Reborn a day later, I emptied my enemy's possessions beforehand.

Zhou Haibing took a deep breath, looked at An Baojun's contact number, and pressed the dial button.

The phone rang five or six times before it was answered.

A man's voice came from the other end, tinged with surprise and confusion:

"Zhou Haibing? Why are you calling me?"

An Baojun's voice was hoarse and low, like that of someone who smokes all year round. There was no respect or politeness in his tone, only a condescending and hostile indifference.

"An Baojun, where are you?" Zhou Haibing's voice was the same as usual, revealing no emotion.

"I'm at the jewelry store, taking inventory." An Baojun's tone was very impatient. "What do you want? Get to the point."

Zhou Haibing said:

"I recently acquired a painting by Tang Bohu, but I'm unsure if it's authentic. You seem to know a thing or two about this, so I'd like to ask you to help me identify it."

There was a sudden silence on the other end of the phone.

An Baojun is an avid collector of calligraphy and paintings, especially the works of Tang Bohu.

He is a well-known collector in the circle, and he has a room in his house dedicated to storing his collection. He has spent an unknown amount of money smashing Tang Bohu's paintings alone.

Zhou Haibing knew this was his Achilles' heel. The mere mention of Tang Bohu made him feel like a fish hooked on a fishhook, unable to escape.

Sure enough, An Baojun's voice changed, from impatience to an barely suppressed excitement and eagerness:

"A painting by Tang Bohu? Where did you get it? Whose collection is it? What subject matter is it?"

"A friend sold it to me, saying it's an authentic piece. I don't know anything about these things, so I'd like to ask you to take a look," Zhou Haibing said.

"Okay, where are you? I'm coming over now."

An Baojun's tone had completely changed; his previous aloofness had vanished without a trace, replaced by an impatient greed.

"Let's go to your place. The lighting is better there, so we can see the painting more clearly."

"Okay, then come over here. I'll head back now," An Baojun said. "Call me when you get there, and I'll have someone open the door."

"No need, I'll just drive in."

"Okay, then that's settled."

The phone hangs up.

Zhou Haibing put his phone aside and started the car.

A cold smile played on his lips, a smile as cold as ice shards in winter, every curve of it carrying murderous intent.

An Baojun.

That beast.

This beast tortured Li Su'e to death.

He killed Li Su'e, the woman Zhou Haibing loved most in his life.

Zhou Haibing's biggest regret in life was not marrying Li Su'e, and his greatest heartache was Li Su'e's death.

Both of these incidents are related to An Baojun.

If An Baojun hadn't married Li Su'e back then, Li Su'e might have met a better person and lived a better life.

If An Baojun had treated Li Su'e better—if he hadn't beaten her, scolded her, locked her up, or let her go hungry—she wouldn't have died.

If An Baojun had taken Li Su'e to see a doctor when she was sick, even a month earlier, perhaps she could have survived.

But An Baojun did not do anything right.

Zhou Haibing's car drove into a high-end villa area. The houses here were more luxurious than those of the previous people. Each house was detached and had its own yard, with a garden larger than a football field.

An Baojun has made a lot of money from his gold shop over the years and bought the largest detached villa in this community, with a garden of two acres.

Zhou Haibing parked his car in front of the villa, where the wrought iron gate was tightly closed.

He honked the horn twice, the sound echoing through the empty street, but there was no response from inside the villa.

An Baojun has not returned yet.

He waited for about five or six minutes, and then the roar of an engine came from afar. A black Rolls-Royce Cullinan turned from the main road of the neighborhood. The huge body looked like a moving palace as it slowly drove over.

The car window rolled down, revealing the face of a man in his fifties—square face, thick eyebrows, full lips, and dark reddish-brown skin.

He wore a thick gold necklace around his neck and a huge gold watch on his wrist, exuding an air of nouveau riche from head to toe.

An Baojun glanced at Zhou Haibing, then pressed a button on the remote control without expression, and the wrought iron gate slowly opened.

Zhou Haibing stepped on the gas and followed the Cullinan into the villa.

The two cars were parked side by side in the garage.

An Baojun's garage contains three cars: a Cullinan, a Mercedes-Benz S-Class, and a Porsche Cayenne.

The three cars together cost over 20 million.

The two got out of the car and walked together into the elevator leading to the living room.

The elevator doors opened, and An Baojun strode into the living room, casually tossing his coat onto the sofa. He turned to look at Zhou Haibing, his eyes gleaming with an eager light, like a hunter spotting his prey.

"Where's the painting? Did you bring it?"

An Baojun stretched out his hand and asked for it directly.

Zhou Haibing slowly walked to the sofa and sat down.

He didn't take a painting out of his pocket because he didn't have any paintings at all.

He raised his head and looked into An Baojun's eyes.

"An Baojun, please sit down. I have something to tell you."

An Baojun frowned, impatiently sat down on the opposite sofa, crossed his legs, and tapped his fingers impatiently on his knees.

"Speak quickly, did you bring the painting or not?"

Zhou Haibing looked into his eyes, but instead of answering the question, she said:

"An Baojun, look at me."

An Baojun glanced over instinctively.

The moment his gaze met Zhou Haibing's eyes, he froze as if he had been frozen in place.

His pupils contracted sharply, as if trying to focus, and then the focused, bright light seemed to be blown out, instantly turning into two empty, stagnant pools.

An Baojun's mouth was slightly open, and his body remained in the position of crossing his legs, but he was no longer moving, like a wax figure whose pause button had been pressed.

His eyes were empty and lifeless, his pupils were dilated to an abnormal size, and his eyes were fixed straight ahead, looking as if a person's soul had been suddenly pulled out of their body, leaving only an empty shell.

Looking at An Baojun's empty face, Zhou Haibing felt a surge of indescribable emotions.

This beast, the murderer who killed Li Su'e, sat before him like a lamb to the slaughter, at his mercy.

"An Baojun, take out your phone."

An Baojun mechanically pulled a black cell phone out of his pants pocket and handed it over.

It's a Samsung folding screen phone with a gold casing, and it doesn't look cheap.

What is your phone password?

"270518".

Zhou Haibing unlocked his phone.

An Baojun's phone wallpaper is a photo of him standing next to a sports car, wearing sunglasses, smoking a cigar, and looking like a nouveau riche.