Chapter 105 Liberation
By four o'clock in the morning, the fire in Yueyuan had been extinguished.
That night, the sirens of fire trucks pierced the sky, shattering the tranquility of Yueyuan Garden.
The aunt stood frozen in the courtyard, staring at the charred skeleton on the stretcher. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed to the ground. She trembled violently, clutching her mouth tightly, afraid she would vomit on the spot. Her stomach churned, but she couldn't overcome the overwhelming chill in her heart.
Tonight, it was no different from any other night before.
The lady didn't start a new painting; instead, she took an old one and worked on it with a palette knife until very late. She stayed in her studio as usual, even taking a nap in the middle of the night. When she awoke, she had just finished revising the painting.
She took the painting downstairs to dry.
As usual, she helped the lady wash up and go to bed, serving her warm milk.
The lady held up her milk cup and told her she was hungry and wanted to eat the rice balls from the 24-hour convenience store.
She hesitated.
There are only two aunties in Yueyuan, both of whom are new to the area since October.
She and another aunt took turns caring for the lady.
The contract clearly states that the lady cannot be left alone for too long.
The lady looked up at her, and in those eyes that were always tinged with melancholy and intelligence, there was a rare, almost childlike plea.
A round trip to the convenience store takes only fifteen minutes.
She softened, thinking that if she went and came back quickly, it shouldn't be a problem.
The lady is in good condition; she also had a consultation with a professional psychologist this morning.
The lady did not resist; in fact, she chatted happily with the doctor.
On her way to buy rice balls, she was still wondering why the lady, who had never been interested in food, would suddenly crave such an ordinary rice ball.
It turns out that sending her to buy rice balls was a way to get her out of the way.
When she rushed back with the bag, all she saw was a towering inferno, and deep within the flames, a figure dancing gracefully in the raging fire—
She wanted to go in and save people, but the heat from the burning room that spread to the hallway forced her back. She could only cry out for her mother in vain, watching helplessly as everything was swallowed up.
Faced with flashing police lights and questioning firefighters, the woman's eyes were unfocused, and she spoke incoherently. Overwhelmed by immense fear and guilt, she was consumed by grief.
It was her fault for not taking good care of the lady...
She only has this worthless life to offer to her master...
In this corner of the world, only oppression and an impenetrable darkness remain.
The house was now a charred skeleton, the fire hoses weakly spitting out hiss as they poured onto the embers. A murky odor filled the air—
Charred pine wood, melted paint, fabric ash, and something more resolute, belonging to the end of life.
Other residents who rushed to the scene, after confirming that the fire would not spread, either went back to sleep or remained standing and watching.
Fang Qizhou walked from the edge of the crowd and stopped in front of the stretcher.
The boy, dressed in all black, stood thinly in the cold wind of the early morning, yet seemed not to feel the cold.
He looked up, his face expressionless, and when he looked at the silhouette under the white sheet, his eyes were as still as a deep pool, as if the person lying under it was not his mother.
The firefighter patted him on the shoulder and whispered, "My condolences."
Fang Zeheng practically staggered as he jumped out of the car. He had just arrived from the airport, covered in dust.
When his gaze fell upon the stretcher covered in a white sheet, his blood seemed to freeze instantly. His hands trembled as he slowly lifted a corner of the sheet—
Yesterday's vibrant person is now just a charred, curled-up, unrecognizable body.
"My dear..."
At this moment, the Fang family patriarch, who was known for his composure and ruthlessness, seemed to have all his strength drained away, aging ten years in an instant.
He knelt beside the stretcher, a hollow, excruciating pain shooting through his heart, as if his soul were being forcibly ripped away, about to depart along with the remains before him.
Fang Qizhou's gaze shifted from his distraught father back to the charred ruins.
"She finally did it." His voice was flat and emotionless, as if he were talking about the weather.
Once you're dead, everything is clean.
Luo Shuixin had tried something similar in the second year after they were taken back to the Fang family.
That time, however, the fire was discovered in time and did not spread.
Fang Zeheng raised his head in a daze and looked at his son. There were no tears, no pain in his son's eyes, only a silence deeper than the night. That silence made Fang Zeheng feel a bone-chilling cold.
