I Swear I Don’t Want to Be Everyone’s Favorite - Chapter 57

Ning Fuguang left the set almost laughing in exasperation.

Jiang Luoyue, however, remained lost in her own words, not fully snapping back to reality.

In some ways, she truly was a bit slow on the uptake, but more often than not, she deliberately avoided overthinking things. After all, real life wasn’t like a novel, fantasizing that a close friend had a secret crush on her and hoping for “friendship to turn into something more” struck Jiang Luoyue as an utterly tacky mindset.

But Ning Fuguang had been far too blunt, so much so that if Jiang Luoyue didn’t read into it, she’d almost feel like she was wasting the flirtatious glances thrown her way.

She stewed in anxiety for a while, but unfortunately, there was no one around she could confide in.

If she told Yu Qing, Yu Qing would undoubtedly lecture her endlessly about not getting into a relationship, all while prying for details about the person in question. As for the cast of Hate Me discussing with Yu Jingtang, who never missed a chance to declare her affection, that someone else might have a crush on her? Jiang Luoyue might be slow, but she wasn’t stupid.

A vague sense of foreboding settled over her, and she let out a long sigh. Still, until that day arrived, Jiang Luoyue had to focus on her job.

In the film’s storyline, after Gu Ling’s uncle, Gu Zheng, was discovered brutally murdered in his home, rumors of a vengeful ghost began to spread through the village. Those who had committed wrongdoings grew increasingly fearful, living in constant dread.

To maintain order, the village chief summoned a Taoist priest. Yet, despite a grand and elaborate ritual, men in the village continued to die gruesome deaths, each one eerily similar to Gu Zheng’s.

During another family banquet at the Sheng residence, someone finally couldn’t sit still and suggested calling the police, but the idea was quietly suppressed.

Gu Ling had gradually moved closer to the main table. When she first arrived at the Sheng family, she could only eat hidden away in her room. Now, she had “entered the hall,” forcing anyone who wanted to speak with her to look up at her.

This shift didn’t bring her any joy, only a sense of entitlement and a growing weariness. If she were the only one left in the Sheng family, wouldn’t she be free to sit wherever she pleased and take whatever she wanted? Why should she have to endure their condescension and live at their mercy? Were they really that important?

She vaguely sensed that she was becoming ill, as if killing people, like consuming human flesh, was a disease one could catch. She grew increasingly numb and detached, and whenever she encountered anyone, her first thought was how she would retaliate if they tried to kill her and how it would feel when their blood splattered across her skin.

Except when she was in Sheng Ling’s presence, Gu Ling rarely spoke. Most of the time, she simply observed others in silence, gauging their thoughts. Though it was Sheng Ling who had died, Gu Ling felt more like the wandering ghost between them.

Hearing the hushed whispers around her, Gu Ling lifted her gaze and noticed many people staring at her. Despite their attempts to conceal it, their faces and eyes were filled with an indescribable fear, as if she were some kind of monster.

But weren’t they the real freaks?

A sudden smile touched her lips as she asked, “Are you afraid?”

“Of what?” someone mustered the courage to reply.

“Afraid that what you’ve done will be exposed,” Gu Ling said. “Afraid of being sentenced, afraid of dying, afraid of leaving a stain on your children’s reputations.They feared the constraints of secular morality, yet they showed no fear toward the women they had oppressed and trafficked.

Someone glanced at the village chief. The man remained silent, his hair grayer than just days before, his face aged. He didn’t look at Gu Ling, but she knew he was weighing whether or not to kill her.

But in the end, he never spoke. Gu Ling was satisfied with this silence and quietly sheathed the dagger she had pressed against him under the table.

Gu Ling gradually became an outcast in the Sheng family, with everyone avoiding her as if she were a plague. Yet, against the tide, someone sought her out willingly. It took Gu Ling a long time to recall that this was the village’s infamous madwoman. Driven insane after her own child was trafficked, she had repeatedly snatched other children and brought them home, only to be brutally beaten by her husband for it.

In the past, Gu Ling had always steered clear of her, afraid of becoming one of her targets. This was the first time she had encountered the woman up close. The woman’s hair was like withered grass, her lips cracked, but her eyes were startlingly clear.

She asked, “How did you do it?”

Her tone was certain, as if she already knew Gu Ling was behind everything.

Gu Ling felt no fear and replied, “If you want to do it, you can.”

“But they’ll kill me.” At this, the woman trembled all over, as if she had already tried to resist but achieved nothing.

Gu Ling handed her the hunting rifle. Confusion and terror flickered in the woman’s eyes. She had never used a gun, having believed for decades that such things were only for men.

But Gu Ling said, “You’ve been oppressed by hollow beliefs, living in the lies they’ve spun. But that’s not your fault.”

“You think they can do anything because they’re born strong and powerful, but you possess the same strength. Even the weakest person has the ability to kill.”

The woman stared at Gu Ling’s frame, a dawning realization in her eyes.

