Death Progress Bar

ous as hell that he still insisted on publishing articles in an insignificant local newspaper when submitting them to a national-level one would be much more beneficial to him.
He must’ve had some kind of ulterior motive!

Shi Jin called up Jian Chenghua’s information and checked his photo.

A picture of an overweight, middle-aged and plain-looking man popped up.

Shi Jin’s excited expression froze.
He examined the photo but was disappointed to find that the fat man did not bear any resemblance to himself.
Besides, with his age, it was unlikely he could’ve been Shi Xingrui’s “white moonlight” anyway.

He thought he’d hit the jackpot, but was he wrong after all?

His face set in a deep frown, Shi Jin scrutinized the photo again, but in the end, he was unable to fool himself—it was impossible for this person to be Shi Xingrui’s unforgettable love.
Sighing with disappointment, he returned to perusing the information.

However, it only made him even more frustrated.

Because starting from the second semester of his sophomore year, Shi Xingrui stopped submitting articles, not only to the municipal newspaper but also to the other publications, and focused on studying.
Shi Jin recalled that it was in this period that Shi Xingrui’s father’s health had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and he became a regular guest at the local hospital.

That was probably one of the reasons Shi Xingrui stopped writing, to take care of his father.

At this point, Shi Jin read more than half of the file already.

He began to lose hope.

Shi Xingrui erased the records of his personal correspondence too well.
From the fifth grade, when Shi Xingrui began to personally submit his compositions, to the second year of high school when he stopped for a time—it wasn’t a short period of time, and he submitted so many articles over those years… and yet, Shi Xingrui hadn’t missed even a single letter.
It was insane.

Without detailed correspondence records, it was nigh impossible to find useful information just by checking Shi Xingrui’s publication record.

Shi Jin was disheartened.
After going over such a large amount of information, the only thing he got was a confirmation of his conjecture—Shi Xingrui’s letters must be the key, otherwise, the man wouldn’t have put in so much effort into getting rid of them.

I should be happy my guess was correct, Shi Jin consoled himself.
Cheering up a little, he read the rest of the file.

Shi Xingrui’s publication history was blank from the second year of high school to the first half of his freshman year in university.
It was only in the second semester that he started publishing again, but it was no longer the same as before—instead of polished essays and interesting short stories, what he published were only highly specialized, professional articles.

Sponsored Content

All of a sudden, Shi Xingrui transformed from a literary genius who loved writing to a studying tyrant.
What’s more, he seemed to have no more intersection with Jian Chenghua.
Although both of them were in B city, one was working peacefully in a newspaper and the other led a glorious university life.
It seemed that, from the beginning to the end, they had never once met, even by chance.

Four years had passed like that.
Once he finished reading the last paper Shi Xingrui had published during his college years, Shi Jin reached the end of the document at last—after graduating, Shi Xingrui focused on running the company and never touched a pen again.

At the end of the report, the investigators noted that since no written information about Shi Xingrui’s personal correspondence could be found, they paid special visits to Shi Xingrui’s high school and junior high school classmates to inquire about it.

Based on the classmates’ vague memories, the investigation team concluded that while Shi Xingrui often received and sent letters during his school years, they were all from newspapers and magazines—no one had ever seen him get any personal letters.

Shi Jin put down the tablet and collapsed on the sofa.

Still nothing.

The investigation team had made great efforts, collecting every piece of writing Shi Xingrui had ever published, attempting to restore the correspondence records based on that.
They partially succeeded, but it wasn’t enough—he needed more detailed information to find clues.

Should he continue to wait and see what else the investigators managed to ferret out?

He raised the tablet again, looked at the last page of the document, then stared blankly into space.

Even if he waited, this would probably be all he got.
Shi Xingrui was too careful; Shi Jin wasn’t willing to bet that the man had missed anything that might be a clue.

The best course of action was to go over the data available to him with a fine-tooth comb, and try to extract useful information.

He refocused his gaze and read over the file page by page once again.

If Shi Xingrui’s white moonlight was a living person, if they really existed and had really contacted Shi Xingrui by letters, it would have left some traces for sure.
Shi Xingrui wasn’t born into a rich family and as such, his circle of childhood acquaintances wasn’t large.
There was pretty much no way he could get a pen pal other than through the newspapers.

There must be something related to that person in the data.

Were they Shi Xingrui’s fan? Perhaps they liked his articles so they wrote him a letter, or something like that?

However, Shi Jin recalled the last page of the data and dismissed the speculation with a shake of his head—if it was a fan’s letter, Shi Xingrui’s classmates should have heard about it.
Besides, Shi Xingrui had never disclosed his address in a newspaper, so it wasn’t as if any fan could have sent him a letter in the first place.

Maybe it was one of Shi Xingrui’s schoolmates, one of those the investigators didn’t interview? They admired Shi Xingrui’s talent so they wrote an anonymous love letter, sparking Shi Xingrui’s feelings?

