Framed by My Best Friend, I Ate Egg Tarts and Fled in the Dead of Night

By noon, as I walked home on foot, I found my house already surrounded by police.

"It's him! He's the one who stole Uncle Gates' dragon-patterned jade pendant!"

Before I could even process what was happening, Henry jumped out of a police car and rushed over to grab me.

"Him? He stole a national treasure? Just look at him—clearly up to no good!"

"I heard it was an imperial dragon jade from the Tang Dynasty—priceless! This kid’s got some nerve!"

"Scumbag. People like him should just drop dead!"

The whispers and pointing from the crowd made me realize—something was very wrong.

Panicked, I spotted the collector in the crowd. Tears in my eyes, I kowtowed desperately, begging him to prove my innocence.

But the man, who had been all smiles before, now scowled and yanked my sleeve, snarling:

"Shameless thief! You even stole a national treasure I was about to donate to the museum! After I kindly let you into my home—you’re utterly heartless!"

With Henry and the collector both accusing me, and a jade bracelet mysteriously appearing in my bag, every word of defense I had turned to dust.

My family and fiancée were dragged down with me—their wealth and reputations ruined, treated like vermin.

And me? Before I could even be imprisoned, I was hacked to death by extremist antique collectors, left without even a whole corpse.

The blood and pain of that past life clung to my heart like a scar, feeding an endless well of hatred.

This time, I made sure to stay in full view of surveillance cameras—video proof and blood tests as my double-layered shield.

Let’s see who dares frame me now!

After the blood draw, I dozed off on a hospital bench. Though the seat was hard and cold, I slept soundly.

When I woke, the nurse announced my blood alcohol level was below the drunk-driving threshold, and the police let me go.

I checked my phone—12 PM sharp.

Perfect. I’d dodged the exact timeframe of Henry’s setup.

To be extra safe, I shamelessly claimed my car was still impounded and begged the officer to drop me home.

The moment I got off the police motorcycle, officers swarmed my apartment building.

Henry charged at me, tears and snot streaming as he clutched my hands:

"Jason! We agreed this morning was just a visit—why did you steal?!"

I gaped in shock, the officer beside me equally stunned.

I’d been at the hospital all night and morning—how was he still pinning this on me?

Frowning, I said, "Last night, I was pulled over for suspected drunk driving, so I—"

Henry cut me off, his face twisting dramatically:

"Drunk driving? My God, Jason, what else have you done? Being drunk isn’t an excuse to steal a national treasure!"

A wave of onlookers gathered, whipped into a frenzy by his words. My explanations drowned in the uproar.

Within minutes, I was shoved and pinched black-and-blue by unseen hands in the crowd.

Police nearby finally noticed the chaos and dispersed the mob.

Gasping for air, I glared at Henry and shouted:

"I didn’t drink, and I sure as hell didn’t steal anything! Where’s your proof?!"

My "good friend’s" face darkened briefly before he forced a look of concern, turning to the officers:

"Officers, you heard him—my friend’s still drunk out of his mind! He didn’t mean to steal, please go easy on him!"

Just as Henry tried dragging me into a squad car, the officer who’d driven me home wrenched his grip away.