Gao Cheng adjusted himself, snuggled on the sofa with a blanket in his hands, and wrapped himself into a ball. Then he asked, “What were you saying?”
“Have you ever committed any wrongdoings?” Fang Chen asked as he perched casually on the edge of the TV cabinet. The flicker of distant thunder briefly illuminated half of his face, casting a fleeting shadow that melded into the hollow of his collarbone.
With a sigh, Gao Cheng mused, “Well, at this young age, who isn’t guilty of a few wrongdoings?” Gao Cheng was indeed young, with a fair and plump appearance that inherently exuded cheerfulness.
Not only was Gao Cheng someone who was mindful of his words, but he also had a warm heart, frequently assisting neighbours with moving tasks. He greeted even the most challenging neighbors with a welcoming smile. And at the very least, he would just grumble behind their backs if he had any complaints.
Gao Cheng joked, “Does having a history with a few girls count? You don’t think I’m bragging, but I was quite the looker before I gained weight. Back in the day, loads of girls used to chase me, so I simply had my fun and bedded some of them. Though eventually, I lost interest, and we parted ways.”
Seeing Fang Chen still had his gaze fixed on him without moving, he chuckled and continued, “Am I somewhat of a scoundrel?” There was a trace of pride in his admission.
Numbness crept into Fang Chen’s legs as he leaned against the cabinet, his hands supporting his weight. Licking his dry lips, he replied, “…I don’t know.”
Gao Cheng eyed him doubtfully. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been in a relationship before?”
Fang Chen’s brow furrowed, instinctively wanting to refute, yet he suddenly found himself at a loss for words when they were on the tip of his tongue.
The memories he could remember were way too little.
Gao Cheng, lying on his side, was initially awake, waiting for Fang Chen’s response. But soon, his eyes closed, and he fell into a quiet slumber—one that wasn’t accompanied by the usual snoring.
As the rain intensified outside, a chilling draft wafted in through the window, caressing the skin with an almost imperceptible touch, as if a teasing hand were softly grazing his nape. Fang Chen felt a quiver as a sense of unease washed over him. Just as he was about to walk over to check on Gao Cheng, a knock echoed at the door.
Fang Chen retraced his steps back and approached the door, leaning in close and asking in a hushed tone, “Who’s there?”
He thought it was Nie Shi.
But no one answered.
Knock, knock, knock.
A scraping resonated as fingernails tapped against the door.
After a brief wait, the knocking ceased. What followed was a voice, faintly drifting through the gap of the door. “Fang Chen-ge?”
Fang Chen tensed up.
“Is it you?” The youth pressed against the gap, his voice filled with increasing joy as he spoke, with his mouth gradually curving into a smile.
Fang Chen held his breath, his fingertips whitening as they pressed against the door panel.
Qiao Ran tapped rhythmically on the door with his index finger, his voice accompanying each tap accordingly. “Knock, knock, knock, are you in there?”
Fang Chen dared not move, his eyes darting around in silent panic, afraid to utter a sound.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
The noise outside the door ceased for a while, and just when Fang Chen thought the other person had left and decided to lean in to listen for any movement—
“I know you’re in there.” The words hung in the air like a whisper against his ear, their breath brushing past as if threatening to sink a bite into him, leaving nothing but blood and flesh in its wake the very next second.
“Why won’t you answer me?” Giggling, Qiao Ran clung to the door, assuming various postures reminiscent of a restless toad, all the while babbling away.
From start to finish, without uttering a single word, Fang Chen waited until the outside fell silent. He cast a glance at Gao Cheng, soundly asleep behind him. Instead of retreating back into the room, he resolutely twisted the door handle and pushed it open.
The hallway was shrouded in darkness, with a chill seeping through its emptiness. The air was damp and sticky. Fang Chen lightly grasped the door handle and turned it. In the immediate moment after, he found himself eye-to-eye with Malevolence.
Fang Chen: “….. ” A myriad of curses flashed through his mind.
Malevolence: “Aah aah.”
