Evan slept straight through to five in the afternoon.
He lay on the bed for a mont, 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 sothing 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 ca 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 mont later.
“You’re finally awake. Co on, go with to get sothing 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 dimd.
“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 sothing 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 imdiately saw a milk tea stall across the street.
Not a shop—
just a rusty stand with two blackened iron pots.
“Co 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.
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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 sll.
atballs 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 seed 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 so 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 imdiately understood.
It was ti 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 sothing 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 holess, being hunted by the Filthsoil Organization…
I can only ask you to take in, sis.”
He half‑joked, half‑ant it.
Wendy asked calmly:
“Why is the Filthsoil Organization hunting you?”
“They want one of my skills.
They want to kill and turn into an extract.”
Wendy nodded.
She didn’t ask which skill.
Instead, she said:
“When I first t you, I suspected you were a runaway young master from so 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 naïve.
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 complint?”
“You can take it that way.
But now I’m very curious—
who are you really?
Is ‘Evan’ even your real na?”
Evan thought for a mont.
“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 as a scapegoat.
They wanted to take his punishnt.”
“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 t her gaze without flinching.
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