Chapter Four: The Mystery of a Sin Value of Four

Qin Yan, the eldest son of the Qin family, spoke in what he thought was a very low voice.

But, alas, Shen Ye’s constitution far surpassed that of ordinary people.

Accordingly, his hearing was also far beyond the norm.

So he heard every word Qin Yan spoke.

This made Shen Ye frown slightly. He focused his Eye of Justice upon Qin Yan, scrutinizing him intently.

“Qin Yan, well-known entrepreneur, son of the wealthy merchant Qin Zhengtian. He has raped several girls. Sin value: four.”

The Eye of Justice had its own way of judging guilt.

Recently, Shen Ye had begun to understand how it worked.

Killing a person—about five points.

Accomplice to murder—around two or three points.

Raping a girl—about two points.

Trafficking a child—also about two points.

Of course, masterminds of such crimes gained additional sin value.

Seeing these results, Shen Ye was taken aback.

His rule had always been: only those whose sin value equaled or exceeded five deserved death. This time, though, he’d encountered someone with a sin value of four—a real dilemma.

By his nature, he wanted to eliminate this man.

But according to the principle he set from the start, only those with sin value above five must die.

How troublesome.

Still, even if he didn’t kill him, Shen Ye’s character dictated he must at least castrate the man—so this rich heir would never harm another woman.

After Qin Yan finished paying and left, Shen Ye remained lost in thought.

To kill or not to kill Qin Yan—what a difficult choice.

In the end, Shen Ye made a decision.

He would follow his heart, his true nature.

If he refused to submit—strike!

If it pleased him—execute!

Yet now it was still daytime, not the best time for action. He needed first to investigate Qin Yan’s daily routine and permanent address, so that he could deal with him in the darkness of night.

…

Qin Yan, the eldest son of the Qin family, had just left his seaside villa when he received an unexpected call.

“Qin, check your map.” Shortly after, he received a location via messaging app.

“Why are you sending me your location?” Qin Yan asked the caller, a man known as Hua, another scion of wealth in their circle.

“There’s a party here—someone’s organizing a drug party, the stuff is really pure. Want to come and get a thrill?” Hua said.

Hearing this, Qin Yan’s eyes lit up. “Sure.”

He immediately jumped into his BMW X7 and sped toward the outskirts of the city. The location Hua sent was outside the city—drug parties like this were never held in the city center: too conspicuous, too risky. Instead, they usually found an abandoned factory in the suburbs, did a bit of remodeling, and the party could start in no time.

Guangyang was a vast city.

Fortunately, it wasn’t rush hour, so after more than an hour’s drive, Qin Yan arrived at the location.

It was indeed an abandoned factory.

From the outside, it looked decrepit and desolate.

Security guards stood at the entrance.

Qin Yan merely showed his face; that was enough. In Guangyang’s drug scene, he was well-known for his indulgences.

Inside, the place was packed with luxury cars—Maseratis, Porsches, even a Bentley. Of course, there were also BMWs, Mercedes, and Audis.

Stepping inside, the scene was utter chaos.

Groups gathered around inhaling powder through straws.

Some girls, too high to care, jumped into the dance floor, tearing at their clothes as they danced wildly.

In the corners, a few people, too far gone, stripped off their clothes and began an orgy right there, oblivious to the crowd.

Anyone unaccustomed to such parties would have been left dumbstruck.

But for Qin Yan, this was nothing new. He found a few of his close friends and joined in.

As he inhaled, a wave of pleasure swept through him. He felt as if he were floating among clouds, surrounded by beautiful women. In his mind, he’d already surpassed his wealthy father, earning praise from all around as a rising star.

Several hours slipped by in this haze.

Then, Qin Yan’s phone rang—his mother calling, telling him to come home at once for a family dinner.

After hanging up, still dizzy, he recalled the gathering would include uncles and aunts—a family event where announcements were often made. He had to attend.

He staggered out, headed for his car.

Before leaving, Hua waved a bag of powder. “This batch is so pure, don’t you want to take some home?”

“Give me a kilo. Put it on my tab,” Qin Yan said.

“Alright.” Hua nodded. Qin Yan’s credit was good—his reputation even better.

A kilo of powder was expensive.

But Qin Yan’s face was worth more.

He drove his BMW X7 onto the road, heading home.

Yet, having just taken drugs, he was in a semi-dazed state. As he drove, his excitement grew, and so did his speed—seventy miles, then a hundred, then a hundred and fifty.

Soon, he was well above the city’s speed limit. But high as he was, Qin Yan didn’t care; he pressed harder, the speedometer needle climbing past two hundred.

Ahead, a red light.

A Mazda waited at the white line, a couple inside—Peng Jun and Li Xiaolian, lovers in the midst of their romance.

In that instant—

With a manic grin, Qin Yan plowed straight into them at over two hundred kilometers per hour.

Boom!

Peng Jun and Li Xiaolian heard the explosion, and then their consciousness dissolved into nothingness.

The Mazda was split in two by the BMW X7.

Only then did Qin Yan begin to sober up, but at two hundred kilometers per hour, the car was uncontrollable. It crashed into several more cars. Fortunately, most of the force had been spent on the Mazda, so the occupants of the other vehicles were only injured, not killed.

The BMW continued its wild charge before finally grinding to a halt.

Panic finally struck Qin Yan. Coming down from his high, he immediately called his father, Qin Zhengtian. “Dad, I was speeding in the city and crashed into someone.”

On the other end, Qin Zhengtian sighed, pinching his brow. “Are they dead?”

“I hit them at two hundred. The car split in two. There’s no way they survived,” Qin Yan replied.

“You unfilial brat, always causing trouble. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Qin Zhengtian roared. “But it’s fine. Don’t run. Turn yourself in. I’ll find someone—the charges won’t be too heavy. Two hundred? We’ll say seventy. At worst, it’s a normal accident—just pay some compensation.”

“But, Dad, there’s a kilo of powder in my car,” Qin Yan suddenly remembered.

“A kilo?” Qin Zhengtian’s voice rose. “Powder?”

“Yes,” Qin Yan replied.

“You damned fool—messing with drugs, and in such quantities. If I weren’t so old, I’d want another son,” Qin Zhengtian cursed, silently calculating. He decided to watch a couple more years; if Qin Yan didn’t shape up, he’d bring his illegitimate son home, even if it meant fighting with his wife.

“If the police find the powder, that’ll be trouble. Never mind. I’ll handle it—say it’s cornstarch. Cornstarch is white, too,” Qin Zhengtian said. “Just stay there and don’t move. Do nothing. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Yes,” Qin Yan replied. After hanging up, an unusual irritation seized him. Damn these stupid laws. Someone as rich as he was should be able to kill whoever he liked. Sometimes, Qin Yan truly envied the laws of India—where the lower castes and the poor weren’t considered people at all.

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