The Malevolence’s arm was grotesquely stretched out, dragging across the floor. Crippled in its left leg, it crawled forward with only the support of its right leg.
Fang Chen stepped back and pressed himself against the door, suspecting that it had been left by Qiao Ran at his doorstep for amusement, hence why it was left alive. He also guessed that the knocking from earlier was likely its doing.
As the Malevolence crawled towards him in a deformed posture, Fang Chen’s mind was flooded with visions of spiders, centipedes, and all manner of long-legged, multi-footed insects.
Upon looking again, he saw it advancing at a snail’s pace, propelling itself with one leg while moving in an arching, writhing motion.
Fang Chen drew the dagger strapped to his waist, taking a step forward. Although his heart was pounding, his hand was steady.
The Malevolence looked up at him with its pitch-black eyes, its mouth wide open in a curve that resembled a smile. Its teeth clacked together crisply as its mouth opened and closed repeatedly—a clear sign to anyone that it was eager to devour a human.
In a moment clouded by mental numbness and an inexplicable surge of bravery, Fang Chen crouched down, seizing the shoulder of the Malevolence before him and flipping it over.
The Malevolence was unexpectedly lighter than he had imagined, reminiscent of a foam board, and its texture horrifying—a mere shell of loose skin and fragile bones that made the grip feel surreal.It twisted its neck in a vain attempt to sink its teeth into Fang Chen’s outstretched hand but failed, emitting a whimper akin to that of an infant in response to its unsuccessful attempt.
This was the first time Fang Chen observed the Malevolence so closely. The area where its heart situated resembled a clump of poorly ground ink, mushy and filthy, while a stench of decay permeated its body.
While Fang Chen was focused on the Malevolence, not far from him around the corner stood the youth bathed in the cloak of pale moonlight, leaning his head casually against the wall. Qiao Ran propped his right foot up against the wall as his fingers drummed chaotically on it, creating a sort of rhythm.
Qiao Ran tilted his head and watched Fang Chen slowly driving the dagger into the Malevolence. A smile played at the corners of his lips as he took a step forward, revealing himself.
Fang Chen half-knelt amidst the dissipating ashes as a trail of blackness slowly fluttered upwards.
On this rain-drenched night, freezing as it was, his hands felt just as cold. The tip of the dagger traced a line on the floor, his own actions bewildering him—why did he suddenly plunge the dagger into that filth? It was then that Fang Chen raised his head, his gaze meeting with Qiao Ran’s.
“Good evening,” Qiao Ran greeted, stepping onto the ashes and stopping in front of Fang Chen. A smile still lingered on his face as he eyed the dagger in the latter’s hand. “Found you.”
Inside the room, Gao Chen lay motionless; he was still dead asleep with his eyes closed and his head cocked to one side. Sensing something was off, Fang Chen remained half-kneeling, forcing himself to appear composed.
“Come on, don’t go silent on me. Why are you avoiding from me? Don’t you have anything you wanna ask?” Qiao Ran’s eyes twinkled. “I can tell you anything, you know~”
Right before Fang Chen’s very eyes, he saw Qiao Ran begin to rot; the youthful face that was once pleasing to the eye was now stripped of its smooth skin, reduced to a mere layer of mushy flesh, with the fat slipping away as well.
“…How did Xie Ying die?”
Although he had overcome the fear stemming from Nie Shi, it didn’t mean he was accustomed to Qiao Ran. The sound of rotting flesh dropping to the floor filled his mind, nearly driving him to the brink of death with his vivid imagination.
Qiao Ran paused for a few seconds, leading Fang Chen to think he might have asked something he shouldn’t have. “Don’t tell me you thought I was the one who pushed her, did you?” Qiao Ran scrunched up his nose, an expression of impatience and slight annoyance crossing his face. “She jumped of her own accord.”
The vivid imagery of a red dress billowing high, hair caught in an upward dance, and thick blood spreading on the ground replayed before Fang Chen’s eyes, gradually slowing down frame by frame. The blood gurgled in his recollection, with Xie Ying’s face pressed up against the ground, gruesomely disfigured upon impact.
