Death Postcard

Mad, gloomy, and paranoid bottom * scheming, powerful, domineering CEO top

Revenge, satisfying payback, a little angst

The bottom develops three distinct personalities later in the story.

A Nan: wild, cocky, cool, loves to fight, and loves looking good.

Qingqing: a sweet, soft, obedient, and adorable little darling.

Zhuang Nanqing: gloomy and wicked, impossible to read.

Zhuang Nanqing's mother died fourteen years ago in the "Other Shore Flower Postcard Serial Murder Case."

The suspect escaped during the arrest and has yet to be caught.

Fourteen years later, the Other Shore Flower postcards resurface, and people connected to Zhuang Nanqing's mother begin meeting with accidents one after another.

As the number of victims grows, Zhuang Nanqing gradually achieves his own goal.

He consequently becomes the prime suspect in the case.

Is he really the killer?

Zhan Xiuyan, the top figure in Beijing's elite circles and CEO of the Zhan Group, falls deeply for Zhuang Nanqing, despite his friends repeatedly warning him to stay away from the man, who's completely unhinged.

With an arm around Zhuang Nanqing's waist, Zhan Xiuyan gazes at the face that haunts his dreams and asks softly, "Did you have anything to do with Feng Xiaoyue's death?"

Zhuang Nanqing snatches the cigarette from his hand and takes a drag. He tilts his head back, smoke veiling his handsome face, then parts his thin lips and slowly says two words: "You tell me."

Zhan Xiuyan looks at the man who calls himself A Nan, Zhuang Nanqing's second personality.

A black leather jacket, black cargo pants, and black boots. The chains on his pants sway gently as he walks, chiming pleasantly. A pair of fashionable sunglasses from a luxury brand completes the look.

He exudes rebellious, cocky, and dazzling coolness to the fullest.

Unable to help himself, Zhan Xiuyan whistles at him. "Cool guy."

Zhuang Yeting arrives at Zhuang Nanqing's apartment. Blood meets his eyes, covering the floor, the sofa, even the walls. Hearing a noise in the kitchen, he stumbles over.

Zhuang Nanqing is chopping up a chicken, bringing the knife down again and again. Blood splatters all over his face. At the sound, he turns to look at him.

Suppressing his fear, Zhuang Yeting asks in a trembling voice, "Qingqing, what are you doing?"

Zhuang Nanqing reaches up to wipe the blood running down his face, smearing it across his skin. "Killing a chicken."