The next day, the village was abuzz with the news: the madwoman’s husband was dead. He had returned from hunting in the woods the night before, proudly showing off his trophies, only to meet a gruesome end killed by the very hunting rifle he took such pride in.

The madwoman was immediately suspected.

The method was all too familiar, and soon people began attributing all past crimes to her, desperate to find a scapegoat.

But when the villagers gathered in a furious mob to capture her, they found the madwoman hadn’t even tried to flee.

She was in her courtyard, heating a pot of oil. The oil had reached its boiling point, bubbling violently and sizzling loudly. The air grew scorching and distorted, waves of heat washing over them.

Some instinctively hesitated, but most dismissed it as a bluff and charged forward angrily, demanding she pay for their brother’s life.

One man, like an enraged beast, rushed at her. The woman didn’t resist, allowing him to shove her. But as they drew closer to the pot, she lifted it. Boiling oil splashed onto her hand, turning it bright red instantly, but she paid it no mind. With a sudden motion, she flung the oil at the man before her.

The moment the scalding oil made contact with his body, everyone present heard the horrifying sizzle, like the sound of meat frying. The air filled with the pungent smell of charred flesh.

He tried to scream in agony, but his face was already unrecognizable. Because his mouth had been open, oil had even splashed into his throat. All he could do was widen his eyes, the whites stark against the ruin of his face, and stare in disbelief at the madwoman before collapsing heavily to the ground.

At first, he twitched a few times, but soon, even those final struggles ceased.

A cold wind swept through, chilling even the freshly fried flesh.

“Dinner is ready,” the madwoman said, slicing flesh from the man’s body as onlookers watched in terror. She paid them no mind, consumed only by the gnawing hunger after staying up all night to render the pot of oil.

Seemingly stripped of all will to resist, she ate quietly while the crowd debated her fate in hushed tones. There should have been no debate, a life for a life was the law. Yet in this world, hierarchy wasn’t determined solely by gender or birth; one’s actions could also carve out a place in the social order.

If one was ruthless enough to inspire fear, even without any real power, they could still command trembling obedience from others.

It seemed touching her would lead to the same fate as the man.

In the end, they merely bound the madwoman and locked her in the woodshed. She didn’t struggle, merely chewing on the man’s flesh while laughing and offering to share with anyone who would take it.

Guling watched it all, a faint smile playing on her lips.

That night, she went to the woodshed intending to free the woman, only to find the lock already smashed.

Axe marks scarred the wooden door. Inside, a used burn ointment lay on the floor, but the woman was gone. Only moonlight streamed through the window, painting the empty room silver.

That same night, Guling met Shengling again and recounted everything that had happened. “More and more are joining us,” she said with a laugh.

Those who understood resistance, who learned to fight back. Even if it meant facing devastating consequences, even if it was like moths flying into flames at least through these acts, they could redeem themselves.

Hearing her cheerful tone, Shengling asked, “Are you afraid?”

“Not at all,” Guling replied without hesitation, meeting her gaze directly. “I just feel it’s all come too late.”

They spent the night in rare casual conversation. Guling listened as Shengling spoke of books she’d read in life, and in turn shared childhood memories of cutting grass to feed lambs. Though one lamb was slaughtered within months and served at the table, as long as she didn’t think about its eyes watching her before death, Guling still considered it a beautiful memory.

Before waking, Guling asked, “When everyone is dead, will we still see each other?”

Shengling touched her cheek for the first time, whispering softly, “By then, my lingering regrets will have faded, and I should dissipate into the world.”

Guling nodded blankly, then smiled and said, “When you’re gone, I’ll go with you.”

Shengling had said only those with resentment became ghosts after death. But Guling carried no resentment, when she died, she would simply die, and vanish into the world alongside Shengling.

Village men dwindled day by day. Even the dullest minds realized mere hauntings couldn’t cause such disruption. Finally, someone cracked under pressure and called the police. But the remote mountain village took time to reach, and before officers arrived, two undercover journalists appeared.

Clues to recent multiple missing women cases had gone cold near this area. Through online tips, they’d tracked the trail to this village, seeking evidence to publish the truth.

Crumbling tile-roofed houses, damp muddy ground, and towering mountains stood like barriers everything felt sinister, like forbidden territory where entry meant no escape. The wind carried a faint scent of blood as they ventured deeper. Most households hung white mourning curtains, keeping vigil for the dead.

The journalist quietly recorded everything with her camera. Along the way, she saw women who remained unmoved by their husbands’ deaths and men whose eyes, despite their ashen expressions, still lingered on her body with lust. A certain suspicion immediately took root in her mind.

They wrote down their conjectures, pieced together the clues, and realized that no matter what the truth was, the village exuded an eerie aura from every corner. They began to regret coming alone, but with no leads in the mountains and forests, even if they wanted to call for help, they could only wait for the bus that would leave the village the next day.

Though they had brought tools for self-defense and were sleeping inside a house, the two of them took turns keeping watch as if they were in the wilderness, preparing for the worst.

