Past Trauma

On the eve of our wedding, I discovered a spreadsheet on Ji Qing’s computer.

It was filled with information about every girl he had ever dated.

In my column, it read: [Law-abiding and dutiful; suitable for marriage.]

Meanwhile, the entry for his first love read: [You are a bird of the air; you should fly proudly toward the horizon.]

He once said he would never marry her.

Because being his wife meant laboring over three meals a day, raising children, and serving one’s in-laws.

He couldn’t bear to subject her to that.

I didn’t argue, and I didn’t make a scene.

The next day, I went back to the television station.

Ji Qing didn’t know that I had a form of my own.

It was an application for a transfer to Africa to serve as a war correspondent.

The person I truly love is still there.

I’m going to find him and bring him back.

The day I found out I had cancer.

He Wei frowned and said coldly to me, “Do you think anyone would be sad if you died? No one would feel bad about it.”

I said, “Whatever.”

Then I sincerely wished him, “I hope you’ll do as you say.”

After all, the year my brother died saving me, everyone looked at me and said:

“Why wasn’t it you who died?”

Later, I stood on the rooftop of the abandoned building where my brother passed away and jumped off.

But He Wei, why were you crying?

On the day I was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer, I lost the cat that Chi Zhou and his ex-girlfriend had raised together.

He said, “Xia Zhi, if you can’t find the cat, then don’t come back either!”

Later, I died out there and never returned to our home again.

[Horror Romance + damp, unhinged, obsessive male leads with lots of strange quirks + dark otome vibe]

When Qiu Rongrong met Zhou Jingxing, she thought she could start over. Later, she realized it had only been an illusion.

The gentle “older brother” tore off his disguise and revealed his cruelty. The boy at school who always seemed to protect her turned out to be the one driving the violence. The murderer’s son took her hand and said he would save her-help her escape.

They all said she should atone.

But in this grand, feverish revel, she was the only innocent survivor.

She tried to claw her way out of the mire, to struggle up onto solid ground-only for them to drag her back down into the mud.

Her beginning with him started with deception.

“Remember what fear tastes like. I don’t just want you dead-I want you to die in agony.”

Her ending with him finally came from sincerity.

“Love is the most twisted form of revenge. If you hate me, then use love as your blade-drive it straight into my heart.”

A year ago, on a whim, I told my wife a story.

Because the content was bizarre and the details were too realistic, she was scared out of her wits.

Afterwards, I deeply regretted it and emphasized countless times that the story was made up. But her trust in me had already collapsed, and the look in her eyes was filled with fear.

That night, she ran into the bathroom, locked the door, and called the police.

As a result, I ended up in jail.

Now, I am sorting out the whole incident as follows.

I died of a sudden asthma attack while being bullied.

My family sent my bruised and battered body straight to the incinerator; no one went to my school to demand justice for me.

Later, my brother started dating the girl who bullied me.

He turned her into the blade he would use to avenge me.

Before she died, my closest friend gave me two things.

A piece of skin she had cut from her own body, and her lover.

She asked me to use that skin to make a shadow puppet for the opera…

I think I understood what she meant. She was telling me: Ah Mei, I’m giving you a generous gift. You should return the favor-kill someone for me.

When I was a child, my father once gave me a ten-yuan bill as pocket money.

He said he had picked it up on the road.

I remember very clearly that on the back of that bill, written in black ink, was a line:

“There is a pyramid scheme on the fifth floor. Help.”

I took the money to show my father, and he smiled and told me,

“Who knows how many people have used this bill? Who knows when those words were written? Maybe the person who wrote them has already been rescued.”

I was in a hurry to buy chocolate, so I didn’t think much about it.

Because chocolate is sweet, after all.

Not long after, there was a piece of news on TV.

“A man mistakenly entered a pyramid scheme den, was beaten to death, and then dismembered.”

As a child, I stared blankly at the television.

My father also stared blankly at the television.

I asked him what was wrong.

He shouted at me angrily, telling me not to meddle in his business, and then left the house.

At the time, I didn’t know what was going on; I just felt confused.

It wasn’t until the New Year, at the family dinner, that my father got drunk and cried uncontrollably. In front of all the relatives, he confessed to picking up that bill.

The place where he found the money was directly below the den mentioned in the news.

In other words, the words on that ten-yuan bill were very likely written by someone who had fallen into that pyramid scheme, possibly even the person who was dismembered.

He sobbed, clutching a bottle of liquor, saying that it was his fault that the man died. The whole family comforted him, but I just stood aside, dumbfounded and at a loss.

So… I used that money to buy chocolate…

Something indescribable seemed to awaken within me.

Throughout my later life, I would often think of that ten-yuan bill.

I wondered, was the original owner of that money alright? Was he really rescued? Or… did that money really come from the man who was dismembered?

If it really came from him, he must have endured painful beatings and inhuman torture before finally seizing a chance one day to write those words for help on the bill and toss it out the window.

He must have clung to hope for rescue until the very moment he died.

Yet my father ignored that hope.

I always ask myself, if I had been the first to find that bill, could I have saved him? Or would I have overlooked the writing, just like my father?

This thought haunts me like a ghost, tormenting my mind more and more as I grow older.

Until that day.

A new “bill” appeared before me.

…

When Nie Feng and I were about to file for divorce, he was in a car accident and lost his memory.

His memory was stuck eight years in the past.

Eight years ago, he loved me the most.

I chased after He Chenyi for six years, coming whenever he called, leaving whenever he waved me away.

While he was holding another woman and drinking a wedding toast, I was diagnosed with Leukemia at the hospital, with only three months left to live.

Later, he knelt by my hospital bed, crying and begging me to accept a bone marrow transplant.

How ridiculous. I never even wanted to live.