We Are Filthy, Born From Mud - Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Yes, They Are Very Kind. “You Two Must Be the New Volunteers…”

“You two are the new volunteers, right?”

Zong Yougu nodded and handed over their volunteer badges.

The director looked at the photos, carefully comparing the faces of the two women standing before her.

“We’re in a remote area; we don’t get many volunteers throughout the year. I was quite surprised when I saw the application,” the director said with a smile.

Zong Liangu echoed the smile, her tone cheerful: “Director, wherever we can help, just give us the word.”

The director smiled back, deep wrinkles trailing from the corners of her eyes like patterns carved into wood.

“If you’re willing, could you help with meal prep and cleaning today? The children here are sensitive; most of them lack a sense of security. With you two appearing so suddenly, I’m worried they might not adapt well, so I’ll have to trouble you with some logistics work for now.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We came here specifically to volunteer.”

Zong Yougu and Zong Liangu waved their hands in unison. They followed the director into the orphanage’s kitchen.

After eight years, they had returned to this place.

They had changed a lot, and the orphanage had changed too. The facilities were much better, and there were many more teachers taking care of the children. This current director was elderly yet still full of vigor. Both Yougu and Liangu could feel her love and concern for the children.

Zong Yougu and Zong Liangu’s fingers unconsciously fiddled with the ends of their hair, slender fingers weaving through their jet-black locks.

“Twins really are different—even your habits are so similar,” the director said with a chuckle. She smiled as she pulled open the kitchen door.

Though called a “back kitchen,” it was actually more like a large family kitchen.

“The children are napping. I plan to wake them in fifteen minutes. Could you help me prepare some oatmeal for them?”

Perhaps from spending so much time with the children, her tone made it sound as if she were treating Liangu and Yougu as children as well. Zong Yougu’s voice was sweet as she agreed immediately.

The director returned to the children’s bedroom to keep watch. Only the two of them remained in the kitchen.

Slanting sunlight poured through the window, casting a bright, warm yellow band across the floor.

Zong Yougu took the cups down from a nearby cabinet. Every cup had a name written on it. She counted nineteen cups in total. Zong Liangu brought the oatmeal; pale yellow grains covered the bottom of each cup. Repeating this nineteen times, Liangu finished her task.

“I think coming here is a waste of effort,” Zong Liangu said calmly.

Zong Yougu smiled. Without looking at the other, she focused on pouring milk into the cups: “Is that so? Then how about we just pat our butts and leave right now?”

“You have too little sense of responsibility,” Zong Liangu critiqued.

“Do you need a sense of responsibility to be an assassin?” Zong Yougu asked curiously.

Zong Liangu gave Yougu a strange look, her eyes essentially saying, Of course, what else?

“I told you about my past, but you’ve never told me yours,” Zong Yougu suddenly remarked.

“It was basically identical to yours, nothing much to say…”

Zong Liangu’s voice grew quieter. Perhaps because they were revisiting old haunts, memories of the past surfaced, getting stuck in her throat. She sighed and slowly opened her mouth. Her voice was light, but she knew Yougu would hear her clearly.

“Like you, I was here for as long as I can remember.”

Zong Liangu looked around. She pulled a chopstick from the holder and began to stir the cups with a clink-clink. Sunlight hit the left side of her face, feeling warm. She reached out and took Yougu’s hand, pressing it against her right cheek. Now her right side was just as warm.

“Hmm… Like you, I also frequently snuck out. When business was good, I’d set up a stall; when it wasn’t, I’d do some petty thieving. I was good at observing, my movements were agile, and plus, I had great luck—I succeeded often.

But my luck wasn’t much better than yours. You can’t walk by the river forever without getting your shoes wet. Once, I failed, and she beat me. That person was particularly wicked; she specifically chose visible spots to hit. My face and arms were covered in black and blue bruises. I couldn’t go back with those injuries, so I just followed her.

Thinking back, I don’t know where I got the courage or the nerve. Anyway, I was shameless back then, so I just kept following. Maybe she liked my guts, or maybe because I was an orphan, she adopted me. Only later did I find out she wasn’t a good person either. She was much worse than a thief—she was an assassin. So, naturally, at fourteen, I became one too.”

Zong Liangu’s flat, emotionless voice reached Yougu’s ears. Her bizarre life sounded as mundane as an accounting ledger when she told it. Having been an assassin for so long, besides being more alert than the average person, she bore almost no professional marks. She didn’t carry an aura of slaughter; the sunlight on her even gave her a sort of lazy softness.

Zong Yougu smiled: “Luck and fate led us down completely different paths. But it’s hard to say which of us was actually luckier.”

“Anyway, you’re the one who’s blessed but doesn’t realize it,” Zong Liangu muttered.

The kitchen door opened, and the director walked in. She took down a folding cart from the wall. Once unfolded, it looked just right for the nineteen cups.

