In this second life, I didn’t accept my so-called best friend’s invitation.

Instead, I scarfed down a box of egg yolk pies and hit the highway in the middle of the night.

When traffic police blocked the road, I blew hard into the breathalyzer without hesitation—grinning as I climbed into the back of the police car.

In my previous life, my best friend invited me to visit a famous antique collector. While I was distracted, he secretly slipped a jade ornament into his pocket.

Later, the police found the stolen item on me. I knelt and begged the collector to testify on my behalf.

But he only yanked my sleeve and, together with my so-called friend, pointed at me and claimed I was the thief.

My parents drained their savings to try and clear my name. My fiancée’s reputation was ruined because of me.

In the end, I was stabbed to death by a group of deranged antique fanatics and dumped in the wilderness like trash.

——

“Don’t drive if you’ve been drinking. Have you learned nothing from the traffic laws?”

On the highway, four or five police cars set up a checkpoint. Engines roared and officers shouted over the noise.

A traffic officer stared at the blinking light on the breathalyzer and barked at me to get out of the car.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, glancing at my phone. As expected, the moment I hit the unlock button, a new message popped up from Oscar.

[I remember how much you love antiques. I just met a veteran collector. Want to go visit together?]

It was the exact same message as last time.

My heart skipped a beat, and my hands trembled.

“What’s wrong? Drank too much to walk straight?”

The officer was about to help me out when I snapped back to reality and practically skipped over to the police car, beaming.

“Another nutcase.”

“Must be drunk out of his mind. Who gets excited about being detained?”

Inside the patrol car, a few drunken middle-aged men gave me weird looks, as if I’d lost my mind.

I ignored them, grinning so wide my cheeks hurt.

At the hospital, a nurse prepared to draw blood for alcohol testing. It seemed she noticed something was off. Her gaze lingered on my face, and she moved unusually slow while disinfecting my arm.

“Russell, are you okay?”

“Son, the police said you were drunk driving. Is that true?”

Just then, the door to the blood draw room burst open.

My fiancée and parents rushed in, all wearing the same anxious expression.

“What are you doing barging in here? We haven’t even finished drawing blood!”

“We’re here for Russell! If you’ve got a problem, take it out on us—leave him alone!”

My dad stepped in front protectively. My mom and fiancée hurried up to check on me, worry written all over their faces.

Seeing their familiar faces, my nose stung with emotion.

Thank God.

There’s still time to change everything.

In this life, I won’t let my parents go gray overnight from worry, or force them to burn through their savings to save me.

And I won’t let my fiancée’s name be dragged through the mud again, leaving her betrayed and abandoned by everyone.

When the blood test was done and the officer took my statement, the nurse kept sneaking glances at me, and even the cop looked suspicious.

“You didn’t actually drink, did you?”

My heart jumped. The warmth I’d felt moments ago vanished in an instant, replaced by cold panic.

How did he figure that out?

I forced a smile and did what every reckless driver says.

“Heh! Of course I didn’t drink. I have no idea why the breathalyzer gave a false reading.”

Thankfully, he didn’t press further. He just nodded and moved on to the next person.

I let out a long, shaky breath. Just then, my phone buzzed again.

It was another voice message from Oscar.

“Are you asleep? Why haven’t you replied? I already scheduled the visit for us. Tomorrow at 9 a.m.—don’t be late!”

In my past life, it was the morning after he sent this exact message that we walked into the antique collector’s house.

And not long after we stepped inside—he vanished without a trace.

It was already noon by the time I walked home on foot.

But as soon as I reached my front door, I found the entire house surrounded by police.

“There he is! He’s the one who stole Uncle Briggs’s dragon-etched jade pendant!”

I was still completely baffled when Oscar suddenly jumped out of a patrol car and rushed over to grab me.

“He’s the thief! Just look at him—you can tell he’s no good!”

“I heard it was a dragon-patterned jade once treasured by a Tang Dynasty emperor—absolutely priceless. This young man got greedy!”

“Scum like him deserves to rot!”

