YMW CH 46
by LinnaceThe Devil’s Rainy Night
“What nonsense are you talking about?!” Song Lingwei’s expression flickered with panic for a brief moment, but she quickly composed herself and snapped, “Of course my child is my own!”
Chen Weiguo was no fool. Not just his family, but anyone who knew him would say that if his family had been better off back then and he’d had the chance to study, he would have been a top scholar.
A small place like this was beneath him—Chen Weiguo should have been in Huaijing, making it big.
The muscles on Chen Weiguo’s face twitched slightly. His dark, piercing gaze locked onto Song Lingwei, sending a chill down her spine. After a long, tense moment, he spoke with certainty. “Xie Guilan is definitely not your child.”
“…He is mine,” Song Lingwei murmured, lowering her head to eat, but her hands trembled uncontrollably.
Chen Weiguo didn’t say anything else. He disappeared for several days, and unease gnawed at Song Lingwei. She spent night after night unable to sleep.
Just when she had nearly pushed the whole ordeal to the back of her mind, Chen Weiguo suddenly returned home one afternoon. He still didn’t say a word—just threw a few photographs onto the table.
A picture of Guan Xingxue holding Cen Wu.
Song Lingwei’s mind went blank. She couldn’t even recall what she did next—maybe she grabbed Chen Weiguo in a frenzy, maybe she was slapped across the face again.
“You’ve got some nerve,” Chen Weiguo murmured, his brows pressing low over his eyes. His features were sharp and brooding, his gaze shadowed with menace. He leaned in and gave her a light slap across the face, his voice chilling. “Stealing any child you please, huh?”
It hadn’t been difficult to investigate—if the Cen family had ever suspected the child wasn’t theirs, they would have done a paternity test long ago. But since the thought had never crossed their minds, Song Lingwei had managed to keep the truth buried.
That night, as rain poured in relentless sheets, her nightmare began. Chen Weiguo threatened her, demanding she return to prostitution to make money for him. If she refused, he would expose everything to the Cen family.
Song Lingwei had no choice. Whoever Chen Weiguo told her to accompany, she accompanied. Every cent she earned went into his hands.
She wasn’t entirely foolish—impulsively giving birth had been a mistake, but once she calmed down, she knew Xie Mingcheng would never take responsibility for her.
He had just married Zhou Li, relying on the Zhou family to establish himself as a business titan in Huaijing. If an illegitimate child suddenly surfaced, the best she could hope for was hush money.
The worst outcome? Xie Mingcheng might have them both eliminated.
She had known him since childhood—she understood just how ruthless he could be. She had no future left, but at the very least, she wanted her child to have a good life in the Cen family.
That was why she endured it all—her husband’s beatings, being used as a living blood bank—never daring to divorce, never daring to run.
Chen Weiguo took the money and gambled even more recklessly. When he returned home, he found her filthy and disgusting, so he beat her even harder. His blows grew increasingly brutal, leaving her bloodied and broken. And sometimes, when he was finished hitting her, he would drag her to bed.
Even the neighbors in the cramped apartment building couldn’t bear to watch any longer. A few of them gathered and banged on the iron security door, shouting, “Old Chen! You can’t hit your wife like this!”
“Get lost!” Chen Weiguo barked impatiently. “She’s my wife! What the hell does it have to do with you?!”
He had considered taking Xie Guilan straight to Huaijing, returning him to the Cen family in exchange for a hefty sum. But the boy was already three years old—sharp for his age, with an unusually keen memory.
If Xie Guilan told the Cen family about the abuse, not only would Chen Weiguo lose his chance at money, he might end up in prison. It was safer to keep the boy and use Song Lingwei to make steady cash.
Song Lingwei didn’t run, and outsiders had no way to intervene. They could only give up and retreat, afraid of provoking Chen Weiguo’s wrath.
He was over six feet tall, just thirty-six years old, and built like an ox—no one dared to cross him.
Xie Guilan had once called the police. That time, Chen Weiguo had knocked one of Song Lingwei’s teeth out. Her mouth was filled with blood, and the boy thought she was dying. Panicked, he not only called the police but also an ambulance.
When the officers arrived, Song Lingwei hurriedly wiped the blood from her lips and clung to Chen Weiguo’s arm, forcing a smile. “I tripped and fell,” she told them. “It wasn’t a fight. The child misunderstood. Sorry for the trouble, officers, making you come all this way so late.”
Standing beside her, Chen Weiguo cut a towering figure. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, but he and Song Lingwei looked like a perfectly matched couple.
Since she insisted nothing had happened, the officers could do nothing but give Chen Weiguo a brief lecture before leaving.
Chen Weiguo let out a derisive snort, grabbed some money, and headed off to gamble, paying her no further attention.