But that didn’t seem right either—a schoolmate could just sneak the letter into Shi Xingrui’s desk, they wouldn’t need to send it by post.
However, with so many students at school, something like that wouldn’t have remained a secret and before long, rumors would be flying.

There were no loose ends to grasp, none at all.

Shi Jin frowned, his fingers unconsciously swiping over the tablet screen until Jian Chenghua’s photo appeared again.
An instinct gave him pause, his attention refocusing back on this person.

Jian Chenghua, the only person in this information likely to have some special connection with Shi Xingrui, was fat, old enough to be Shi Xingrui’s father, and didn’t bear even a bit of resemblance to Shi Jin.
However, as the editor-in-chief, he had access to all submissions sent to the municipal newspaper; if he used the replies the newspaper sent as a pretense to write to Shi Xingrui, it would have gone unnoticed.

While Jiang Chenghua was still working there, Shi Xingrui continued to submit excellent articles and pieces of writing to the municipal newspaper.
He continued to do so even after being admitted to school in the provincial capital and having his articles begin to be published in nationwide journals and magazines.
By then, he’d gained enough of a reputation that it was, in fact, not suitable for him to write things meant for primary and middle school students.

Sponsored Content

It was really, really strange.
Shi Xingrui wasn’t a nostalgic person; after sailing out into the wide seas, he had no reason not to abandon this small pond as soon as it was no longer of any use to him.

In light of that, there must be something to Jian Chenghua after all.

Shi Jin sat up.
After thinking for a moment, he headed to Lian Jun’s study—with a lack of other leads, any piece of information that made him think twice was worth digging into.

Lian Jun was approving documents.
After hearing Shi Jin out, he took a look at Jian Chenghua’s picture on the tablet and said, “You can ask Gua Nine to investigate it—he can apply to log into the official system and check some basic information.
This Jian Chenghua is just an ordinary person, it should be easy to check his background.”

Pleasantly surprised, Shi Jin thanked him with a kiss, took his tablet, and went to find Gua Nine.

It was indeed easy to check Jian Chenghua’s life history—it only took Gua Nine one morning.
He brought his laptop to Lian Jun’s study to show the results of his investigation to Shi Jin, but for some reason, his expression was noticeably strange.

Shi Jin’s heart beat faster, in both anticipation and worry.
“Have you found something?” he asked.

“Yes, I have…” Gue Nine trailed off, looking like he didn’t know how to continue.
He stepped forward, put the laptop on the desk, and unlocked it.
“See for yourselves.”

The screen lit up, and an old photo appeared, of a teenager.
He was fat and pale, but the warm smile on his face made him look cute and kind.
When the photo was taken, he was sitting in a hospital bed, looking towards the camera and making the V sign.

Xiao Si cried out.

Lian Jun frowned and instinctively looked at Shi Jin.

Shi Jin, in turn, was staring at the photo, struck dumb with shock.

When he first transmigrated, the body of the original ‘Shi Jin’ was very fat, and although he didn’t remain fat for long, he remembered quite well how he looked back then.
If not for the fact that it was clear this photo had been taken long ago, he would’ve suspected the person in the picture was the still fat ‘Shi Jin’.

“Who is he?” he asked in a hoarse voice, his heart pounding and his pulse thumping in his ears.
At last, he felt the faint touch of the truth brushing his fingertips.

“It’s Jian Chenghua’s son, Jian Jinwen.
He died of cancer,” Gua Nine replied.
He tapped the keyboard and continued, “This is a picture taken a month before his death.”

Another photo appeared.
The teenager in the previous picture became a young man, but he looked quite ill: his skin took on a sickly pallor and his lips had turned blue.
Despite this, the warm, gentle expression didn’t disappear from his face.
He wore a hat on his head and held a magazine in his hand, smiling happily at the camera.

Apart from the complexion and age, the person in the picture was nearly indistinguishable from Shi Jin.
The only difference between them was that the man lacked the small mole on Shi Jin’s nose.

Lian Jun stared at the photo in a daze.
Looking at that face, identical to Shi Jin’s yet sallow and emaciated, for a moment he was caught in an illusion that he was looking at a Shi Jin who didn’t have long left in the world.
Before he could think, he slammed down the lid of the laptop and slid out from behind his desk to grab the teenager’s hand.

Shi Jin was surprised by the sudden series of actions, but it didn’t take long for him to react and return his lover’s hold.
Forcing down the shock and other feelings rocking his heart, he soothed, “It’s all right, that’s not me, you know I’m perfectly healthy, that’s not me.”

“I know.” Lian Jun felt the warmth of Shi Jin’s hand in his, and the frantic beating of his heart slowed down.
Tightening his grip, he said, “I’m sorry, I overreacted… Gua Nine, bring the computer over here.”

Gua Nine glanced at his boss, worry evident in his gaze, but moved the laptop to the other side of the desk without protest.

After reopening the lid, Shi Jin hastily scrolled down, skipping over Jian Jinwen’s pictures until he reached the part of the file that held information.