“Good child, don’t be afraid.”

Her mother’s fingertips were soft and cold, crawling over her skin like a snake before cupping her cheeks.

“I will love you. I promise I will love you.”

In a space so dark that she couldn’t see her own hand, even the voice seemed pitch-black.

“But on one condition: you have to be obedient.”

The little bird’s corpse floated inside the glass tank.

In the end, even its heart was completely submerged.

A long time passed.

When Kai Xin finally saw Ci’an emerge, her attention was immediately drawn to the black box in Ci’an’s arms.

“Ci’an, what’s that?”

Ci’an looked at peace, yet a strange, indescribable light flickered in her eyes, like a pleased beast.

“A fish tank.”

Her gaze shifted toward Kai Xin inch by inch before she answered.

Kai Xin took a big step forward and smiled as she always did.

“Yay! Now we can watch the little fish together again!”

“I’m going to take it home,” Ci’an said.

“Yay! I’ll go with you too.”

She wrapped both arms around Ci’an’s arm and happily hummed:

“Little fish, little fish, where is your home?”

“My home is in the ground.”

“Little fish, little fish, what game do you like to play?”

“I love playing ghost tag.”

“La la la la la la la la…”

The childish singing gradually faded into the distance.

Their golden silhouettes, stretched long by the setting sun, slowly took on a crimson hue until the entire Buddhist hall was shrouded beneath their distorted shadows.

Jiayan remained where she was, staring blankly at the setting sun.

Her eyes seemed to be gnawed by invisible insects. Dizzying black patches crawled, little by little, across her heart.

“I only wanted an answer.”

By now, she no longer knew whether she was saying those words to herself or to someone else.

That voice continued to patiently soothe her.

“You’ve waited far too long for this answer. You have no reason not to follow them. What is there left to hesitate about?”

Her eyelashes trembled, as though her eyes had been pricked.

Jiayan raised a hand to shield her face from the setting sun and murmured, “Yes. It really has been too long.”

“You’ve softened?”

“No.”

“You can still regret it. We can end our cooperation. For old times’ sake, I’ll send you away.”

“You blame me.”

“I don’t blame you for what happened back then.”

“I’m only one step away from learning the answer. I’ve walked for so long just to reach this step. But I can’t stop. If I stop, I’ll lose everything.”

She turned her head. The sunlight streamed through her fingers and illuminated her face, leaving half of it hidden in darkness.

“You understand me, don’t you?”

She seemed to be smiling, something in her eyes ready to burst forth.

But her plea for recognition—for an answer that might ease her guilt—received no response.

The other person merely smiled, as though that smile itself were an answer.

Jiayan lowered her head, whether from disappointment or relief.

She was still smiling.

A seed of longing sprouted within her heart, its roots anchored in the past. After years of dormancy, it came back to life in this instant.

“There’s something I’ve kept buried in my heart for many years. I thought I had forgotten it, but I eventually realized I never had.”

She paused.

“I still want to tell you this. Back then, when we were in Xin’s hands, you were the only one willing to save me.”

“Thank you, Feng Jiang.”

“You should go,” Feng Jiang reminded her.

She smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes.

Beneath that cold smile, Jiayan’s heartfelt confession suddenly seemed pitiful and ridiculous.

For the first time, Jiayan was utterly clear-headed—and utterly absurd.

She actually began to sympathize with Xin, the woman who wanted to possess Feng Jiang completely.

What had she been expecting all this time…?

“I was truly lucky to have met you. But if I could, I wish we had never met.”

All the obscure feelings she had carried from the past dissolved into a self-mocking smile.

She turned and walked away.

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

The woman’s voice came from behind her, as though asking about the truth of this world itself.

“What is the truth?”

Eyes can be deceived. Perception can be distorted. Thought can be clouded. This world is filled with illusions.

“The most important thing isn’t the truth…”

“Then what is it?”

“Something else.”

“Something else?”

“Are you really curious?”

Feng Jiang turned around and met the woman’s gaze, wearing an identical, flawless smile.

“Mother.”

“Good child, that isn’t important.”

“Ah, I know. That’s why I came.”

“Sometimes, I have this illusion that we’re the real mother and daughter. Just like this.”

The smile on Feng Jiang’s face gradually disappeared.

A barely perceptible darkness surfaced in her eyes.

But soon, even that last trace of darkness vanished.

Her face became expressionless, exquisite like a beautiful doll.

“That isn’t what we should be discussing.”

“I heard that after your biological father was released from prison, he spent all these years investigating your biological mother’s accidental death. Their relationship as husband and wife really is enviable.”

Feng Jiang neither agreed nor disagreed.

“Is that so?”

“They were married, devoted to each other, never doubting one another. Don’t worry. Before long, they’ll be reunited.”

Feng Jiang remained silent, as though the matter had nothing to do with her.

The woman’s eyes were full of maternal affection.

“Good child, when you do something wrong, you must accept the punishment. Even if she was your biological mother, she is no exception. You’ve grown up now. You’re no longer the puppet you were back then. You don’t need to feel guilty, and you certainly don’t need to carry remorse in your heart.”

“After using that argument to convince yourself all this time, can you really accept it completely?”

Feng Jiang looked at the Buddhist hall.

“Did you build this place to repent for your own sins, or to repent for his?”

The woman’s tone remained indifferent.

“He shouldn’t be mentioned.”

Feng Jiang lowered her eyes, hiding every emotion.

“You brought him up first.”

The woman sighed.

For a fleeting moment, she looked like a true mother, unable to restrain an expression of boundless tolerance mixed with helplessness.

This brief tenderness—something she had never shown in front of either of her children—came effortlessly when she faced her nominal daughter-in-law.

“Fine. We won’t mention her. After all, she’s been gone for a long time.”

Feng Jiang raised her eyes. Her expression remained unchanged.

Slowly, she uttered three words:

“She deserved death.”

“You do too.”

The woman smiled, completely unoffended.

If anything, she seemed pleased.

A pair of slightly sharper eyes appeared within her pupils.

Deep within each other’s eyes, they saw the same fundamental coldness.

Something quietly approached—

coldly laughing at everything that was about to happen.