Song Lingwei, her hair in a tangled mess, sat numbly on the couch, tears sliding down her cheeks. Then she turned and slapped Xie Guilan hard across the face. “Who told you to call the police?!”
The slap split his ear, drawing a thin trickle of blood. But he didn’t react—just turned his head slowly, his dark, almond-shaped eyes fixed on her in eerie silence.
Song Lingwei grabbed him and, like a madwoman, struck him over and over. When she was done, she collapsed into sobs, cradling him in her arms and whispering, “Xiao Lan, don’t ever call the police again. And don’t make your father angry.”
If Chen Weiguo got arrested, he would surely expose the truth about her stealing the child. What would all her suffering have been for?
Xie Guilan had seen many strange men enter their home, leaving behind crumpled bills after they finished with his mother. It made his skin crawl. They were like rats, burrowing into her body before scurrying off.
Years passed. By the time Xie Guilan was nearly seven, Song Lingwei—fearing he would be beaten too often at home—sent him to primary school a year early.
It was deep winter, and snow was falling. When he returned home one evening, he found Song Lingwei collapsed in a pool of blood.
Her throat had been slashed—barely missing the windpipe, but still gushing blood. A deep stab wound had torn open her stomach, her intestines spilling out onto the floor. But she wasn’t dead yet—just gasping, rasping, clinging to life.
Xie Guilan called an ambulance. Pressing gauze against the wound on her neck, he crouched beside her, careful not to step on the entrails spilling from her abdomen.
The emergency team arrived swiftly, administering urgent treatment before rushing her to the hospital.
Her skull was fractured, her face sunken in, her nose broken. Her body was riddled with fractures, internal organs badly damaged. She had to use a catheter, and they even had to perform a gastrectomy.
Her once-beautiful face was now utterly ruined.
Even the doctors were astonished that she had survived. It was only because Xie Guilan had called the ambulance so quickly and refrained from moving her unnecessarily, preventing further trauma.
She remained in the hospital for over a month before she looked even remotely human again. With no one else to confide in, she clung to Xie Guilan, weeping. “He’s going to kill me, Xiao Lan. He’s a monster.”
Chen Weiguo had been gambling away more and more money, and she simply couldn’t keep up. She had only given him a little over a thousand, and within three days, he was back, demanding more. When she refused, they argued.
Then he pinned her down and beat her nearly to death.
Before, no matter how he hit her, he had never used a knife. But this time, he was different—his face twisted with pure murder.
One stab after another.
She could still hear the sound of her own flesh being split open.
She had no idea what had made him snap.
That night, as little Xie Guilan sat by her hospital bed doing his homework, Song Lingwei wiped her tears and suddenly asked, “Xiao Lan, in our town, where could someone hide a body so no one would ever find it?”
Xie Guilan paused. His long lashes lifted, revealing deep, dark eyes clouded with something unreadable. His voice was cool and detached. “You only need to divorce him.”
“…” Song Lingwei pulled the blanket tighter around herself, hiding her unease. “What are you talking about, child?”
She wanted to kill Chen Weiguo, but her mind wasn’t sharp enough. She had tried to poison him before—once, she put pesticide in his food, but before he even picked up his chopsticks, he noticed something was off.
Another time, when he was sick, she laced his herbal medicine with poison, but he caught her, pinned her down, and forced it down her own throat instead.
She was rushed to the hospital for gastric lavage. Her stomach had already been weak, and this completely ruined it. On top of that, she had been stabbed a few times, leaving the doctors with no choice but to perform a gastrectomy.
She wanted to chop Chen Weiguo into pieces and bury him, but she couldn’t even figure out how to hide the body, let alone kill him. She had thought about asking Xie Guilan, but who knew Xie Guilan would be so sharp?
Song Lingwei didn’t dare ask again. When the caregiver brought her food, she called Xie Guilan over to eat.
She could only have liquid food for now, but she had asked the caregiver to buy Xie Guilan a fish. She carefully picked out every single bone.
Then she handed it to him.
The woman still had bandages wrapped around her neck, her whole body pale and emaciated to the point of being unrecognizable. But her voice was gentle as she said, “Xiaolan, you like fish, don’t you?”
Xie Guilan hated picking out fish bones. He liked eating fish but rarely had it. Whenever Song Lingwei had the time, she would debone the fish for him.
The hospital turned off the lights early. After Xie Guilan finished his homework, Song Lingwei called him over to sleep.
There were no extra beds in the hospital. Afraid of pressing against her stomach wound, Xie Guilan always curled up on the old couch in the room. But every time, Song Lingwei would call him over to her bedside.
She propped herself up slightly, making space for him, and patted the bed. “Come sleep with Mom.”