Behind him came the sound of tiny footsteps, disrupting his recollection. Fang Chen turned around to find the Malevolence, its posture crooked, staring straight at him with its dark eyes. With every minor motion Fang Chen made, its gaze trailed in tandem.
“What a nuisance, where do all these spring from?” Qiao Ran walked past Fang Chen. The Malevolence barely opened its mouth before he greeted it with a punch, sending half of its head flying off and spewing a yellowish fluid reminiscent of the diluted honey Fang Chen had once drunk. With another swift motion, Qiao Ran’s hand plunged into the Malevolence‘s chest, prompting Fang Chen to cover his mouth.
Qiao Ran’s method of killing the Malevolence was both simplistic and savage, mirroring his persona—unhinged and straightforward.
“Why claim to lead us to our deaths yet continue to kill these Malevolences? Would it not be simpler to just let them kill us directly?” Fang Chen’s nerves gradually settled, his hold on the dagger easing.
Fang Chen could feel that Qiao Ran, much like Nie Shi, harboured no desire to kill him… or perhaps he couldn’t kill Fang Chen.
With his back to Fang Chen, Qiao Ran’s gaze briefly wandered before returning, fingers idly playing with the dark, viscous liquid. “I’m still leading, though. Painstakingly leading you guys to your death.”
Fang Chen followed his gaze. Windows before the hallway were wide open, with rain sweeping in, and only a small area was lit by the moonlight.
There was nothing there.
“You guys can’t kill us directly,” Fang Chen mused, the sparse moonlight revealing the subtle brown of his eyes. “You even have to prevent those Malevolences from killing us…”
Qiao Ran paused briefly before turning around, his interest now piqued. “Continue.”
“Before Xie Ying died, she said that we all have to die for our own sins, so until then… you guys have to ensure our safety, making sure no harm comes our way from these Malevolences.” Fang Chen tried to make himself appear more confident, but unfortunately, the doubt in his eyes gave him away.
Qiao Ran’s tongue grazed his upper lip, his two lips a stark contrast of colors—crimson and ashen. “What else?”
Fang Chen parted his lips, a question he had long wanted to ask on the tip of his tongue. “Nie Shi… How did he die?”
“How did he die?” Qiao Ran repeated, eyes enlarged and head tilted, as he shot back, “Aren’t you the one who knows best?”
Fang Chen’s mind buzzed, the surrounding din drowning out all else, including his own voice. “What do you mean?”
“Shush.” Qiao Ran smiled. “He certainly won’t bear the thought of you remembering.”
“What do you mean?” Fang Chen locked eyes with Qiao Ran, and in that moment, his ever-present vigilance momentarily caused him to forget the concept of fear.
Qiao Ran bowed his head as he murmured to himself, plotting something in his mind. “Ah, this won’t do. It’s almost over, yet you still haven’t remembered.”
“What have I forgotten?”
Qiao Ran looked up; the moonlight stretched their shadows long and distorted across the pillars in front of the lobby. Seeming to have made up his mind, his smile slowly crept across his face.
“You’ve forgotten him,” he revealed, as the sound of rainfall suddenly intensified, its heavy droplets hammering against Fang Chen’s eardrums. Qiao Ran continued, “Didn’t the two of you grow up together since childhood?”
The revelation that should have bridged the gap instead widened the already gaping chasm. The dagger clattered to the ground as Fang Chen completely gave up his vigilance, collapsing to the ground with his hands bearing his weight.
Amidst those fragmented memories, Fang Chen had forgotten many details, each invariably linked to Nie Shi.
They knew each other since their childhood.
From the chilly confines of the orphanage, where the five- or six-year-old Nie Shi kicked at his blanket, saying, “You’re so noisy,” they had been together ever since then.
Fang Chen had once secretly cared for a kitten, and the orphanage director, knowing that it wouldn’t survive long, decided to turn a blind eye and let him be.
On that rainy day when the kitten passed away in silence, Fang Chen tightly cradled it in his arms, weeping. It was Nie Shi who sheltered him from the bleak skies with an umbrella; in winter, when other children targeted Fang Chen with snowballs, it was Nie Shi who pulled the stubborn him back into the shelter, brushed the snow from his hair, and shared half of his leftover lunch bread with him.
