don’t want to cry either, but I can’t control it.”

She suggested returning to safer areas, mentioning relatives and others who had moved.

Luo Jun asked about the troupe master. Liu Tao lowered her head and said she had lost contact years ago.

Luo Jun stated plainly that the master was likely dead.

He then said:

“This place is still safer than most.”

“There is no truly safe place in this world.”

“Wars in the north, unrest in the central regions, bandits in the south—cities are unsafe, countryside is unsafe. In such a chaotic world, where can one find safety?”

Liu Tao looked at him blankly.

“At least this is the wartime capital. The air-raid shelters here are specially built. As long as you stay home like others do, nowhere else is safer than here.”

“Don’t judge based on what others say—look at what they do. As long as they haven’t left, this place is still safe.”

“Don’t worry about me. Whether I’m negotiating with officials or searching for people, I won’t be in danger.”

Liu Tao clearly didn’t understand his meaning.

“You once said that when we got married, you would help me find my parents.”

“I never go back on my word.”