Chapter 18: Is This Really Gong Lu? The True Gong Lu?

But she didn’t intend to sell this software to make money; instead, she would rely on it to earn a living by translating various things for others. The software’s translations were exceptionally accurate and fast, with a zero error rate. It could translate into any language she wished. The current market was sorely lacking such a swift and precise translation tool. She planned to take on translation work online and use this software to produce high-quality translations quickly, thus earning a considerable income.

This was something that existed three hundred years in the future; for her, writing the code for such a program was almost too simple. It was only a matter of time and effort. To ensure the software could flawlessly and rapidly translate all the languages of the world, it would require an immense database. Since she was building the database alone, it was a time-consuming process. She estimated it would take about a week.

She worked late into the night, busy at her computer. Suddenly, Ye Luo furrowed her brow. She caught the scent of blood.

Having an overly keen sense of smell was not always a blessing; even the faintest odor could not escape her. She tried to ignore it and continued typing swiftly, her eyes fixed on the code scrawling across the screen. Yet the metallic tang of blood grew stronger and stronger.

If she didn’t go and check, something might happen.

At last, Ye Luo stopped what she was doing, stood up, and opened her door.

Outside, the long corridor was brightly lit but utterly deserted. The silence was deep enough to hear a pin drop. Yet the moment she opened the door, the smell of blood became unmistakable.

It was late; everyone should have been asleep. She didn’t call out or alert anyone. Instead, she followed the scent, step by step.

She stopped in front of Gong Lyu’s door.

His door was half-open, the room inside shrouded in darkness, and the smell of blood emanated from within. Ye Luo’s eyesight was extraordinary, far beyond that of anyone in this era. Even in the pitch-black room, she could see clearly.

She reached out and pushed the door fully open, then stepped inside.

Guided by the scent, she moved forward until she rounded the bed.

There, she found Gong Lyu sitting on the floor with his back against the nightstand, his head bowed slightly, eyes shadowed and cold, his entire presence exuding a chilling aura. It was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

His right leg stretched flat on the floor, the other bent at the knee, his left arm draped loosely over it. Blood dripped steadily from his left wrist, sliding down his long, well-defined fingers and collecting in a darkening pool on the floor.

Thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, some moonlight spilled in, allowing Ye Luo to see everything with stark clarity. She could even make out the marks around his throat, as if a rope had been tightly wound there.

His white shirt was disheveled, the top two buttons undone, revealing crimson welts across his chest and torso, as though he had been whipped—his skin torn and raw. The wound at his left wrist was a mangled mess, though she couldn’t tell what had caused it.

Perhaps he had lost too much blood, but his entire being seemed cold—cold to the core, from body to soul.

Because she had He Luo’s memories, her first impression of Gong Lyu had been colored by the idea that he was a wicked, seductive, and irreverent man. Now, confronted with this icy, haunted figure, as if he had emerged from hell itself, she found herself unprepared for the reality.

Yet, discomfort aside, Ye Luo thought to herself—this was the real him.

The true Gong Lyu.