Little Xie Guilan let her pull him over to lie down, but he still curled up his legs, trying to take up as little space as possible. Song Lingwei held him and gently patted his back. The New Year was approaching, and the snow outside was heavy.
She wondered if the snow in Huaijing was just as thick.
Song Lingwei never held Chen Weiguo accountable. She even spoke on his behalf, so he was only detained for a few days before being released. But when he came back, his attitude had suddenly changed. He came to the hospital to apologize, bowing slightly—almost like the gentle man he had been before they got married.
Song Lingwei was skeptical, but since he was taking care of her, she could save money on hiring a caregiver.
And at night, she felt safe enough to let Xie Guilan go home to sleep.
“Xiaolan,” Chen Weiguo took Xie Guilan’s hand and said, “come home with Dad. Tomorrow, after school, I’ll bring you back to see Mom.”
Xie Guilan didn’t care either way. He followed Chen Weiguo home.
By the time they arrived, the sky was completely dark. A woman had just returned from picking up her child from school. She called out to Chen Weiguo, “Old Chen, have you seen my husband, Shi Yong? He hasn’t been home in over a month. Didn’t you two used to play cards together?”
Xie Guilan lifted his dark, expressionless eyes. He knew Shi Yong. They lived on the same floor.
The old tube-style apartment building had a long hallway on each floor, lined with over a dozen households.
“How would I know?” Chen Weiguo frowned impatiently.
“I was just asking,” the woman muttered under her breath as she walked away, not daring to provoke him. “Why are you so angry?”
She had only asked on a whim. Shi Yong was a habitual gambler, and debt collectors came knocking every few days. A month without coming home was nothing—sometimes, he disappeared for half a year.
But now, her elderly parents were sick, and she needed to take care of them. There was no one to pick up the child, so she thought of finding her husband.
Xie Guilan, still holding Chen Weiguo’s hand, noticed something. When the woman mentioned Shi Yong, Chen Weiguo’s fingers tensed for a split second, and his palm was clammy with sweat.
After getting home, Chen Weiguo went to cook dinner. To save money, the house was dimly lit. Xie Guilan walked forward in the shadows, glancing discreetly at the drawer where Chen Weiguo kept his repair tools.
It was empty.
Before leaving to visit Song Lingwei, he had noticed a faint smudge of ink on the drawer handle—left by Chen Weiguo himself. Now, the ink had been wiped away.
Chen Weiguo had definitely opened that drawer tonight.
Years ago, he had started using drugs. Once, Xie Guilan had caught him handing Shi Yong a few small white packets.
Chen Weiguo was always on alert, so Xie Guilan didn’t disturb him.
Instead, he followed Shi Yong, holding an Ultraman mask. He ran ahead, pretending to accidentally bump into him.
The small white packets in Shi Yong’s hands weren’t tucked away properly and fell to the ground. Shi Yong was so startled that he almost broke into a cold sweat. But when he turned around and saw it was just Xie Guilan with his Ultraman mask, he sighed in relief and frowned. “Get lost, kid. What are you running around for?”
Xie Guilan’s pale, cold little face remained impassive. His lips were pressed together as he stared at him. The people in the building were used to the boy’s icy demeanor.
Shi Yong glanced at the Ultraman in his hands and figured he was just a dumb kid. He let his guard down. Since Xie Guilan didn’t seem suspicious, he didn’t overthink it.
And so, he went home as usual.
Xie Guilan tested things a few more times. He was sure now—whatever was in those packets, it wasn’t anything good.
Morphine, heroin… whatever it was, he had seen these types of packets on the news when watching TV with Chen Weiguo.
That night, Xie Guilan sat under the small lamp, doing his homework. His small hand gripped a pen as he drew a long, straight line on his scratch paper.
Chen Weiguo was probably Shi Yong’s supplier. He sold drugs to Shi Yong. Over the past few years, Shi Yong had become increasingly volatile. And so had Chen Weiguo.
The drugs they were using must have been the kind that made people more aggressive.
And now, Shi Yong had disappeared.
It was deep winter. The sun set early. Even though elementary school let out while it was still bright, by the time the kids got home, the sky was already darkening.
The next day, Chen Weiguo stayed home cooking dinner—he didn’t go pick up Xie Guilan.
“Dad.” When Xie Guilan got home, he went straight to the kitchen. He peeled open a small candy wrapper, about to put it in his mouth.
Chen Weiguo turned around. He had been reaching out to ruffle Xie Guilan’s hair, but when he saw the candy wrapper in his hand, his expression instantly darkened. His eyes were filled with both fear and anger as he barked, “Who gave that to you?!”
It was just a White Rabbit milk candy. Nothing special.
Except it was a knockoff, labeled as “Big White Bunny.”
When Shi Yong’s cravings kicked in and he had no money for drugs, he loved eating these. He would often sit at the entrance of the apartment building, smoking a cigarette with one leg crossed over the other, popping candy into his mouth.