The sky grew darker until it was completely devoid of light. In the latter half of the night, Li Lin, who was on her second watch, yawned. Drowsiness made it hard for her to stay awake, but in the deathly silence, she suddenly heard footsteps.

At first, she didn’t react, but when she heard the sound of the lock being picked with a faint, scraping noise, Li Lin was suddenly seized with terror, as if it weren’t the door being pried open but her own bones.

When the man from earlier revealed his face from behind the door, Li Lin could only let out a scream for help, unable to utter another word. She drew her knife for self-defense, and the man froze in fear. After a few seconds, he lunged at her, trying to overpower her.

Instinct for survival took over. As Li Lin struggled, she noticed that the hazy moonlight had, at some point, spilled across the ground again. Birds startled and flew through the forest, piercing the clouds. Just as the tip of the knife was mere centimeters from her, causing her to instinctively close her eyes, a gunshot suddenly rang out beside her ear.

Blood splattered on her face it was warm.

Her eyes widened. The man’s body stiffened, his clothes pierced, blood gushing out.

Immediately after, a cold female voice said, “Move aside.”

Li Lin scrambled away in panic. The next moment, a second shot, then a third, until the bullets had blown the man’s head into an unrecognizable mess. The woman reloaded her gun and walked outside.

The air was left with only the smell of blood. Li Lin stood up in a daze and saw many women standing in the courtyard.

This was the house closest to the village entrance. They seemed to treat it as their final stop, sharing their spoils of victory. Meat, meat, meat all she could see were cleaned limbs, nothing else.

The sound of cutting meat and scraping bones was crisp, but the tools they used were not ordinary knives they were axes.

Li Lin saw a pot of boiling water, with someone standing beside it calmly wrapping dumplings. The filling, however, was a bloody mixture of meat, bones, and tendons. She instantly realized what it was and covered her mouth, a wave of nausea rising from her stomach to her throat.

As the dumplings were dropped into the pot, a girl sniffed the aroma and said to the person beside her with complete trust, “The meat smells so good.”

Except during holidays, she had almost never tasted meat, so she was especially eager.

A woman smiled and patted her head. “From now on, there will be endless meat to eat.”

Every household had fields, and though the harvests were meager, they were enough to feed all the women. Besides this meat, some also raised poultry, cattle, and sheep, enough for them to be self-sufficient for a lifetime.

As she spoke, many swallowed hard, their faces filled with the same anticipation as the girl’s.

But someone noticed Li Lin and suddenly asked, “What about her?”

The foundation of that beautiful life was ensuring no one discovered the village’s secrets. They were united as one, with no fear of betrayal, but what about this outsider?

Li Lin parted her lips, wanting to explain, but no words came out. The secular morals she had been taught since childhood made it difficult for her to accept what was happening before her eyes. Reason told her to report it to the authorities and expose everything, yet emotion whispered that she must not.

They had saved her, how could she repay kindness with betrayal?

Despite her efforts to remain calm, her unease was plain to see. Gradually, everyone fell silent, their eyes turning toward her.

Under the moonlit night, she stood under their collective gaze, seeing a mix of emotions in their eyes confusion, helplessness, and glistening tears, but not a trace of hatred. Her lips trembled, and finally, she said, “We will leave first thing tomorrow morning. As for what happened today, we know nothing about it.”

“You saved me,” she murmured.

As the door to the house closed firmly, some were still lost in thought, but when the madwoman cheerfully announced, “The dumplings are ready,” no one paid Li Lin any further mind.

The woman herself carried the bowl of dumplings over to Gu Ling. After setting down her gun, Gu Ling had remained seated by the well, gazing at her own reflection in the water.

“The dumplings are ready.”

She repeated the words, and Gu Ling suddenly asked, “What’s your name?”

As if caught off guard, the woman nervously rubbed the hem of her clothes with her fingertips, taking a moment to dredge up that name from the depths of her memory.

“Zhuo Na,” she replied, somewhat embarrassed. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Gu Ling replied with a faint smile, taking the bowl from her hands. Her fingers lightly brushed against the burn on Zhuo Na’s hand, which had already scabbed over.

The bowl held little broth, with a few well-cooked dumplings floating in it. Gu Ling took a bite, the taste was far from good, but it was edible. She chewed quietly, watching the moonlight and her own face reflected in the well water.

It was Sheng Ling’s face.

Only then did she realize with a start, Gu Ling had actually died three months ago, on the very night she married into the Sheng family.

“Xiao Ling,” she softly called the other’s name, over and over, her fingertips gently touching her own face.

At some point, the sound of weeping reached her ears. She gradually felt the crowd drawing closer someone embraced her, their body warm. Someone was crying, their tears falling onto her cheeks, cold to the touch.

Gu Ling lifted her eyes and, in that instant, seemed to see countless overlapping faces women, young girls, infants some wailing, some sorrowful, some filled with resentment, but not a single one was smiling. Not even her own.

“What should we do next?” she asked.

No one answered, but someone’s gaze shifted toward another direction. There stood a small village, where people like them lived women just like them.