Evan slept straight through to five in the afternoon.
He lay on the bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, thinking about one question:
What now?
For weeks, his only goal had been to escape the Muke Republic.
Now that he had succeeded, he suddenly felt… directionless.
Becoming stronger was a long?term goal.
But in the short term, he needed something far more practical—
a legal identity.
No matter which nation he lived in, he couldn’t do anything without proper papers.
Otherwise, he’d remain like this—
a billionaire hiding in a cheap roadside inn.
And he had no idea how to obtain an identity in Rovan.
“I’ll ask Wendy later.”
He could tell Wendy Lewis and Yvonne Hart came from a powerful background.
They might be able to help.
Once he solved the identity issue, with billions in assets, he could go anywhere in the world—
except the Muke Republic.
Evan got up, left his room, and knocked on the door next to his.
Wendy opened it a moment later.
“You’re finally awake. Come on, go with me to get something to eat.”
Evan suddenly realized he was starving.
“Sure.”
They could talk after eating.
As they walked, Evan asked:
“How’s Yvonne doing? Any better?”
Wendy’s expression dimmed.
“She rested half a day. Her mind is clearer, but her body is too far gone. Recovering naturally is… almost impossible.”
Evan gently changed the subject.
“We’ll figure something out later. Let’s eat first. What do you want?”
Wendy gave him a strange look.
“You probably don’t know Rovanese cuisine.
Here, it’s not about what you want to eat—
it’s about what you can tolerate.”
“That bad?”
They stepped out of the hotel and immediately saw a milk tea stall across the street.
Not a shop—
just a rusty stand with two blackened iron pots.
“Come on, I’ll buy you milk tea.”
Evan walked toward it.
Wendy hesitated… but her milk?tea addiction won.
Up close, the two pots were worse than expected.
One boiled milk.
The other boiled a brown, unidentifiable liquid.
The pot walls were coated with a thick yellow crust.
The liquid inside bubbled violently, foaming with bits of black debris.
The barefoot vendor lifted the pot with one hand, held a blackened strainer over a kettle with the other, and poured the mystery liquid through it.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Then—
He dumped the filtered residue back into the pot, added milk, and continued boiling.
Evan stared.
“Are we… still drinking this?”
Wendy didn’t answer.
She grabbed his wrist and dragged him away.
Rovanese milk tea successfully defeated a hardcore milk?tea addict.
They walked down the bustling street.
Stalls lined both sides, and small eateries were everywhere.
But after one full lap, they were both speechless.
Toilet?scented crispy balls.
Aloe juice with a dozen mysterious spices and a texture that refused to break.
‘Ancient oil’ fried chicken.
Shaved ice with a faint rotten smell.
Meatballs kneaded by bare, unwashed feet.
Hand?rubbed peanuts—half peanuts, half saliva.
Everything was…
clean and sanitary.
In the worst possible way.
After circling the entire street, they bought only fruit.
They simply couldn’t bring themselves to eat anything else.
Even the restaurants were questionable—
Rovanese cooks seemed obsessed with turning every ingredient into a mush of different colors.
Yellow mush.
Red mush.
Green mush.
None of it looked edible.
“Forget it. I’ll just eat fruit tonight,” Wendy sighed.
“Wait here. I’ll get us some grilled corn.”
A few minutes later, Evan returned with two charcoal?covered corn cobs—
the cleanest cooked food he could find.
Back at the hotel, Evan didn’t return to his room.
He went straight into Wendy and Yvonne’s.
He handed one corn cob to Yvonne and ate the other himself.
Surprisingly, it tasted pretty good.
After eating, Wendy pulled a chair over and sat across from him.
Evan immediately understood.
It was time for honesty.
Their shared ordeal in the Blackrock Mountains had built trust.
They also now shared a common enemy—the Filthsoil Organization.
Evan needed Wendy’s help to obtain a legal identity and learn more about the organization.
Wendy, on the other hand, clearly had her own thoughts about him—
maybe she saw his potential,
maybe she wanted to recruit him,
maybe something else.
But they knew too little about each other.
This conversation was necessary.
Wendy began.
“What are your plans now?”
“What plans can I have? I’m homeless, being hunted by the Filthsoil Organization…
I can only ask you to take me in, sis.”
He half?joked, half?meant it.
Wendy asked calmly:
“Why is the Filthsoil Organization hunting you?”
“They want one of my skills.
They want to kill me and turn me into an extract.”
Wendy nodded.
She didn’t ask which skill.
Instead, she said:
“When I first met you, I suspected you were a runaway young master from some powerful family.
But after these days together… you’re both like that and not like that.”
“You don’t care about money.
Your skills are top?tier and perfectly matched.
You know the secrets of the Muke Republic’s upper class.
That fits the profile.”
“But you’re not na?ve.
You’re calm, calculating, decisive.
You kill without hesitation.
You’re nothing like a sheltered flower raised in a greenhouse.”
Evan chuckled.
“Is that a compliment?”
“You can take it that way.
But now I’m very curious—
who are you really?
Is ‘Evan’ even your real name?”
Evan thought for a moment.
“Do you know about the case a month ago?
The one where Princess Zhu Zhi of the Muke Republic was murdered?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“The killer was Liam Zhao, son of Finance Minister Elias Zhao.
I look almost identical to him.
The Zhao family wanted to use me as a scapegoat.
They wanted me to take his punishment.”
“But… I escaped.
And Liam Zhao died.”
He couldn’t tell her about clones or transmigration.
This was the simplest explanation.
Wendy froze.
She hadn’t expected that answer.
Then she looked straight into his eyes.
“How do I know you’re not Liam Zhao?”
Evan smiled and met her gaze without flinching.
Sometimes the truth is simple.
Sometimes it’s a mask.
And sometimes… it’s both.
If you were Wendy, would you believe Evan’s story?