The floor was littered with candy wrappers.
Xie Guilan said, “An uncle gave them to me.”
Chen Weiguo’s lips trembled. He set down the spatula and stormed out to find the man, but in the long, dark night, the only thing flickering in the hallway was the dim, aging lightbulb—there was no one in sight.
The neighbors across the hall were also cooking dinner. The smoke and grease were thick, so they left their door open. Chen Weiguo walked over and asked, “Did you see anyone here just now?”
“Hm?” The woman seemed caught off guard. She thought for a moment and said, “I think a man passed by.”
So it was a living person.
Only then did Chen Weiguo feel his heart settle. His back was drenched in cold sweat. When he got home, he scolded Xie Guilan, pointing at him and saying, “Don’t take things from strangers.”
Xie Guilan obediently nodded, the artificial sweetness of cheap milk candy melting in his mouth. His dark eyes flickered.
Shi Yong had to be dead.
And the killer was Chen Weiguo.
A little over a month later, Song Lingwei was discharged from the hospital. The doctor advised her to rest for a while, but she only had a little over 800 yuan left to her name, and there was no way Chen Weiguo would give her any money.
Aside from the surgery, she also had a rhinoplasty.
Chen Weiguo had broken her nose. She could endure everything else, but she couldn’t accept being disfigured.
After she was discharged, Chen Weiguo didn’t ask her for money anymore. In fact, he treated her with unusual kindness.
It felt strange. Having no money made her anxious, and she now felt an aversion to men—she could no longer do her old work.
So she found a job at a factory instead.
The only issue was that the factory was far from home, and with ten-hour shifts every day, she could only return home once a month. She worried that Chen Weiguo would beat Xie Guilan to death.
But Xie Guilan told her to go.
Song Lingwei was indecisive and timid. She couldn’t handle tough situations and had no reliable husband to lean on. Xie Guilan, on the other hand, was so calm and composed that he didn’t seem like a child at all. She always listened to him.
“Xiao Lan,” before leaving, Song Lingwei left him 500 yuan and kept 300 for herself. Uneasy, she told him, “You know the way, right? Keep the money hidden. If he hits you, run out and take a bus to find me.”
Xie Guilan didn’t say a word.
Song Lingwei went to work at the textile factory. Chen Weiguo had already quit his job and spent his days gambling with her money. But lately, he couldn’t even focus on that—strange things kept appearing in the house.
Xie Guilan had to pass through several alleys on his way home from school. The alleys reeked, wastewater flowed everywhere, and garbage piled up in heaps. One day, he found a pair of brown leather shoes in the trash.
Nearby was an abandoned clothing store. On that cold night, several mannequin torsos lay toppled over in the garbage.
He picked up one of the mannequin feet and pressed it down on the heel of one of the shoes until the heel was crushed flat, as if someone had stepped on it. Only then did he wrap the shoes in a clean plastic bag, tuck them into his backpack, and take them home.
That night, when Chen Weiguo got up to use the bathroom, he stepped on something that felt off. Looking down, he saw he was wearing a pair of brown leather shoes—one perfectly fine, the other with a flattened heel.
“Ahhh!!”
A cold sweat broke out all over him. He kicked the shoes away desperately, then let out a few angry shouts, as if trying to muster his courage.
“Dad,” little Xie Guilan seemed to have been woken up. Rubbing his eyes, he stepped out of his room. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing… nothing,” Chen Weiguo’s heart pounded wildly, as if he had seen a ghost. He swallowed hard and snapped, “Go back to bed! Don’t you have school tomorrow?!”
Obediently, little Xie Guilan turned and went back into his room. His pale face was cast in the dim light before he shut the door, vanishing into the icy darkness of the night.
Shi Yong had a slight disability in his right leg—he always walked with one heel raised, one lowered.
And he had a particular fondness for brown leather shoes.
Back when he worked as a clerk at the factory, he had nearly been promoted to section chief. In those days, he always wore dress shirts and black trousers, with his signature brown leather shoes on his feet. Everyone in the factory used to say, “Chief Shi sure looks sharp.”
Shi Yong never stopped talking about his time at the factory. He went on about it so much that people got sick of hearing it, but he never tired of telling the stories.
Chen Weiguo started having nightmares. No matter how many times he threw away the brown leather shoes, they would always reappear in his bedroom at midnight.
Sometimes, he would even hear footsteps—tap, tap—as if someone were walking in them. Jolting awake, he would find the shoes lying at his bedroom door, one in front of the other.
In a panic, he would stomp on them, crushing them like a madman, grinding them into the floor until they were completely ruined. But no matter what he did, another identical pair would show up the next night.
