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Chapter 172

When the pain finally subsided, he opened his eyes to examine the room.

There was only a simple single bed and a folding table, nothing else in the sparse space. High up near the ceiling was a small window with steel bars, the sky outside gloomy.

Where is Feifei? Where am I? Am I not dead? Have I been taken captive?

No, that\'s impossible. If a bullet struck the back of his head, how could he still be alive?

Fragments of foreign memories flashed through his mind, coming too quickly and causing his temples to throb.

After a while, he finally processed the information.

This body he now inhabits is not his own - it belongs to a man named Zhao Cunzhi, 29 years old, with aging parents and a disabled brother. Zhao had quit school after middle and come to the capital to work multiple jobs, still perpetually short on money.

About a month ago, a high-paying job as a server at a club had been offered to Zhao, with room and board included. They had even advanced him three months\' salary upfront.

Zhao thought he had finally made it, but upon starting the job, he realized this club catered to the wealthy female clientele in an unsavory manner. Being a stubborn and principled man, Zhao could not abide by this.

Zhao wanted to leave, but he had already sent the advanced salary back home to his family. When he called home, his mother Zhao heard he wanted money and immediately hung up, refusing to take his calls.

On Zhao\'s first day of work, he angered an important client and was severely beaten by the manager\'s men, then tossed into solitary confinement. The previous Zhao, battered, frightened, hungry, and feverish, had died there, allowing Yan Xingnan to be reborn in his body.

Yan Xingnan felt his forehead - it was burning hot, with an untreated wound on his temple crusted over in dried blood.

Footsteps approached from outside, and Yan Xingnan quickly composed himself, adopting Zhao\'s dejected demeanor as he sat in the corner.

The one entering was the club manager, Zhang Yao - an oily, powdered-face man whose every movement exuded vanity. As he entered, the small cramped room was immediately enveloped in his overpowering cologne.

The stench nearly made Yan Xingnan cry out for his mother. He cleared his irritated nose and meekly addressed Zhang Yao as "Manager Zhang".

Seeing Yan Xingnan\'s pathetic state, Zhang Yao condescendingly began his brainwashing.

"So tell me, what troubles you so? With your good looks, you should be making good money while you\'re still young..."

"I\'ve come to understand." Yan Xingnan interjected.

"What?" Zhang Yao was skeptical, looking at him in disbelief.

Yan Xingnan cleared his throat uncomfortably, mentally berating himself for his lack of principles.

"I think you\'re right, Manager Zhang. Life is short, the rest is fleeting - money is what truly matters. And to bring joy and warmth to those lonely, wealthy ladies, that isn\'t something to be ashamed of. It\'s a noble calling, a virtuous act."

Yan Xingnan delivered this with a straight face and utmost sincerity, and Zhang Yao\'s expression blossomed like a flower in a gale.

"Good, good, I\'m glad you\'ve come around. With your looks, the ladies will surely dote on you." Zhang Yao appraised him, stroking his chin. "You just need to bulk up a bit, get some muscle - can\'t look scrawny, you know?"

Zhang Yao then suddenly shifted gears, and even Yan Xingnan\'s seasoned cop instincts had trouble keeping up.

He lamented regretfully while touching his forehead: "It\'s a shame, this injury will likely scar."

Zhang Yao immediately called someone to treat the wound, then led Yan Xingnan out of the basement and into the employee dormitories.

As he followed Zhang Yao, Yan Xingnan\'s police instincts kicked in and he discreetly observed every detail of the furnishings and layout, committing the structure and routes to memory.

In the elevator, a pile of white powder in the corner caught his eye, and he detected a faint whiff of acetic acid among the heavy perfume and air freshener scents.

He rubbed his nose. Looks like his canine sense of smell from his past life has carried over.

Yan Xingnan was taken to a clean, small room. A doctor came and treated his injury, also prescribing fever medication. A server soon brought him a simple meal.

After everyone had left, Yan Xingnan quickly got up and examined the powder on the shoes by the bedside.

High-purity heroin - this wasn\'t something petty dealers could get their hands on. If he could trace this back, it would easily fulfill the narcotics department\'s quarterly quota.

Tsk, this Jinse Club really has some audacity.