Chapter 6
Edward Quan ·
At the hospital, after Mom woke, she seemed to have lost the ability to speak.
The doctor said the shock had been too great. Her subconscious refused to let her voice emerge.
Once, those cruel words could pierce my heart so easily.
Now I no longer hoped that mouth would offer remorse or love.
Things that came too late were like tofu forgotten in the kitchen for a month, brought to the table only after it had gone moldy.
There was nothing but nausea.
Cut anywhere, and it was black with maggots and mold.
All of it was too late, Mom.
So after a hateful daughter who deserved to die had actually died, this house no longer felt like a home.
Mom constantly clutched my photograph.
The irony was that almost every picture of me in the house had long since been destroyed.
The one she held was an enlarged print of my hundred-day baby photo, which had been attached to my longevity lock pendant.
When she looked at the son she'd once treasured as something lost and found, or the grandchild not yet born, nothing stirred in her eyes.
Sometimes, she suddenly went mad.
She'd seize my brother's arm and bite down hard.
Even when blood ran, she wouldn't let go.
Her eyes held only hatred.
My brother screamed in pain.
Each time, white-haired Dad came to pull them apart.
Tirelessly, he comforted my brother.
“Don't blame your mother.”
“She just needs somewhere to put it all.”
He coughed dryly.
“If that day...”
“Never mind...”
“Which of us is innocent?”
I remained trapped in the house, quietly watching the four of them torment one another for over a month.
In truth, even I didn't know whom to hate.
My brother, who'd faked his death after our phone call?
Dad, who'd been cold to me for eight years?
Mom, who'd beaten me, scolded me, and blamed me for eight years?
Or the killer's cruelty?
As Dad had said, was the killer really the only cause of my death?
Everyone bore some responsibility.
But if even love was something I had to beg for, how was I supposed to learn hatred?
They'd never been the people who loved me.
So even the worst ending—death—was one I'd dreamed thousands upon thousands of times.
Without hope, there could be no resentment.
Only regret.
On the day the university entrance exam results came out, the phone at home nearly rang itself apart with calls from prestigious universities.
With almost full marks in every subject, I was the student countless schools wanted.
Every call began with congratulations.
As if deliberately torturing themselves, my family answered one after another.
Even my pregnant sister-in-law couldn't bear it.
She leaned into my brother's arms and sobbed.
“She could have had such a bright future...”
The words seemed to strike a nerve.
For once, Mom returned to normal.
She set my photograph down and cooked a tableful of rich dishes.
But no one had the heart to eat.
Even Dad, who never drank, finished several bottles that night.
Late that night, Mom lay in a bath full of water and took her life by cutting her wrists.
Holding my photograph, she softly hummed a lullaby.
Then slowly closed her eyes.
On the other side of a single door, Dad lay drunk and asleep on the bed, his back to the bathroom.
A tear still clung to the corner of his closed eye.
It rolled onto the sheet and silently disappeared.
The next day, he calmly arranged Mom's funeral.
Only his back had bent farther.
A few days later, judgment was finally passed in my case.
The man who'd killed me was sentenced to death, to be carried out immediately.
A gunshot rang out.
At last, the nightmare hanging over me dissolved completely.
Then Dad suddenly coughed up blood and collapsed.
The hospital diagnosed severe tetanus.
At the result, my brother broke down.
He knelt and begged the doctors to save Dad.
But Dad himself refused treatment.
My brother cried until his voice was raw.
“Dad!”
“Why?”
“Mom's already left me.”
“Are you leaving too?”
“How am I supposed to live?”
“Please!”
“I'm begging you!”
“Stay...”
“Please don't go...”
Dad only smiled faintly.
“Because your mother and I chose the same road.”
“I didn't stop her then.”
“Today...”
“Don't stop me.”
“Xiaojing.”
“If I said I didn't blame you, I'd be lying.”
“But...”
“Don't I deserve to die too?”
“We all have to pay for our mistakes.”
Dad died on the very day he'd forced himself to arrange my funeral.
That same day, my brother buried him.
And buried the love he'd sacrificed everything to pursue for eight years.
He and my sister-in-law divorced.
He left her all his assets.
The child, only three months along, was gone forever with the broken marriage.
From then on, a man appeared in the cemetery every day.
Rain or shine, he knelt from morning until night before a grave.
Zhang Pingping came with her admission letter to the Criminal Police University we'd promised to attend together.
She stood before my grave.
“I kept my promise.”
“Look.”
“It says here: 'Loyalty, service to the people, justice, integrity.'”
“I've decided to become a good criminal investigator.”
“To protect everyone.”
“And do your share too.”
“I won't dare slack off.”
“So don't worry.”
“Only...”
“You horrible girl.”
“How dare you fall behind without asking me?”
“You need a punishment.”
“From now on, your punishment is to be free.”
“To live only for yourself.”
“You're not saying anything.”
“I'll take that as agreement!”
I pouted.
“Pingping.”
“You're so bossy.”
“I haven't said a word.”
But seeing her bright smile and red eyes, I smiled and nodded.
“All right.”
“It's a deal.”
The chains around me suddenly vanished.
My body slowly dissolved into the wind.
Free as the wind.
A breeze passed, carrying a flower petal.
It settled softly on Pingping's shoulder.
...
On a rooftop drenched in golden sunset, Zhang Pingping clutched her head and moaned.
“These questions are too hard!”
Jiang Yan tilted her head, laughter sparkling in her eyes.
“Pingping.”
“When you get into university, I'll be the first to bring you flowers.”
“Okay!”
“It's a deal!”
“A deal!”
...
“Pingping.”
Congratulations on getting into university.
Zhang Pingping held the bouquet.
A tear fell onto a petal.
Smiling at my headstone, she said, “Thank you.”