Shen Xinghui had no destination.
Of course, he didn't—he had no map, no compass, no way of knowing where he was going.
The only thing driving him forward was the need to get away from Ignatius's estate.
That was his only goal.
Even so, he was alive.
There were witnesses—people who had seen him.
He hadn't been kidnapped by those with ill intentions.
He hadn't been caught in an accident.
He was surviving, making his own choices.
That alone brought a small, fragile sense of relief.
"Feeling better now, Ignatius?"
Augustine gave him a wry smile.
Ignatius nodded quietly.
"I'll search around the last known sighting."
"Eat something first."
"…"
His gaze dropped.
Ever since Shen Xinghui had disappeared, food had lost all joy.
He only ate to sustain himself—bread and water, or barely cooked meat.
Nothing had flavor.
Nothing mattered.