“Just put them here, thank you,” the director said, still using that “coaxing a child” tone.

“Okay.”

Zong Yougu and Zong Liangu turned and placed the prepared oatmeal onto the small cart.

The director checked every cup carefully. She said, “You two did a great job. The amount in each cup is identical. The children are sensitive; I’m afraid they’d overthink things if they weren’t.”

Zong Yougu smiled: “Yes, they overthink, yet they don’t say anything. These children are all far too precocious.”

“It can’t be helped,” the director sighed, a deep sorrow flickering in her eyes. “There shouldn’t be much else for now. Your lounge is right across from the small slide. I might have to trouble you to help with the dishes tonight.”

“Okay.”

The director steadily pushed the cart out of the kitchen.

While the children were still waking up, Zong Yougu and Zong Liangu went to their lounge. The concrete floor absorbed most of the heat; they felt a cool chill as soon as they entered. The lounge contained two small beds, separated only by the width of a nightstand. Sunlight spilled through the small window, casting a bright yellow band on the floor.

A gentle wake-up bell rang from the speakers.

Outside, there was a gradual rustling as the children got out of bed. Then came the soft sound of voices; the quiet orphanage finally began to feel a bit lively.

Zong Liangu stood by the window, her eyes reflecting the sunlight and everything outside, her face glowing with the yellow light. Zong Yougu always seized every opportunity to hug Zong Liangu, and this moment was no exception. She hugged Liangu from behind, her arms circling her neck, her eyelashes brushing against Liangu’s skin.

This time, however, Zong Liangu did not reject the intimacy. Instead, her hand gripped Yougu’s hand which was dangling across her chest.

They saw the director distributing oatmeal to the children. The children didn’t fight or shove; they waited their turn obediently.

“Were we like that too?” Zong Yougu suddenly asked.

“Probably. But the conditions weren’t as good back then. The director-mother used to give out thin porridge.”

Zong Yougu burst out laughing: “Yes, thin porridge. Like plain water. Not even as thick as Zhang Yinyang’s snot when she had a cold.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Zong Liangu suddenly broke free from the hug and gave a hard push. Zong Yougu was tossed onto the small bed like a piece of snot. Only Zong Liangu remained by the window with her arms crossed.

After getting their oatmeal, some children stayed in the dormitory, while others walked out into the sun, squatting on the steps and eating in small bites.

However, there seemed to be one maverick child.

Taking advantage of the director not looking, she walked to a corner. In a spot the sun couldn’t reach, she poured out all her oatmeal. She didn’t leave immediately but timed it so that when the other children were mostly finished, she quietly returned to the group. She placed her empty cup on the cart, and the director kindly patted her head.

“Wasting food.”

Zong Yougu had gotten up from the bed at some point and stood quietly behind Zong Liangu. Thus, everything the director hadn’t seen was captured by their eyes.

“Easy for you to say,” Zong Liangu laughed. “I don’t believe you never did that as a kid.”

Zong Yougu lowered her head, feeling a bit guilty. Without any particular goal, perhaps just for fun, she had poured her porridge down the drain. The milky-white porridge looked no different from sewage once it went in.

Zong Yougu hummed, then suddenly asked: “Do you think there has to be a motive for everything one does?”

With a swish, the curtains were pulled shut. The sunlight was blocked by the pale yellow curtains, filling the room with a murky yellow hue.

“My point is, does Lin Lingwan need a motive for everything she does?”

Zong Liangu frowned. Based on the materials currently available, there was no obvious event that shaped Lin Lingwan’s personality. Her family was happy, her grades were excellent, and she had grown up ordinarily from childhood to adulthood, moving through school grades step-by-step. She had encountered no setbacks or major upheavals.

Why did she become so gloomy? Crushing ants with her foot, hurting Yu Yulai again and again with bitter words.

Zong Liangu looked directly at Zong Yougu. She saw the other woman give a self-deprecating smile: “This trip back to the old place wasn’t for nothing. It reminded me of a lot…

Take that bowl of porridge I poured away. Rationally, I needed it for sustenance. Yet I poured it away. Why? I don’t know, but I did it anyway. If the current me were to interpret it, I’d think I was bored with the stupid children around me; I didn’t want to be like them. Or maybe I detested such a poor life. But back then, I definitely wasn’t conscious of that. I just felt like doing it, without any reason.”

“You mean Lin Lingwan is the same? Maybe she’s bored with her life, and because she’s smart, she might be subconsciously mocking everyone with silent contempt. But before she even realizes these things, her body reacts.”

Zong Yougu’s eyes turned burning hot. She looked at Zong Liangu with excitement: “This is our leverage for understanding the character. Only with understanding can we act well. We must get this role; we can definitely do it. Yes, with the two of us together, nothing can stop us.”

Zong Yougu suddenly began to laugh, becoming exceptionally arrogant, as if a successful audition were a foregone conclusion.