Accusations and jeers exploded all around me, and only then did I begin to realize something was terribly wrong.

Panicked, I scanned the crowd and spotted the elderly antique collector. I dropped to my knees and kowtowed to him, tears in my eyes, begging him to tell the truth and clear my name.

But the man who had once treated me with such warmth now glared down with a face full of rage.

He grabbed my sleeve and shouted, “You shameless thing! You dare steal a national treasure I planned to donate to the museum? I was kind enough to let you into my home, and this is how you repay me? Have you no conscience?”

With both Oscar and the collector pointing fingers at me—and the jade bracelet that had mysteriously shown up in my bag—any words I said in defense sounded hollow and pathetic.

My family and fiancée were dragged into the mess. They lost everything—reputation, money, peace of mind—and were reduced to the laughingstock of the neighborhood.

And me? Before I even made it to prison, I was hacked to death by a group of deranged antique fanatics. They left me in pieces and tossed my body into the wilderness like garbage.

The blood and betrayal of my past life clung to my soul like an old scar—its pain feeding a hatred that burned deep and bright.

But this time, I made sure to stand directly beneath a surveillance camera, with both video footage and a blood test to back me up.

Let’s see who dares pin this on me now.

After the blood draw, I curled up on a cold, hard hospital bench and caught a bit of sleep. Despite the discomfort, I’d never felt more at ease.

When I woke up, the nurse informed me that my blood alcohol level wasn’t high enough to be considered drunk driving. The officers had no choice but to let me go.

It was already noon—I'd perfectly dodged the time when Oscar had framed me in my past life.

To be extra cautious, I shamelessly told the traffic officer that my vehicle had been impounded and politely asked if he could give me a ride home.

He agreed, and the moment I stepped off his motorcycle, a mob of police officers waiting outside my building swarmed toward me.

Leading the charge was none other than Oscar. He rushed at me with tears in his eyes, clutching my hand dramatically.

“Russell! Didn’t we agree to just look at the collection this morning? Why... why did you have to steal something?!”

I stared at him in disbelief, eyes wide open.

Even the traffic officer beside me looked stunned.

I’d spent the entire night and morning at the hospital—how could he still manage to throw dirt on me?

Frowning, I started to explain, “I was questioned for suspected drunk driving last night, and I’ve been—”

But before I could finish, Oscar’s face lit up with fake panic. He cut me off mid-sentence.

“Drunk driving?! Oh my god, Russell, what did you do last night? Even if you were drunk, it’s not an excuse to steal a national treasure!”

The surrounding onlookers, already curious, were now whipped into a frenzy by his words. Anger erupted all around me.

My explanation was drowned in the roar of voices.

In less than a minute, hands grabbed at me from all sides. I couldn’t even count how many blows landed on me. My arms were already bruised in several spots.

Thankfully, the officers nearby realized something was wrong and rushed in to disperse the crowd.

Finally able to catch my breath, I glared at Oscar and shouted, “I wasn’t drunk, and I didn’t steal anything! Can you people stop accusing without evidence?!”

Oscar’s expression darkened for a split second, but he quickly replaced it with a look of concern.

Turning to the officers, he pleaded, “Officers, you heard him, right? My friend is still drunk—he doesn’t know what he’s saying."

“Please, he didn’t mean to steal anything. I beg you, take it easy on him.”

Just as he reached out to drag me toward the patrol car, the officer who had driven me home forcefully pried his hands off me.

The traffic officer suddenly stepped in front of me, blocking Oscar.

“This man has been at the hospital since last night. I just dropped him off here,” he said calmly.

“You’re accusing him of theft—do you have any proof?”

Faced with the officer’s question, Oscar snapped back without thinking, “And who are you? I’m assisting with an investigation. I’d appreciate it if irrelevant parties stopped interfering.”

“He’s a traffic cop,” I said slowly, my voice steady.

The moment I spoke, Oscar’s expression stiffened.

“From the moment I was stopped for suspected drunk driving last night until just now, I’ve been under his watch the entire time.”