At the end of each month, Song Lingwei got two days off. When she returned home, she immediately noticed that Chen Weiguo had lost weight and seemed… off. She quietly asked Xie Guilan, “What’s wrong with your dad?”
Xie Guilan shook his head.
Song Lingwei didn’t dare provoke Chen Weiguo, so she didn’t ask him.
Chen Weiguo suspected her. He even followed her to the factory, but after confirming that she hadn’t left, he ruled her out. Then he suspected Xie Guilan.
One night, he heard the sound of footsteps in leather shoes. He shot up, grabbed the shoes, and stormed into Xie Guilan’s room.
But there he was, sleeping soundly, completely undisturbed.
Chen Weiguo felt like he was losing his mind.
That night, Shi Yong had been in withdrawal, demanding drugs from him. But he didn’t have any on hand and tried to calm him down, saying he would have some in a few days. Shi Yong, however, lashed out, cursing him—calling him a pathetic pushover, a man raising another man’s child, saying that even someone as spineless as him had a kid, while Chen Weiguo had nothing.
Rage consumed him. By the time he came to his senses, Shi Yong was already lying in a pool of blood, lifeless.
He had no choice but to chop the body into pieces, wrapping them up and burying them in the mountains overnight.
Afterward, he had planned to get some money from Song Lingwei and gamble a few rounds to drown it all out. But she refused to give him anything. He had nearly killed her that night too.
He thought he wasn’t afraid of anything. But ever since those brown leather shoes appeared, every night was a nightmare of dismembered bodies, the heavy sound of bones being hacked apart, the sickening stench of blood.
Xie Guilan had considered taking the drugs straight to the police. But Chen Weiguo had hidden them inside the lock core of a drawer, rigging it with a complicated mechanism—twelve screws had to be removed to get them out.
Chen Weiguo was deeply suspicious and would often return home unexpectedly.
At first, Xie Guilan would only remove one screw at a time, but as he became more skilled, he started removing two. It took him months to realize there were actually twelve.
Chen Weiguo would smear ink near the lock cylinder, wedge a slip of paper in the drawer, or leave a strand of hair—any disturbance, and he would know immediately.
Xie Guilan had to restore everything to its exact state to avoid detection—the angle of the hair, the indentation on the paper—down to the millimeter. After all, he was dealing with a cunning devil.
Once, he almost succeeded. But just as he was about to remove the last screw, his heart clenched. Without hesitation, he reinserted the remaining screw.
By the time he had restored everything and slipped under the covers, Chen Weiguo suddenly pushed open his bedroom door.
It was deep into the night, darkness engulfing everything. The man’s tall figure loomed in the doorway like a shadowy specter.
Chen Weiguo had intended to go play cards but stopped halfway, his steps slowing. His sunken eyes darkened as his expression turned grim. Then, without hesitation, he returned home.
He stared at Xie Guilan for a few seconds before checking the drawer—nothing had changed.
Yet, his suspicion was not completely dispelled.
The next night, he took Xie Guilan to an amusement park.
The park stayed open until 10:30 PM, and it was close to the back mountain. He lifted little Xie Guilan into his arms, pointing at the dark, beast-like silhouette of the mountain range.
“Xiaolan, you’ve never been to the back mountain, have you?”
“No,” the young Xie Guilan answered.
Chen Weiguo studied his every expression, his voice lowering as he narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been there. It’s huge. A little kid like you, if buried there, would never be found for a lifetime.”
Xie Guilan’s black eyes remained indifferent, yet there was a flicker of incomprehension, as if he truly didn’t understand.
Chen Weiguo held him in his arms, their gazes locked. Beneath the pitch-black sky, the amusement park glowed warmly, filled with laughter. But their backs were cold, sweat trickling down.
Xie Guilan showed no extra reaction. Chen Weiguo’s arms grew sore, so he finally set him down.
Maybe he really was overthinking things. No matter how smart Xie Guilan was, he was still just a child.
But more and more of Shi Yong’s belongings kept appearing in the house—cigarette butts covered in bite marks, a yellowed pillowcase.
One night, Chen Weiguo woke up to find all the shoes in the house mismatched—one high, one low.
He flew into a rage, smashing things as if that would drive away the ghosts. Other times, he turned pale and sprinted into the hallway, shouting at the top of his lungs.
The neighbors all knew he had gone mad. At the first sound of his yelling or objects breaking, they locked their doors.
Chen Weiguo decided to leave.
Six months ago, he had taken out several insurance policies on Song Lingwei. During that time, he had deliberately treated her well. If he killed her, he could collect hundreds of thousands.
He bought a rope, an axe, and hid them at home, waiting for her to return the next night.
That year, a typhoon swept through the city, bringing relentless rain. Tonight, the storm raged even harder, shaking the world itself.
