Her unfocused eyes stared blankly at the glaring bloody handprint on the glass, and at Ye Fanshuang's eyes burning with icy flames.
Su Xinghui stretched out her hand in vain, her trembling, skinny fingers trying desperately to touch Ye Fanshuang through the thick glass, but she only encountered a cold, hard, insurmountable barrier of despair.
Her throat made a "ho ho" sound like a broken bellows. Her tears had long since dried up, leaving only endless, dead silence and desperate sobs.
Ye Fanshuang took a last look at the body on the other side of the glass that had completely collapsed and looked like its soul had been sucked out.
The coldness that surged in his eyes quickly subsided, and finally settled into a bottomless, cold, and motionless silence.
It was as if the judgment just now, which was so sharp in every word, was just part of her routine.
Ye Fanshuang turned around slowly, extremely slowly.
She no longer looked at Su Xinghui, no longer looked at the blood-stained glass, no longer looked at this suffocating cage.
The high heels stepped on the cold and hard terrazzo floor, making a crisp, steady, yet lonely "click, click" sound. Step by step, she walked towards the heavy iron door of the visiting room, which symbolized a complete farewell to the past.
The footsteps echoed in the empty and depressing room, getting farther and farther away.
Su Xinghui collapsed in the cold plastic chair, every last bit of strength drained from her body.
She couldn't even support herself to sit up straight. Like a heavy bag of garbage, she slowly and silently slid down from the chair and finally curled up on the cold terrazzo floor.
His forehead, with a self-destructive, cold determination, pressed heavily against the explosion-proof glass that was covered with scratches and had Ye Fan's bloody handprints imprinted on it.
The glass was icy cold, instantly dispelling the last bit of warmth from her forehead. The scarlet palm print, so close, stared at her like an eye from hell.
Su Xinghui could smell the extremely subtle cold scent of Ye Fanshuang lingering on the glass, mixed with the smell of rust and disinfectant, and... a faint, sweet and fishy smell of rust belonging to blood.
This smell, mixed with Ye Fanshuang's curse-like words, spun, roared, and exploded wildly in her dead mind.
"Never... worthy..."
"... chewing the bitter fruit you sowed with your own hands..."
"...repeatedly recalling the bodies you blew to pieces..."
"...replaying it over and over again...'I'm sorry'...hypocritical and disgusting..."
"...Look at these cold iron bars... until you rot here! Turn into ashes! Even if you can't wash the blood off your hands!"
Every word turned into a red-hot steel needle, piercing her nerves.
The hellish scene of the "Zodiac" reappeared before my eyes: flames blazing through the sky devoured the luxurious decks, the blast sent people flying like rag dolls, the icy sea surged back, and desperate cries and dying groans intertwined into a hellish symphony...
Ye Qingliu fell in a pool of blood, his gray-blue eyes gradually losing focus... Ye Fanshuang was in a wheelchair, looking at her with eyes full of hatred, and threw the evidence in her face...
"Huh... Huh..." A meaningless gasping sound came from his throat, like a dying beast.
But... she can't die.
Ye Fanshuang's curse still echoed in her ears. Death was liberation. But she didn't deserve it.
She could only live.
Living in this cold cage filled with the smell of one's own sins.
Day after day, night after night, over and over again, I chewed on this endless bitter fruit, reliving the indelible blood and despair, until my soul completely rotted and my body turned to ashes.
"Woo..." A whimper that was suppressed to the extreme and broken into discord finally squeezed out from her tightly clenched teeth.
Hot tears slid down Su Xinghui's withered cheeks, mixed with the dust on her forehead, and dripped onto the cold ground.
Her body twitched uncontrollably, her forehead pressed against the cold glass, as if to embed herself in it.
On the glass, the scarlet palm print left by Ye Fanshuang continued to enlarge and distort in her blurred tearful eyes, and finally turned into a blood-red ocean that swallowed everything.
Su Xinghui curled up on the cold floor of the visiting room, like a bug completely abandoned by the world, waiting to rot.
Outside the door, the emotionless footsteps of the patrolling prison guards could be faintly heard, coming from far away, then from near to far away, and finally disappearing at the end of the silent corridor.
The sound of those footsteps was like a never-ending death knell for her.
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