As soon as my words fell, everyone fell silent.

The officers immediately turned serious, checking the ID of the now plain-clothed traffic cop. Then they turned to Oscar with a sharp expression.

“If this man has a confirmed alibi, why did you identify him as the thief?”

Oscar clearly hadn’t expected this move. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

Just then, the elderly antique collector stepped forward. His eyes were cold, his brows furrowed, and he pointed a trembling finger at me.

“I can confirm—he’s the thief!”

Seeing the very man who had indirectly caused my tragic death in my past life ignited a fire in my chest. For a moment, my temper flared.

In my previous life, at least I had been inside the collector’s house. Maybe he mistook me for someone else in his old age.

But in this life, I hadn’t even seen him, and hadn’t stepped within ten feet of his property.

So how dare he accuse me?

I clenched my jaw and snapped, “Sir, you can eat whatever you like, but don’t talk nonsense. We don’t even know each other—why are you framing me?”

I stared him down, searching for any flicker of guilt or hesitation in his expression.

Instead, he grabbed my left arm with a hint of triumph flashing in his eyes.

“I have a habit,” he said smugly. “Whenever I invite guests over, I smear a special ink on the outside of my cabinet doors. It’s a blend I created myself—I'd recognize it anywhere.”

As he spoke, he yanked up my sleeve.

A dark brown smudge appeared for all to see.

The crowd fell into stunned silence. Even I was left speechless.

I hadn’t even gone near his house in this lifetime. I had checked my clothes before returning home. So how—

“You’ve always had sticky fingers, but I never thought you’d go this far. Not just stealing, but bribing others to lie for you. You’re truly shameless!”

Oscar jumped in, taking the opportunity to drag my name through the mud. The malice in his eyes was no longer hidden.

Then, he pulled a laptop from his backpack. “I have surveillance footage to submit as evidence.”

The video showed a man in white entering the collector’s home with Oscar at 9:30 a.m. that morning.

The figure’s build, outfit, and even the hairstyle were identical to mine.

The crowd exploded.

“That’s him!”

“You can’t see his face clearly, but anyone with eyes can tell it’s him! He even dared walk into a camera—doesn’t he fear consequences?”

“Young people these days are fearless. Ten years in prison might teach him a lesson!”

Angry shouts crashed down on me like a tidal wave.

Someone kicked me hard from behind. Pain shot through me so suddenly I nearly fainted.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to stay upright and shouted hoarsely, “I have video evidence too!”

I exchanged a glance with the traffic officer, who nodded and retrieved the body camera from his motorcycle.

“My identity has been verified,” he said, addressing the officers. “None of this is fake. Mr. Russell has been under observation since last night, and we have full footage from the body cam and his blood test records. All of it confirms his alibi.”

Two conflicting sets of surveillance footage.

Two completely different narratives.

Now, not just the crowd—but the police and the antique collector—were stunned into silence.

One of the officers stepped aside to call the traffic division and the hospital, verifying my whereabouts from the previous night to this morning.

Meanwhile, the collector muttered to himself, clearly shaken. “That can’t be... I would never mistake my ink...”

Under the scrutiny of the growing crowd, Oscar could no longer maintain his mask of false concern. His eyes burned with hatred as he glared at me, teeth clenched.

I met his gaze with a cold, mocking smile and asked casually, “Disappointed that once the police finish their investigation, my name will be cleared?”

To my surprise, Oscar suddenly smiled again, lips curling into a smirk.

“What are you talking about? We’re friends, aren’t we? If you didn’t steal it, of course I’m happy for you.”

Before I could react, he lunged forward and slammed a hand against my side, the movement was swift and precise. His other hand darted toward the pocket at my waist.

In one motion, he yanked open the zipper and shouted sharply, “Officers! The national treasure is on him! Restrain—”

But his voice stopped mid-sentence.

He froze, eyes widening in disbelief as he stared up at me.

“You... you actually—”

I looked down at him calmly, meeting his shocked expression with a smile. “Oh? What’s wrong?”