Sister 014

"A reincarnator?" Fang Zhiyi dangled a cigarette from his lips, legs propped up on the desk. "You could've told me sooner."

Little Hei materialized a pair of hands, mimicking Fang Zhiyi's shrug. "How was I supposed to? You sent me to check on your parents."

Fang Zhiyi frowned, then stretched lazily. "No wonder she abandoned her son so decisively—even gave me the house. Whatever..."

"By the way," Fang Zhiyi asked curiously, "does she have a system too?"

Little Hei shook his head. "No. She was reborn purely out of resentment, so the timing was random."

"Fine. Well, it's better this way—otherwise, it'd be too tragic."

"You're an interesting one," Little Hei remarked. "Putting so much effort to join this department and climb the ranks. What's your angle?"

Before Fang Zhiyi could reply—

"Chief!" A young man rushed in. "Headquarters fast-tracked some hotshot investigator and assigned him to you for training."

Fang Zhiyi glanced at him, lips curling. "Great."

A stern-faced young man entered the room, eyeing Fang Zhiyi. "Hello, my name is—"

Fang Zhiyi stood up. "I don’t care what your name is. Just answer one question."

"?"

"Why did you step into the office with your left foot first?"

The young man froze in confusion—then got smacked on the head.

Fang Zhiyi smirked inwardly.

Little Hei suddenly understood. So that’s why!

"Starting today, you can’t arrive later than me or leave earlier. You’ll clean the office, drive when we’re out, and buy my breakfast. On odd days, enter with your right foot first; on even days, left foot."

The young man’s composure shattered. "W-what about Sundays?"

Another smack landed. "Sundays are off!"

Huang Minhao had fully embraced his domestic tyranny—once a wife-beater, now a child-abuser. Huang Wenhao lived in constant terror, never seeing a cent of the child support his mother sent. The abuse twisted him, fueling resentment.

He hated his father—but despised his mother even more.

Because 80% of Huang Minhao’s curses during beatings were her name.

Fang Zhaodi? Ugh, what a trashy name!

During one beating, Huang Wenhao suddenly proposed an idea: he’d make his mother take him back. Huang Minhao flew into a rage, but the boy shielded his head and pleaded, "She’s still my mom—and your wife. She’s loaded!"

Huang Minhao narrowed his eyes, calculating. His raised hand lowered into a pat.

For that moment, father and son reached an agreement.

The next day, they made a grand spectacle. Following Huang Wenhao’s suggestion, they scrawled on a ragged cloth—painting Fang Nuan as the villain who abandoned her family, stole their wealth, and ran off with a lover.

Fang Zhiyi spotted them the moment they entered the city but didn’t intervene.

"Bet the Huang duo has no idea they’re facing a vengeful debt collector," he muttered.

"Master?" Xiao Qi blinked, confused.

Fang Zhiyi kicked him. "Scram! Go tail the suspect—if he gets away, I’ll shave you bald!"

Xiao Qi scurried off obediently, while Fang Zhiyi shadowed the Huangs.

The pair went all out, kneeling outside Fang Nuan’s law firm with their "petition," drawing a swarm of reporters. Fang Nuan emerged, her gaze icy—laced with simmering hatred.

Fang Zhiyi had imagined countless ways to resolve this: ambushes, framed crimes. But Fang Nuan chose the bluntest approach.

She granted interviews, then removed her jacket. Though years had passed, the scars on her body remained as permanent testaments. Calmly, she recounted her past.

The crowd erupted. Those ready to condemn her now turned their fury on the Huangs.

A childhood of favoritism toward sons. Domestic violence. Self-reinvention through late-age education. Founding a firm offering free legal aid to the vulnerable.

Fang Nuan’s narrative was bulletproof.

Ingrate. Abuser. Drunk. Shameless—the labels rained down on the Huangs. Former clients even mobbed them, fists raised, until Fang Nuan intervened.

Realizing their scheme had backfired—and facing a defamation lawsuit—the Huangs fled.

Fang Zhiyi exhaled in relief. His sister had truly broken the cycle. Otherwise, he’d assumed she’d just be another case for the protagonist.

Speaking of which—he hurried off.

"One person’s path changed, but the story’s trajectory won’t," Little Hei mused.

"Oh?" Fang Zhiyi arched a brow.

"Side characters’ fates are often fixed in certain worlds."

As Fang Zhiyi pondered, Xiao Qi returned, shoving a suspect into a car. "Master, you’re amazing! He showed up just like you predicted!"

Studying his disciple, Fang Zhiyi understood.

That night, the Huang household simmered with tension. Huang Minhao gulped cheap liquor, spewing obscenities, while Huang Wenhao cowered in a corner.

Rage boiled over. Huang Minhao reached for a stick—the same one his mother had beaten him with. Now he’d use it on her bastard son. But as he turned, a bottle smashed into his face.

He toppled off his stool. A scrawny figure darted into the kitchen—then charged out with a cleaver, face contorted, snot and tears streaming. "I’ll kill you if you hit me!"

For a split second, Huang Minhao saw her—the woman from his nightmares. Fear paralyzed him. The blade swung down. Instinct made him block, pain jolting him back to reality.

"You little shit!" he roared.

Two figures vaulted over the wall. One lunged forward—Fang Zhiyi’s hand clamped the cleaver mid-air, inches from Huang Minhao’s face.

With a kick, he sent Huang Wenhao flying, then crouched over Huang Minhao.

"F-Fang Zhiyi..." Huang Minhao trembled.

"The one and only. You’re under arrest for severe domestic violence. Officers arrived just in time to prevent a tragedy."