Those days were the orphanage’s silver lining. While being punished and made to stand, Fang Chen would secretly make mischievous faces at Nie Shi, who was in the classroom, inevitably leading to Nie Shi also being called out for failing to answer a question correctly.
Fang Chen was too noisy, while Nie Shi was too quiet. The teachers couldn’t comprehend how the camaraderie between these two kids even came about.
Perhaps it was because they were both ostracized by other children. Fang Chen felt he had found a comrade-in-arms, constantly inviting Nie Shi to join him in play. If there was blame to be assigned, they would bear it together. When unjustly accused, Fang Chen would always argue his case while Nie Shi remained silent, resulting in both of them being punished together. Fang Chen once questioned, “Hey, why didn’t you speak up? Clearly, it wasn’t us who messed with Auntie’s clothes…”
“It’s futile,” Nie Shi would say. “Once they’ve made up their minds, it’s hard to convince them otherwise.”
At times, Fang Chen would find Nie Shi annoying when the latter acted in that way; he guessed Nie Shi probably felt the same way about his noisiness too. But there was no helping it; everyone else cast them aside, so they could only stick together with each other.
Later, Nie Shi was adopted by a family, and Fang Chen was left alone once more.
The pain in Fang Chen’s head drove him to knock it against the floor, tears streaming from his reddened eyes. He often cried, not a day since waking up did he not shed tears, from the initial fear to the current confusion. He had no foothold whatsoever; his vulnerability stemmed from Nie Shi.
Qiao Ran was at a loss; he knew it would hurt, but could it actually hurt this much? In his lifetime, he had been pierced through by a steel pipe and experienced that pain again after death. Yet, he had never felt like this—consumed by pain and sorrow over a memory and a person.
Could memories really inflict such pain? Qiao Ran couldn’t understand. His hand trembled as he reached out, then fell. “Fang Chen-ge?” If Nie Shi were aware of the agony he caused Fang Chen, he would be done for.
The once blurred figure in his memory finally took on a clear form—all of them were Nie Shi.
From their reunion when they were thirteen- or fourteen-year-old to the subsequent years, it was always Nie Shi.
The rain poured down, drowning out Fang Chen’s sobs. The bewildered expression on Qiao Ran’s face, who was standing in front of the lobby, starkly contrasted with Fang Chen’s evident pain.
In the alley behind the junior high school, upperclassman delinquents took a dislike to Fang Chen and attempted to drag him into the alleyway. But Fang Chen was someone who could sometimes emerge victorious even when outnumbered three to one. His friends remarked that he fought as if he had a death wish, pointing out that conflicts could have been avoided if he had simply conceded. Yet, Fang Chen would just grin and rub his nose, saying, “Nahh.” Back then, he was a lone wolf, living joyfully in disarray.
Whenever someone came to bother him, his companions gradually distanced themselves out of fear. Only Nie Shi would come to his defence, appearing out of nowhere in all sorts of bizarre ways. Fang Chen always wanted to laugh at Nie Shi for managing to squeeze through the small window in the storage room—it was so silly; he nearly got stuck and couldn’t get out.
He was an orphan, a feral child without parents. Nie Shi’s adoptive parents also feared being held responsible. Whenever the school intervened to mediate, they would always press down on Nie Shi’s head and force him to bow and apologize to those delinquents.
Fang Chen had a myriad of “why should he” bottled up inside, but they all eventually morphed into a pitiful smile. Reaching out, he patted Nie Shi on the head, who was taller than him by half a head, and said, “Forget it. You don’t have to speak up for me anymore.”
Because he had already become accustomed to it—having no one to speak on his behalf, facing baseless accusations. It had all become second nature to him.
Fang Chen had committed too many wrongdoings, but he had never imagined that merely being born was one of them. And for this wrongdoing, he would have to spend the rest of his life paying for it.
The last paragraph is so sad
Thank you for your translation 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