Chen Weiguo didn’t even dare wear shoes in the house.
But when he woke up in the middle of the night, there was a pair of leather shoes on his feet—one heel higher than the other.
He sat up with a jolt, trying to shake them off, when he suddenly noticed a small figure standing at his bedroom door.
“Papa,” Xie Guilan’s voice was soft. “A man just gave me some candy.”
Chen Weiguo trembled. He reached out and touched the bed—his hands brushed against a pile of White Rabbit milk candies.
The storm howled outside.
Tortured for half a year, Chen Weiguo finally snapped. He lunged at Xie Guilan, trying to strangle him.
But Xie Guilan had already run.
Chen Weiguo, still wearing those brown leather shoes, chased him through the building.
Yet when he reached the first floor, he couldn’t find him. Instead, he saw that the entrance door had been tightly locked from the outside.
In the dim corridor, the sound of a man’s dry cough echoed—a hoarse, smoker’s voice.
It sounded just like Shi Yong.
Chen Weiguo’s bloodshot eyes widened. He tried to escape, kicking at the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
He had no choice but to run upstairs.
The dark stairwell swallowed him whole. Only his stumbling shadow moved in the blackness.
Pa-ta. Pa-ta.
The sound of leather shoes followed him.
He ran faster, but the footsteps only kept pace, matching his speed.
He had already forgotten—those shoes were on his own feet.
Up and up he ran, until he reached the rooftop.
The storm consumed the night.
He could still hear the footsteps.
He wanted to go home. His voice was hoarse and trembling.
But the iron rooftop door was locked tight. He pounded on it—it wouldn’t budge.
“Shi Yong!” Chen Weiguo wiped the rain from his face, his whole body shaking. He roared, “Get out here!”
Shi Yong never appeared.
Only the footsteps kept following him.
Chen Weiguo staggered, collapsing at the edge of the rooftop.
Through the storm, he saw the streetlight below—its glow illuminating a familiar tricycle.
The taste of blood filled his mouth. His eyes burned with fury.
It was Shi Yong’s tricycle.
Shi Yong was really here.
Meanwhile, Xie Guilan, wearing gloves, locked the rooftop door and ran home.
He started dismantling the drawer again.
But before he could finish, a heavy thud echoed through the night.
Something had fallen.
Even through the torrential downpour, the sound was clear.
Xie Guilan paused.
Then, calmly, he reinserted each screw, one by one, exactly as before.
He put on a black plastic bag as a makeshift raincoat and ran downstairs.
Unlocking the door.
Chen Weiguo lay face down, limbs twisted at odd angles. He was completely still.
Blood pooled beneath him, washing away in the rain—a bright, crimson stain.
Amid the pouring storm, he had fallen like a torn butterfly.
But he didn’t deserve that.
He was more like a dismembered toad.
Xie Guilan went home, cleaned everything up, and got under the covers.
Just like always.
Except for Chen Weiguo.
Chen Weiguo wouldn’t be knocking on his door tonight.
The next day, someone heading out to work discovered Chen Weiguo lying in a pool of blood.
By the time the police arrived, he had long since stopped breathing—most likely dying on the spot the previous night.
Song Lingwei received a call from the police while at the factory. She was so terrified that she thought they were coming to arrest her. It wasn’t until she rushed to the tenement building that she realized Chen Weiguo was dead. The police were only asking his family to identify the body.
The initial findings confirmed that no one had pushed him—he had fallen on his own. Toxicology results showed he had used drugs before his death.
There were no extra fingerprints or footprints at the scene, so after investigating, the police were prepared to close the case as either a suicide or an accidental fall due to drug-induced hallucinations.
Around the same time, Shi Yong’s family reported him missing, leading the police to uncover the previous dismemberment case. While they couldn’t find definitive fingerprints or DNA evidence, their preliminary conclusion was that the murderer was Chen Weiguo.
Things were progressing toward a resolution until an old police officer visited the tenement, asking around about who had been home that night. He spoke to an elderly woman who lived alone on the third floor.
“This is our bureau chief,” an officer beside him introduced.
The old woman looked puzzled. “What bureau?”
“Bureau chief,” the officer repeated.
The old woman looked even more confused. “What chief?”
The officer: “……”
“Never mind,” the old policeman raised a hand dismissively before asking the woman what had happened that night.
She told him that Xie Guilan had come to see her and warned her not to leave her home that evening.
Others could hear Chen Weiguo losing his mind, but she was hard of hearing—if she had stepped outside, she might have run into him.
“If little Lan hadn’t told me, I probably would have gone out,” the old woman said, still shaken. “I was going to bring in my laundry.”
In the tenement, many people hung their clothes in the hallway to dry. Her old pants weren’t worth much, so she didn’t worry about them being stolen.
