The country entrusted me to buy an aircraft carrier, Hou Liangping, do you dare to investigate?

These words were like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, creating ripples in Huang Feipeng's heart. No one had ever brought up this topic before, not even himself. For him, the past was nothing more than a gray area he didn't want to recall, but now someone had brought it up to his face—how could he not be astonished?

Back at his residence, Huang Feipeng sat wearily in the dimly lit room. His place was a run-down little apartment, sparsely decorated, appearing cold and monotonous, like a secluded retreat from the world. The faint, hazy light of neon lights filtered through the curtains, casting shadows on his cold, handsome face. The room was so quiet that only the occasional roar of cars outside could be heard, and this silence was precisely what allowed him to calm his chaotic thoughts.

His throat was a little dry, and he suddenly wanted something to drink to relieve his fatigue. Remembering the carton of milk he'd bought on his way out, Huang Feipeng took it from the refrigerator, tore open the packaging, and took a swig. The cool milk slid down his throat, carrying a slightly warm sweetness, which relaxed his nerves, which had been tense all night. He leaned back on the sofa, his eyes unfocused, his mind unconsciously replaying the man's mention of "freedom," "origins," and those subtle hints. All of this seemed no coincidence. What exactly did the ghost want him to accomplish?

He disliked this feeling of being manipulated. Huang Feipeng had always kept everything under his control, but his current situation made him feel like he had fallen into someone else's trap, a vague unease settling in his heart. However, the words of the man in black still lingered like a shadow. "Could someone really know my past?" Huang Feipeng's hand gripping the milk carton tightened unconsciously, his knuckles turning white, a barely concealed anger and resistance rising within him. The past, to him, was nothing more than a blurry, gray area; it was precisely because he had no roots that he could live as he pleased, yet that freedom had been inexplicably stirred up tonight.

He paused for a moment, staring down at the milk in his hand, as if glimpsing a glimmer of answer in the white liquid, but quickly dismissed it with self-mockery. When had he become so indecisive? He gave a cold laugh, drank the last sip of milk, and casually tossed the empty carton into the trash can, calmly intending to put everything behind him. However, it seemed as if another door had been opened in his mind, and fragments of memories flooded back like a tide.

Almost subconsciously, blurry scenes flashed through his mind: the damp walls of the orphanage, the dim light, the director's stern face, the distant gazes of the other children… those images, buried deep in his memory, suddenly came alive that night. Huang Feipeng impatiently rubbed his temples, trying to calm himself down. These memories were nothing more than remnants of his childhood, long since discarded, utterly worthless. However, the words "true origin" mentioned by the man in black were like a sharp thorn, piercing his long-buried defenses.

His phone vibrated suddenly, pulling him back to reality from his chaotic thoughts. Huang Feipeng picked up his phone; it was a short text message from an unknown number: "Tomorrow night, 11 PM, meet under the bridge. Ghost has something to say." The message carried an unquestionable tone, as if the sender already expected him to attend. Huang Feipeng chuckled coldly, disdainful yet irresistibly driven by curiosity. He could choose not to go, but his intuition told him that Ghost's invitation wasn't unfounded; it most likely involved those long-buried secrets about him.

Having spent a sleepless night, Huang Feipeng's eyes remained sharp as knives at dawn. He rose from the sofa, quickly washed up, and stared coldly at himself in the mirror. His gaze was deep and icy, his face lean and resolute, and although not particularly muscular, he exuded a chilling power. He made himself a cup of black coffee, the bitter taste bringing him slightly more awake. He casually ate a few bites of bread, masking his inner turmoil, and secretly made up his mind—since Ghost had set up this scheme, he might as well go with the flow and probe the opponent's hand.

At 11 p.m., Huang Feipeng appeared precisely under the bridge. The bridge was located on the edge of the city, surrounded by desolation and silence, with only the occasional passing car stirring up a cold wind. He stood in a dim corner under the bridge, already on guard. He didn't intend to be easily fooled, but calmly waited for the other party to appear. In the darkness, his figure almost blended into the surrounding darkness, steady and unfathomable.

A few minutes later, the sound of approaching footsteps came from afar. A man walked over, tall and thin, wearing a black trench coat, his face hidden in the shadow of his hat, his eyes cold and sharp. He stopped a few steps away from Huang Feipeng and said in a hoarse, low voice, "Feipeng, I didn't expect you to come."

Huang Feipeng chuckled coldly, his hands in his pockets, and said with a hint of sarcasm, "Ghost sent me. If I didn't come, wouldn't I be disappointing him?"

The man paused slightly, then smiled faintly: "Ghost values ​​you highly, believing you are different from others and capable of understanding everything he does. He will give you endless freedom if you wish."

"Endless freedom?" Huang Feipeng interrupted him with a cold laugh, a hint of contempt in his eyes. "Those words sound nice, but they're just a way to get me to work for him. Besides, freedom is something you don't have to ask others for."

The man wasn't angered by Huang Feipeng's cold words. Instead, he calmly said, "You probably don't understand the price of freedom. There is no absolute freedom in this world; everyone has to pay the price for their choices. Feipeng, do you truly understand who you are? Is your background really as unrelated as you think?"

Huang Feipeng narrowed his eyes slightly, coldly staring at the man before him. The other man's repeated mentions of his past were clearly a deliberate attempt to lure him into a pre-set trap. However, a deep-seated curiosity and a vague unease made it difficult for him to ignore. Calming himself down, he asked tentatively, "What do you know?"

The man smiled slightly, a mysterious glint in his eyes: "We know far more than you imagine. Your past is not just personal memory, but a convergence point of many secrets. The ghost has been observing you; he believes your existence is related to a much larger game."

"A game of chess? I'm just a lone wolf, what game of chess could I possibly have?" Huang Feipeng said coldly, his tone full of disdain.