We Are Filthy, Born From Mud - Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Yes, They Are Normal. Returning to the Place Where It All Began…

“Lin Lingwan?”

Zong Yougu lay flat on the bed, carefully reading the materials Zong Liangu had handed her.

“Is this all the information there is? You’re not hiding anything, are you?” Zong Yougu sized up the other woman with a suspicious look.

“How could I? I said I would cooperate with you.” Zong Liangu pulled a chair over and sat by the bed.

“A somewhat gloomy high school student, huh.” Zong Yougu’s finger traced the lines of text, her brows furrowing in distress.

Zong Liangu felt her hand being scratched repeatedly; it was a bit itchy. She looked down, and sure enough, it was Zong Yougu’s finger again. She gripped Yougu’s finger tight, preventing it from moving further.

“What a cliché story. A bright, cheerful protagonist saves everyone and leads them toward a glorious future. It’s hackneyed, boring, and detached from reality.”

Zong Yougu tossed the materials aside and rolled over on the bed, wrapping herself tightly in the quilt.

Then, a muffled chuckle emerged from beneath the covers: “Truly, honors and power can numb the spirit, leading to a decline in quality.”

Zong Liangu laughed. “The complete script isn’t even out yet. How can you reach a conclusion so quickly?”

“Look for yourself,” Yougu said. “It’s all written right there—this is a story about sensitive youth. Then look at the basic character settings: the protagonist, Yu Yulai, is cheerful and sunny.

Then look at the supporting characters. Every single one has a personality flaw, especially Lin Lingwan—she’s insecure, gloomy, and has violent tendencies.

You can figure it out with your knees: Yu Yulai will act like a savior to rescue everyone, and finally, there will be a grand happy ending. It’s just a cliché story.”

Wrapped in the quilt, Zong Yougu squirmed with a hint of pride, looking like a snow pile being blown about by the wind.

Zong Liangu slapped the quilt hard. “You always look down on everyone like this.”

Zong Yougu poked her head out. She wasn’t angry; she still said with a cheeky grin: “So what? I even look down on myself. What’s wrong with talking about others?”

She pointed a finger at herself: “I’m narcissistic, I’m incompetent, and I’m stupid. But so what? No matter how much I look down on myself, I still like myself.”

“Are you going to act or not?”

“Of course I’m acting!”

Zong Liangu rubbed the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want to argue with Zong Yougu over these things.

“When is the open audition?” Zong Yougu asked.

“Three weeks.”

“That fast?”

Zong Yougu jumped up from the bed. The quilt was flung aside, and the warm air trapped inside rushed toward Zong Liangu’s face.

She grabbed Zong Liangu and headed out.

After a series of clatters and bangs, the two of them were out the door.

“Where are we going?”

“Niu Xiao Temple!” Zong Yougu answered happily.

Niu Xiao Temple was the colloquial name for the Shengting Orphanage. The orphanage was built on the old site of the Niu Xiao Temple; the nearby villagers couldn’t change their habits overnight, so the director simply named it Niu Xiao Temple Orphanage.

Later, due to the support plan, it needed a formal name, so it was named after the county.

“Why go there?” Zong Liangu asked again.

“For the sake of Lin Lingwan! We need to make Lin Lingwan come alive. We’re going to act her into existence!” Zong Yougu gestured excitedly, her face filled with unmasked joy.

Before she could ask more, Zong Yougu stuffed Zong Liangu into the car and excitedly hopped into the driver’s seat.

“You actually know how to drive?” Zong Liangu was somewhat surprised.

Zong Yougu snorted with a bit of pride.

“Then why do you usually bother Hu Yinghua to pick you up for work when you clearly know how to drive?”

“Because I have the power to do so,” Zong Yougu said as a matter of course while skillfully starting the vehicle.

Zong Liangu fell silent. She turned her head, watching the scenery dash past the window.

She really was exactly the same as Zong Yougu. As long as she had a bit of power, she would enjoy it as much as possible and exercise that tiny privilege to its maximum extent.

After she had successfully completed several missions on her own, her adoptive mother was very satisfied and let her teach the new children. From then on, she never personally handled cooking or driving. Even if others did things that weren’t to her taste, she still enjoyed the privilege.

Even if her life was dark, even if she wasn’t fabulously wealthy, the joy of ordering others around was enough to satisfy her.

However, she wasn’t as pampered or demanding as Zong Yougu; that was likely due to her environment. Had she, Zong Liangu, lived in such a comfortable setting, she would probably be just as abominable as Zong Yougu.

Two villains playing a high school student being redeemed—it was ironic no matter how one thought about it.

Zong Liangu gave a small smile. She continued looking out the window, only to see the scenery becoming increasingly familiar.

The wind blew across the lush green rice fields, creating wave after wave. Tall evergreen trees stood as they had for a decade on both sides of the road, welcoming passing vehicles and pedestrians like lobby attendants.