On the night of the incident, only Xie Guilan and Chen Weiguo had been home. If Chen Weiguo had been murdered, then Xie Guilan was the most suspicious person.
But he was only seven years old. And there was no evidence. So no one suspected him.
The old policeman followed this lead like descending into an abyss—the deeper he dug, the more chilling the truth became. The breakthrough came when he noticed that one of Chen Weiguo’s shoes had a crushed heel, just like Shi Yong’s habit.
But Shi Yong was already dead. He couldn’t have returned for revenge. Someone else had used his memory to torment Chen Weiguo.
Xie Guilan had conditioned Chen Weiguo, making him see Shi Yong’s belongings, leaving him with only two responses: attack or flee. If he resisted, the shoes wouldn’t appear by his bedside at night. If he didn’t, the torment would continue.
It became a system of reward and punishment. Subconsciously, Chen Weiguo began following Xie Guilan’s rules.
But these deductions were useless without proof. And Xie Guilan was just a seven-year-old boy. There was nothing they could do to him.
The old policeman remained silent for a long time. An intelligent, highly rational, and utterly cold-blooded individual—someone like that couldn’t be given the environment to commit crimes. Otherwise, no one could predict what might happen in the future.
When Song Lingwei arrived at the tenement, Xie Guilan had already come downstairs.
The rain had not stopped. Chen Weiguo’s face had been slashed by the metal sheets on his way down, leaving most of it a mangled mess of blood and exposed bone.
Yet Xie Guilan’s pitch-black eyes remained devoid of emotion. He didn’t fear corpses. He showed no reaction to that disfigured face.
The police, now suspicious of him, conducted further inquiries in the tenement, asking about his usual behavior.
The officers said nothing, but rumors spread quickly—people started whispering that it must have been Xie Guilan who killed him. He had always been unsettling, never quite like a normal child.
If it had been any other kid accused of murder, no one would have believed it. But for Xie Guilan, they weren’t surprised.
Only the old woman refused to believe it. She had seen Chen Weiguo’s death, knew Song Lingwei was under police suspicion and might even be arrested. Xie Guilan seemed so pitiful to her. He had even saved her life.
She had gone to the police thinking she was helping. She wanted them to know that Xie Guilan was a good child and that his mother wasn’t a murderer.
After concluding their investigation, the old policeman, dressed in his black raincoat, pressed a hand on Xie Guilan’s shoulder, crouched down, and asked, “Little Xie, do you know what Pavlov’s dog is?”
Xie Guilan’s cold eyelids flickered slightly, but he said nothing.
The old policeman didn’t ask again. Before leaving, he advised Song Lingwei, “Children who experience things like this may suffer psychological trauma. If you have time, take him to see a psychologist.”
Of course, Xie Guilan wouldn’t have any trauma. And what he wanted Song Lingwei to check wasn’t that.
He didn’t expect her to understand him. As long as she did what he wanted, that was enough.
Yet, she did understand.
Even though Xie Guilan wasn’t her biological child, she was still his mother. No one understood him better than she did. When she arrived at the tenement and met his eyes, she knew exactly who had killed Chen Weiguo.
Xie Guilan’s original plan had been to trap Chen Weiguo on the rooftop, bring out the drugs, and run to the police station to report him.
But he had also considered another outcome.
And that was the one he truly wanted to see.
The rain poured harder. Song Lingwei, filled with despair, gripped a black umbrella, holding Xie Guilan’s hand as they parted ways with the old policeman.
The demon that had tormented her for seven years was dead.
But the one she was holding—
Was the real demon.
Chen Weiguo had gambled and whored himself into ruin. The people in the tenement had always despised him. And with Song Lingwei’s profession, many looked down on her as well. Now that Xie Guilan was involved in a scandal, things only got worse.
Everywhere she went, she felt eyes on her. Some neighbors even cursed at her outright, telling her to get lost.
Only the old woman remained concerned. She couldn’t make sense of it all—had she said the wrong thing?
She went to find Song Lingwei and pleaded, “Xiao Song, can I say it again? I didn’t explain it well before, I—”
But Song Lingwei only wept.
She regretted not abandoning Xie Guilan back then.
That stormy night, as she held his hand on the way home—
She wanted nothing more than to leave him behind.
But if she couldn’t abandon three-year-old Xie Guilan back then, how could she possibly do it now that he was seven? As long as he wanted to find her, he always would.
Song Lingwei cried for several nights, sobbing until her stomach ached. When she finally went to the hospital, they diagnosed her with colon cancer. Disheveled and exhausted, she returned home to find little Xie Guilan standing quietly by her side, his gaze lowered.
“Xiao Lan,” she wiped her tears, finally making up her mind. She looked at him and said, “Pack your things. We’re going to Huaijing to find your father.”
