Chapter One: The Fusion of Memories

Who am I, really?

Cao Mang stared blankly at the corpse in the bathtub. This was his first mission as an assassin. He hadn’t even known who the target was; the only order had been to enter the villa and drown its occupant. But now, his mind was filled with the memories of the dead man, two competing streams of identity vying for control of his body.

There was no time to dwell on it—he had to escape. He slipped away, climbing into a small delivery van, where a blinding headache seized him.

One set of memories was simple—his own. Raised from childhood to be a weapon, he’d only just been taken from the training camp a few days ago, assigned a place to stay, and today carried out his first kill. Apart from combat and assassination techniques, he was as blank as a sheet of paper, indoctrinated from birth to obey without question.

The other memories were far more complicated—the life of the man he’d just killed.

The dead man was Duan Xingyu, the charming young heir of the Duan family, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’d received a noble’s education from an early age, excelling in both character and academics, fluent in several languages and skilled in many arts. He had countless lovers. Yet recently, his family had been struck by disaster—his parents murdered in an attack. To maintain his standing, he’d been forced to marry Qiu Yurou, daughter of the group’s second-in-command.

But that marriage turned into a nightmare. On their wedding night, his wife’s lover beat him within an inch of his life, the adulterous couple fleeing together. No one came to save him; instead, Cao Mang had stripped him and drowned him in the bathtub.

The delivery van lurched to a stop in a narrow alley. Cao Mang, drenched in sweat, held his throbbing head.

Gradually, the pain faded. He exhaled deeply, and when he opened his eyes, a cold light flashed within them.

The two streams of memory had fused together. The dull, naive Cao Mang now saw the world with clarity, understanding many things at once. A guttural, animalistic growl escaped his lips.

From Duan Xingyu’s memories, he learned that the master he’d been trained to serve, Qiu Zhenhu, was the very man responsible for the massacre of his family. The Cao family’s annihilation had left only him alive—barely three years old at the time. He’d survived only because Qiu Zhenhu, amused by his own cruelty, had wanted to make his enemy’s son into a loyal servant, savoring the irony.

A murderous light glinted in Cao Mang’s eyes as he swung out of the van.

Ahead was the back door of a smoked meat shop—the place he’d been sent to after leaving the training camp. He pushed open the door and entered the spacious kitchen, where a mature, voluptuous woman was drinking alone.

Her face was delicately oval, with features perfectly balanced. Her long hair, casually pinned up, was slightly disheveled, revealing a swan-like neck and graceful collarbones. Her drunken, hazy beauty was criminally tempting. The translucent nightgown she wore did little to hide her fair skin, her curves both concealed and revealed in a way that made one’s pulse race.

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Where did you go without a word? Get to work—this place doesn’t feed freeloaders.”

Her expression soured with disdain. “What a waste of a big man like you. You’d better learn to bark properly for the Qiu family.”

Cao Mang ignored her, lifting slabs of marinated meat from a pot taller than a man and hanging them inside the smokehouse.

The woman, one foot propped on a chair, took another swig of liquor, grumbling loudly.

“Are you mute? You’ve been here days and never said a word.”

This time, Cao Mang reacted. From Duan Xingyu’s memories, he recognized this woman—Gao Yanhong—not only the owner of the smoked meat shop, but also one of Qiu Zhenhu’s mistresses.

Qiu Zhenhu was Duan Xingyu’s father-in-law.

Duan Xingyu had long suspected Qiu Zhenhu’s involvement in his parents’ deaths and had secretly investigated, uncovering many hidden truths.

Now, with their memories merged, both harbored blood-deep vendettas. The realization filled him with rage as he pictured what would come next: Qiu Zhenhu would seize the Duan family’s assets, his daughter would fly off with her lover, living in Duan Xingyu’s house, spending his money, and sighing about what a good man he’d been.

Gao Yanhong sneered, “Why are you glaring at me? Think you’ve got the guts to lay a finger on me?”

She cracked open a bottle of baijiu. “If you’ve got the nerve, drink this. If you finish it, maybe I’ll make you a real man tonight.” Her laughter trembled with drunken allure. If it had been the old Cao Mang, he wouldn’t have even noticed. But now, everything was different.

He strode over and picked up the bottle. “If you’re so generous, let me drink first in your honor!”

At dawn, Gao Yanhong was roused by her ringing phone. Her body ached all over as she struggled awake, finding herself lying atop the dining table. Sliding off, she nearly collapsed to the floor, catching herself on the table’s edge.

She turned. Cao Mang was on the phone.

He ended the call without a word to her. Scowling, Gao Yanhong tried to kick him, but a searing pain forced her to suck in a sharp breath and lower her leg.

Cao Mang was packing all the smoked meat into boxes and hauling them out. She couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Where are you taking the meat? Is this shop not open anymore?”

“It’s for the young lady. For a funeral.”

“A funeral?”

Gao Yanhong was stunned. There’d just been a wedding yesterday—how could there be a funeral today?

She exploded in fury, “They haven’t even paid for the wedding meat, you can’t send any more!”

“Tell that to the butler. I’m delivering it either way.”

Gritting her teeth, Gao Yanhong seethed with resentment. Despite being Qiu Zhenhu’s mistress, she’d gained little from it. Years ago, after her father died and relatives tried to take the shop, Qiu Zhenhu had stepped in to help—at the cost of making her his plaything. Once he tired of her, he never returned, yet still kept her on a leash.

She couldn’t help but curse, “You look honest, but you’re a sly one, fooling everyone.”

Cao Mang pulled out his phone. “You came on to me. I have proof. And your van is a wreck—badly maintained. Accelerate too fast and the engine’s toast…”

“Shut up!” Gao Yanhong lunged for his phone, only to stumble and fall.

Cao Mang ignored her, loading a large crate of meat into the van. He was about to drive off when Gao Yanhong, steadying herself against the wall, climbed into the passenger seat and reached for his pocket.

He caught her wrist, flashing a wicked grin. “Keep your hands to yourself, or you’ll regret it.”

“You think this is funny? If Qiu Zhenhu finds out, we’re both dead.”

“Don’t worry. If you keep quiet and I keep quiet, no one will ever know.”

His expression darkened. “I don’t know about myself, but you’ll definitely die if you’re not careful. Best behave.”

He released her and started the van. Still not giving up, Gao Yanhong reached into his pocket, but the phone wasn’t there. She leaned over, trying for the other side, but he pressed her head down and held her there.

She gritted her teeth, “Delete the video and I’ll do whatever you want.”

What are you imagining?

Cao Mang didn’t bother to explain. He started the engine and stepped on the gas. “That depends on how well you perform.”