Zong Liangu didn’t know what her mood was. She couldn’t distinguish it, nor did she care to try.

Since being adopted, she had never returned. Although she worked as an assassin, her adoptive mother was a very tolerant person and didn’t object to Zong Liangu visiting the orphanage.

But Zong Liangu had never gone back once. There was no need.

Besides, Zong Liangu felt she shouldn’t go back. If she did, she would inevitably start thinking about the things she had done. She knew her work was not honorable.

So, until the day she died in her previous life, she had never returned. Her memory of the orphanage remained fixed at the final glance she took at age fourteen.

In this life, she was actually being dragged here by Zong Yougu.

“Ah, this place has changed so much. It doesn’t look like it used to at all.”

Zong Yougu pointed at the orphanage before them, unable to help her sigh of amazement.

Zong Liangu looked up. It was indeed very different. The cement-gray walls had been painted a clean white. On the open ground by the entrance stood a tall slide, with a large swing set beside it.

In the past, there were only rusted parallel bars here; the children would tie short ropes to them, teaching themselves how to build a swing.

Zong Liangu snapped back to reality. She keenly caught the key point in Zong Yougu’s words: “Is this your first time back?”

Zong Yougu nodded and said, “Yeah. With the business of Zhang Mumu and Zhang Yinyang, how would I dare come back?”

Zong Liangu nodded. To her surprise, Zong Yougu continued: “But actually, no one was ever going to catch me.

Not long after that incident, I was adopted. Later, the director-mother also passed away from illness, and the orphanage went through a period of transition. The children I grew up with were scattered; some were sent to other orphanages, and some were adopted.

Back then, records weren’t that developed. No one would have noticed the things between the three of us. No one would ever know, but I was still guilty and didn’t dare return. But now, I’ve felt guilty enough. I can’t let these memories drag me down for a lifetime.”

Zong Yougu turned and held out her hand to Zong Liangu.

Zong Liangu placed her hand in the other’s palm. Her thumb circled Yougu’s palm, just as Yougu had done to her in the past.

Zong Yougu stared intently into Zong Liangu’s eyes, her gaze burning.

After a long while, she smiled. She gripped Zong Liangu’s hand tightly and removed the mask from Liangu’s face.

“We are a pair of twins coming here as volunteers.

Your name is Lin Lian, and mine is Lin You.”

“I still don’t know why we have to come here. I really feel this won’t help our audition at all.

We’re out of time; the open audition is in three weeks. I think we should be going to various normal schools nearby instead of here.”

Zong Liangu pulled her hands free and swept a cold gaze over Zong Yougu.

“Normal?” Zong Yougu propped her head up, a hint of confusion in her tone.

“Yes, normal schools. We need to know what a normal life should be like.”

The wind blew Zong Liangu’s hair, the strands obscuring her eyes. Consequently, she couldn’t see Zong Yougu clearly, and Zong Yougu couldn’t decipher her emotions.

“Is there anything abnormal about us? Under high-pressure situations, we spent all our efforts tirelessly learning everything we could use. We worked just as hard as those kids in regular schools; we are the same as them.

What we need is to look back—to organize and reclaim the things we didn’t have time to attend to during our rushed process of growing up. We will definitely play Lin Lingwan well.”

Zong Yougu was uncharacteristically excited. Her voice was loud, sounding even more resonant on the empty, flat ground. Her arms moved unconsciously along with her voice.

A cold snort escaped Zong Liangu’s nose. She crossed her arms, still sizing up Zong Yougu.

Zong Yougu noticed her own excitement. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and said softly: “Besides, if I went to a nearby school, I would be envious. Envy and jealousy would prevent me from observing properly.”

As she spoke, Zong Yougu handed a volunteer badge from her pocket to Zong Liangu.

Zong Liangu looked at Zong Yougu with suspicion, her reaction delayed.

“When did you prepare this?” Her tone held a strong sense of interrogation, filled with distrust.

Zong Yougu laughed and said, “Not long after I met you, I started thinking about whether to come back and take a look. This place is remote, ID verification isn’t strict, and the application was easily successful.”

She added: “I didn’t originally intend to use the twin identity. I felt that twins always have to be divided into older and younger sisters, making it seem like we’re two different people. But it wouldn’t be good to have you wearing a mask all the time. One, it’s too conspicuous. Two… two, it would be too unfair to you.”

“Heh, then I really should thank you…” Zong Liangu was instinctively caustic, yet she couldn’t continue. Zong Yougu looked directly at her; the laminated volunteer badge reflected the faint shadows of the two of them.

Zong Liangu continued to study Zong Yougu, her eyes narrowing slightly. She let out a breath and opened her eyes.

The wind blew from another direction, blowing the hair away from her face. The strands fluttered behind her, making her appear upright and radiant.

She showed her teeth and smiled.

Taking the badge, her thumb brushed over the two characters for “Lin Lian.”

She said, “Fine, let’s go then. My twin, the other half of my life.”