1999. Xijiang City.
North of Xiguan Village.
On National Highway 223, a sheer cliff rose on the left, and on the right was a steep slope dropping away at nearly forty-five degrees.
At the bottom of that slope, a Santana sedan lay overturned.
The body was badly warped. Every window had shattered. Both front airbags had gone off. The driver in the seat had blacked out and was slumped over the center console.
In the back seat, a woman had collapsed sideways. The twisted frame had pinned her tightly between the seats. Blood had spread across her white shirt in ugly patches.
One look was enough.
This was a brutal crash.
And the license plate made it even more striking.
It belonged to the Nanguan District Government of Xijiang City.
Elliot Chow opened his eyes.
His head buzzed so hard it felt like a swarm of bees had gotten trapped inside his skull. Every bone in his body screamed in pain, like he’d been run over from head to toe. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead almost instantly.
He forced himself to take a few deep breaths.
The pain in his chest and abdomen was sharp enough to make him want to curl up, but the wrecked Santana in front of him made his mind go blank for a second.
Because this scene...
It felt way too familiar.
“What the hell is going on? Why does this look exactly like that car accident from twenty-three years ago?”
He stared hard at the mangled car, trying to make sense of it. But the savage pain tearing through his body kept reminding him of one thing—
As unbelievable as it was, this was real.
“Wasn’t I already dead?”
“Did I... seriously get a second shot?”
Twenty-three years earlier, twenty-four-year-old Elliot Chow had just graduated from the Chinese Department at Xida University. Through family connections, he’d been placed in the Nanguan District Government Office. He had been there less than a month when luck seemed to smile on him. The newly appointed deputy district chief had picked him as her full-time liaison.
At the time, he’d thought his life was finally taking off.
Who could’ve guessed that one sudden car wreck would smash that bit of good fortune to pieces?
One second he was on cloud nine.
The next, he was flat on the ground, ruined.
June 28, 1999.
Elliot had accompanied the newly arrived Deputy District Chief Arabella Forsythe to Xiaguan Village for an inspection. The regular government driver had taken leave that day, so Elliot had driven the car himself.
Then the brakes failed.
The vehicle slammed into the cliff.
Because of the airbag, Elliot’s injuries hadn’t been too serious. But Arabella Forsythe hadn’t gotten medical help in time.
She died.
Technically, the rollover wasn’t Elliot’s fault. But when something that big happened, somebody had to take the hit. Somebody had to wear the blame.
And that somebody became him.
He was removed from the Nanguan District Government and transferred to the Xijiang Daily, where he ended up wasting away as an idle proofreader with no future to speak of.
“Looks like heaven really didn’t forget me after all,” Elliot muttered, his voice hoarse and low. “So the goddess of luck didn’t ditch me completely... She actually gave me another chance.”
Bit by bit, he snapped fully awake.
Then he immediately turned to look behind him.
Arabella Forsythe was still unconscious.
But she was not dead yet.
Afterward, he had read the investigation report more than once. Arabella Forsythe hadn’t died from the crash itself. A broken rib had punched into her lung, fluid built up fast, and in the end she had suffocated.
“Bang!”
“Bang!”
The second Elliot Chow snapped out of it, he lifted his leg and slammed it hard into the driver’s door.
Pain shot through his whole body like live wire, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself around to the back. He grabbed the rear door handle with both hands and yanked like crazy.
“Creak—”
The door was pulled open by sheer brute force.
Elliot sucked in a deep breath, his eyes sweeping over the inside of the wreck in a flash. Then he spun back to the front seat, leaned half his body over the driver’s side, and reached under the passenger seat with one hand.
“Please… please let this manual seat adjustment still work. Just give me something…”
“Click—creak!”
The passenger seatback actually tilted forward.
“Ah… ngh…”
As the pressure on her body eased, Arabella Forsythe let out a faint, blurry sound on instinct, like someone drowning finally catching the smallest bit of air.
Her face was white as paper.
Blood stained the front of her clothes. There was a gash on her head too, and thick, sticky blood had run everywhere, a mess so brutal it made the whole car look even more terrifying.
Elliot dragged her out with all the strength he had left. The moment he got her clear, he dropped to the ground with a thud.
Arabella lay flat beside him, completely unconscious.
Her breathing was weak, frighteningly weak, but her vital signs were still there. Still hanging on.
“First-aid kit… in the trunk…”
Government cars always carried some emergency medical supplies in case something went sideways.
Right now, that was exactly what Elliot needed.
Even though the crash had been caused by brake failure, he had carried the guilt for this his entire life.
It had sat in his chest for years, heavy and cold.
After he learned how Arabella had really died, he had spent every spare moment following a doctor friend around, learning emergency rescue methods bit by bit. Since he knew she had died because a rib had pierced her lung, he had even focused on that kind of minor surgical drainage procedure.
He had practiced it over and over, countless times.
Back then, it had felt almost ridiculous, like something he would never actually use.
And now, of all times, it was here.
His hand shook as he reached out.
Elliot pressed his lips together, held his breath, and started undoing the buttons on Arabella’s clothes one by one.
Then he removed her bra.
He had to use the knife to cut open the skin about three inches below Arabella Forsythe’s armpit, then drain the fluid out through the tube.
“Hiss…”
Elliot Chow sucked in a sharp breath. Blood blurred his vision, and on top of that, everything in front of him turned white and dizzy for a second.
Her skin was soft and smooth, pale like milk, almost dazzling to look at.
He shut his eyes and took a hard, steadying breath, forcing his racing thoughts back into line. Then he picked up the sterilized knife and prepared himself to make the cut.
The blade sliced into that fair, delicate skin.
Arabella, the deputy district chief, frowned at once from the pain. Her brows drew tight, and then, little by little, she opened her eyes.