Xie Guilan didn’t know what kind of road lay ahead. The day they left, the only person who came to see them off was the elderly neighbor, who had steamed some buns for them to eat on the journey.
Huaijing No. 1 High School’s anniversary celebration was a grand event, with the city streets still bustling late at night. The neon lights reflected off the rain-soaked roads, blending with the glow of car headlights from waiting parents.
Inside a car, Song Lingwei buried her face in her hands.
She was terrified. Chen Weiguo had died without ever knowing whose hands had killed him. And she—she was afraid that one day, she too might die without ever knowing how.
After all, she wasn’t Xie Guilan’s biological mother.
The second-year students stayed behind to clean up the auditorium. Cen Wu assumed that Cen Father and Cen Mother had already left—he had told them not to wait for him since cleaning up would take a while. Besides, their driver was still around.
But when he walked out at 10:30 p.m., he saw that not only had they stayed, but Cen Xiao was there too.
It was raining and bitterly cold. Cen Xiao had sent their parents back to the car, worried that if Cen Wu didn’t see them, he might just leave on his own. So, he stood outside the auditorium, holding an umbrella.
Cen Wu tugged Xie Guilan by the wrist and walked toward them.
He had slapped Xie Shangjing earlier, and Xie Mingcheng had seen it. No matter the reason, Xie Mingcheng would think Xie Shangjing had embarrassed him. Tonight, Xie Shangjing was bound to get a lashing from the horsewhip.
Xie Father believed in strict discipline, having grown up in the mountains with eight siblings who had all been beaten before. Even though Xie Shangjing was the eldest young master of the Xie family, he was no exception.
Cen Wu worried that Xie Guilan would be dragged into the mess and decided not to let him return to the Xie household that night.
Cen Xiao’s expression darkened. Their parents doted on Cen Wu, and he was no exception. But Cen Wu was going too far. Xie Guilan gave him a bad feeling. Cen Wu was hiding his relationship with Xie Guilan from their parents and even bringing him home—Cen Xiao had a strong sense that something would go wrong.
Xie Guilan lifted his deep, cold eyes, his pale skin appearing even more washed out under the night sky.
His first instinct was that no one could separate him from Cen Wu. Even if Cen Wu stopped liking him, he could wait for him to fall in love again.
But when he met Cen Xiao’s gaze, he hesitated. Slowly, he withdrew his wrist from Cen Wu’s grasp.
“Young Master,” Xie Guilan lowered his eyes and said softly, “I’ll head home first. Goodnight.”
As Cen Father and Cen Mother saw Cen Wu come out, they turned on the car lights. The warm glow cut through the heavy rain, illuminating the path home.
The light reflected in Cen Wu’s damp eyes, turning into small, bright, and warm reflections.
Xie Guilan suddenly felt that his love didn’t matter anymore.
He craved the moonlight that fell on his shoulders, but he had no desire to drag the moon down into the mud with him. He’d rather let the moon remain in the sky, untouched—no matter how distant, even if they could never meet again.
The rain poured down just as fiercely as it had ten years ago. Back then, he hadn’t fully understood why he and Song Lingwei had been driven away, nor why she had cried the entire night in fear.
That man was dead. No one would beat her anymore. No one would demand money from her.
But he knew—her already miserable life had become even worse because of him.
“Wu Wu,” Cen Xiao furrowed his brows, calling out to him. “Let’s go.”
Xie Guilan turned and walked away.
But Cen Wu hesitated only for a moment before running after him.
“Young Master,” Xie Guilan wasn’t sure what to say to him. His dark eyes softened slightly as he murmured, “Your parents and brother love you. They’re doing this for your own good.”
Cen Father and Cen Mother, along with Cen Xiao, spoiled Cen Wu yet remained firm on matters of principle.
As long as Cen Wu behaved and listened, he could live a smooth, easy life without suffering.
Cen Wu’s eyelashes trembled. He looked at Xie Guilan, stubbornly refusing to hold his own umbrella properly, squeezing under Xie Guilan’s instead. Xie Guilan had no choice but to steady him with a hand on his waist.
The night was freezing. Cen Xiao had brought him a thick, plush coat, which Cen Wu hugged to himself like a small, warm bundle.
“I’m… I’m doing fine,” Cen Wu mumbled, pretending not to understand what Xie Guilan meant. He tilted his head to peer at him, his gaze unwavering. “But… but are you okay?”
Xie Guilan froze.
“Do you want to come with me?” Cen Wu asked.
Xie Guilan was half a head taller than him, but Cen Wu went up on tiptoe, stubbornly clinging to him—like he wouldn’t let go unless Xie Guilan agreed, like the moon always chasing after people.
“…Yes.”
Xie Guilan heard his own hoarse voice answer.