"He was lying in the ICU, his body full of tubes. A ventilator. An oxygen mask. A drainage tube. An ECG monitor. He looked like a patched-up, tattered doll."
"Every breath he took felt like thousands of knives twisting in his lungs. Every heartbeat felt like it was dancing on the edge of a knife. His sternum was shattered. His lungs were perforated. Seawater backflow caused infection. He had a high fever. He had sepsis. How many times had he been to the gates of death?"
Ye Fanshuang's voice was steady, without any roar or ups and downs, but it was more penetrating than any scream, and every word was like a torture:
"I was right outside that door. Watching. Hearing those damn machines screaming. Watching the doctors rush in again and again. Watching the blood bags being brought in."
"Watching his vital signs go up and down like a roller coaster. Watching that damn critical illness notice. Signing it again. And again. And again."
She pressed her hands against the glass, her knuckles turning bluish-white from the force.
The bloodstain slowly spread on the cold glass.
"Ninety-six lives. Ninety-six." Ye Fanshuang's voice was like a cold piece of iron hitting the ground.
"Those people you blew to pieces, burned to charcoal, and sank to the cold seabed. Their names. Their appearances. The heartbreaking cries of their families."
"Su Xinghui. Can you sleep at night? Do those wronged souls crawl into your dreams? Do they pinch you and ask you why?"
Su Xinghui completely collapsed.
Every word Ye Fanshuang calmly described was like an ice pick, piercing her nerves.
The images that she had tried desperately to suppress and escape from—the flames shooting up into the sky, the deafening explosions, the piercing screams, the icy cold water, the desperate eyes—roared into her mind like demons breaking free from their chains.
"Ah--!!" She let out a shrill scream, hugged her head tightly with both hands, curled up into a ball, twisting and shaking wildly in the narrow plastic chair.
She shook her head desperately and cried incoherently:
"It's not me! It's not me! Stop it! Please stop! It's the Chao family! It's that old guy! He forced me to do it! He said... he said the bomb wouldn't kill so many people... He lied to me! He lied to me! Ah——! Let me go! Let me go!!"
"Let you go?" Ye Fanshuang looked at the completely collapsed woman across the glass, the icy flame burning in his eyes not wavering at all.
Ye Fanshuang slowly, extremely slowly withdrew his hand that was pressing on the glass.
The sticky blood on the palm of his hand dripped down his fingertips.
She looked at Su Xinghui as if she were looking at a pile of garbage. Her voice returned to its low, icy calmness, but it was even more chilling than her previous statement:
"Su Xinghui, listen carefully."
"Ye Qingliu survived." Ye Fanshuang uttered these words clearly, each word falling like a bead of ice. "He made it through. Now, he's fine."
Su Xinghui's wildly twisting body suddenly froze! It was as if the pause button had been pressed.
The hands that were holding her head slowly loosened, and on her face that was stained with tears and dirt, a trace of extremely strange and extremely faint light flashed in her empty eyes...relief?
Even a hint of... indescribable, twisted, faint light?
This ray of light, like a stone thrown into an icy lake, instantly aroused the deepest and most destructive coldness in Ye Fanshuang's eyes.
Ye Fanshuang took a slight breath, and the rise and fall of his chest was almost imperceptible.
Her voice was not loud, but it carried a soul-piercing, extreme power filled with endless grief and indignation and cold mockery. It was like a poisoned ice cone, fiercely piercing Su Xinghui:
"—but what does that have to do with you?"
"——What does this have to do with you, Su Xinghui?!"
"—He's alive! He recovered! He stood up again! That's because of his strong luck! He snatched it back from the clutches of Hades! The doctors risked their lives to save him! Countless people... protected him with all their heart!"
Ye Fanshuang's voice remained steady, but every word he said was weighty and carried an unshakable force.
"Does this have anything to do with you, the murderer who pressed the detonator and sent him to hell?!"
"You! Su Xinghui!" Ye Fanshuang's gaze was like two solid icicles, piercing directly into Su Xinghui's brows through the layer of blood-stained glass. His voice was firm and decisive, with the coldness of a final judgment.
"—Never! Never! You are not worthy of hearing about him! You are not worthy of mentioning his name! You are not worthy of appearing in his world! You are not worthy of even a little relief and peace!"
"You only deserve to be here!" Ye Fanshuang's gaze was like a cold searchlight, sweeping across the depressing, dilapidated, and desperate visiting room.
"In this cage without sunlight! In this abyss filled with sin and regret! Use every minute and every second you have left! To chew on the bitter fruit you sowed with your own hands! To repeatedly recall the corpses you blew to pieces!"
"Go and relive over and over how hypocritical and disgusting the words 'I'm sorry' were when you pressed the button! Go and look at these cold iron bars! Until you rot here! Turn into ashes! The blood on your hands can't be washed clean!"
"This is your ending! Su Xinghui! This is what you deserve!"
Every word was like a heavy ice hammer, hitting Su Xinghui's already broken nerves.
The extremely weak and distorted "light" that had just risen was instantly crushed and extinguished by the ice-cold rebuke and curse!
"No...no...don't..." Su Xinghui completely collapsed in the chair, like a pool of boneless mud.
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