“Xiao Zhou…” he rasped, trying to grab his son’s arm, “This is your mother…”
"She's only being cold and unwelcoming because she's sick... She loves you..."
There was no hatred in Fang Qizhou's eyes; when he looked at the stretcher, his gaze was indifferent.
Fang Zeheng is still explaining.
How could her heart not love their son?
Yesterday, his family sat around a table, enjoying each other's company. It was a happiness he hadn't felt in a long time.
Fang Qizhou subtly avoided his father's outstretched hand.
On the other side, Fang Qibai saw the situation on the stretcher clearly, his vision went black, and he almost couldn't stand up.
When Leng Qiyi, who followed closely behind, got out of the car, she also lost her usual composure.
Her first instinct was to help her son up, but Fang Qibai stepped aside to avoid her. This subtle gesture felt like a needle piercing her heart.
She desperately wanted to confirm whether Luo Shuixin was really dead, but when she saw her son's distraught state over that woman, hatred grew wildly like a poisonous vine.
"Qi Bai," she whispered, gripping her son's arm so tightly her fingertips turned white, "you are my son, not Luo Shuixin's son!"
Her gaze swept over the silent father and son in the courtyard, over the chaotic ruins, and a crazy emotion mixed with pain and pleasure surged in her chest, almost making her laugh out loud.
Fang Qibai slowly turned his head to look at his mother. He clearly caught the almost manic joy in her eyes that she couldn't hide.
"This fire," his voice was dry and strained, "has it to do with you?"
These words were like a bucket of ice water, instantly sobering Leng Qiyi up. Her pupils contracted sharply as she stared at her son in disbelief, her voice shrill: "You doubt your own mother for this woman who destroyed our family and even tried to steal my son?!"
Fang Qibai closed his eyes wearily, and when he opened them again, his gaze was cold and indifferent like never before.
"The one who comes from behind and ruins other people's relationships," he said clearly, like an icicle, "is not Aunt Xin, it's you."
"Smack—!"
A crisp slap landed hard on Fang Qibai's face.
After Leng Qiyi finished hitting him, she was stunned. Looking at her numb palm, then at her son's rapidly swelling cheek, she frantically tried to rush forward: "Qi Bai, Mom didn't mean to..."
She didn't do it on purpose. She was just in too much pain and too much hatred.
Why doesn't even the son she carried for ten months and raised with great care stand by her side?
Fang Qibai tilted his head, his tongue touching the numb inside of his mouth, tasting a hint of rust. He ignored the burning pain on his face and the panicked, regretful expression on his mother's face, and simply turned his gaze back to the quiet stretcher.
He took a step forward, wanting to walk over and see Aunt Xin one last time.
When he met the cold, distant, and even warning and rejecting gaze his father cast from not far away, his steps faltered in the end.
A cold wind swept through the courtyard, carrying the scent of ashes.
The faint light of dawn was already breaking through the horizon, but it did nothing to illuminate the deep darkness and bone-chilling cold within this small space.
The aunt is holding the last oil painting she rescued from the fire.
This painting was revised by the lady before going to bed, and she left it downstairs to air out.
This painting was the only one that survived the raging fire.
On the canvas, there is rolling red, much like streaks of fireworks. In the center of the canvas is a small patch of ice blue, and in that ice blue lies a small white sailboat.
She carefully put down the oil painting in her hand, her eyes filled with resolute despair and collapse.
She slammed into the black car ten meters away—
Just as she was about to crash into the car, her arm was pulled back by a strong, bony hand.
She looked at the boy who was looking down at her in the darkness with despair and fear, and met his deep, cold black eyes, as still as dead water.
"You can't stop or save someone who's determined to die."
With trembling fingers, the aunt explained the events of the evening in great detail, yet in a jumbled and incoherent manner, over and over again.
"If I had known that after I left... Madam would... set fire to herself... and burn herself to death, I would have protected her well..."
I will never leave.
It's too late to say all this now.
Fang Zeheng did not pursue the aunt's responsibility; all he could see was pain and regret.
He looked back at the cold stretcher.
"My dear, if you hadn't met me, would you be free from this suffering...?"
"Is this the relief you wanted...?"
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