We Are Filthy, Born From Mud - Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Yes, She is Atoning. “Help Me”

“Sister Liangu, I’m truly happy to see you again.”

Quan He was smiling. Or rather, Zhang Mumu was smiling. Her smile seemed both genuine and calculated. Opposite her stood Zong Yougu, her face deathly pale.

Zong Yougu forced herself to rally, putting on a faint, weak smile. She nodded slightly: “Hello, Miss Quan He.”

The usually poised Zong Yougu, who cared deeply about appearances, would never have allowed anyone to see her in such a wretched state under normal circumstances. But this time, she simply could not control her emotions. A gale was howling in her heart, churning up massive waves that slammed into her soul, carrying sharp stones and sand that scraped her heart until it was bloody.

Zhang Mumu looked as if she wanted to say more but kept smiling. Zong Yougu gripped Zong Liangu even tighter, her nails nearly sinking into Liangu’s skin. She was grateful Liangu hadn’t pushed her away; if even Zong Liangu left her, she would truly lose her mind.

“Sister Yougu, I’ll head out first!” Zhang Mumu turned and left.

The door shut with a heavy thud. Only Zong Yougu and Zong Liangu remained in the room. Zong Liangu, standing apart from the drama, remained indifferent; thus, the room was filled only with Zong Yougu’s heavy, ragged breathing.

“Zong Liangu, is this a dream?” Zong Yougu murmured, unsure if she was asking herself or the woman before her.

Zong Liangu sighed and gently patted Yougu’s back, trying her best to soothe her. Gradually, Yougu’s emotions stabilized, and her breathing steadied. She grabbed Liangu’s hand with such sudden, immense strength that Liangu couldn’t pull away for a moment.

Zong Liangu looked down, meeting Yougu’s eyes.

“Is all of this real? Actually, this is all just my dream, right? Yes, it must be a dream. If it weren’t, how could I have met you? If it weren’t a dream, how could I meet ‘Little Cow’?”

Zong Yougu didn’t shed a single tear; she was shrouded in a dry, parched despair. Zong Liangu was not skilled at comforting others, so while she felt the weight of Yougu’s despair, she was powerless to help.

“What nonsense am I talking? How could this be a dream?” Zong Yougu let go of Liangu and continued, “Is she here to take revenge on me? It makes sense. I committed such a wrong; how could I expect to live a stable life? I even wanted to harm Zhang Yinyang… how could I do that?”

Zong Liangu didn’t say a word. She leaned against the wall, observing Zong Yougu. As she watched the breakdown, that strange sense of pleasure bubbled up within her again.

Zong Yougu turned, walked quickly to Liangu, and took both of her hands. A flash of malice appeared in her eyes: “But I don’t want to fall back down. I didn’t do anything wrong. What should I do? Xiao Zong, Xiao Zong!”

Wan Chunming was calling her name outside. Zong Liangu watched as Zong Yougu began to walk out with mechanical steps. Liangu pulled her back. Yougu turned around; her expression appeared to have returned to normal, but Liangu noticed the slight twitch at the corner of her eye.

“Do you need me to go?”

Zong Yougu’s refusal was firm: “No, no. We stick to the division of labor. This is what I’m good at. I won’t make a mistake. Absolutely not.”

“You need to rest.”

“I don’t.”

Zong Yougu resumed her walk toward the set. The hard marble floor felt as if it were covered in a thick carpet; every step felt weightless and silent. However, the moment the door opened, all the noise rushed toward her, making her head spin.

“Xiao Zong, what’s wrong? You look pale.” Wan Chunming couldn’t help but show concern.

Zong Yougu waved it off with a playful grin: “Director, you care about me so much. How could anything be wrong? I just caught a bit of a chill in the wind.”

Wan Chunming’s expression was serious, but she nodded and said nothing more. Zong Yougu walked to her mark. The next scene was the long-delayed one: Yu Yulai being lured to the rooftop by Lin Lingwan.

Zong Yougu closed her eyes, recalling the script. Lines of text floated before her eyes, but a few became hazy and flickering.

“Three, two, one—Action!”

The loud snap of the clapperboard startled Zong Yougu. Yu Yulai was leaning on her desk when Lin Lingwan, sitting in the seat in front of her, suddenly turned around. Lin Lingwan did nothing; she just stared at Yu Yulai.

Yu Yulai looked up and asked, “Lin Lingwan, is something the matter?”

“Many people in class haven’t been coming to school lately.”

“Yeah, maybe they’re sick. We should go visit them,” Yu Yulai said.

“Yu Yulai, there’s a bird on the rooftop.”

The clock ticked away. “So?”

Yu Yulai didn’t even look at Lin Lingwan; her eyes were fixed on the branches outside the window. The swaying branches caused the shadows to shift constantly. Yu Yulai smiled.

“I plan to kill that little bird,” Quan He said, delivering Lin Lingwan’s line.

“Why?” Yu Yulai asked, frowning.

“Because some things don’t deserve to survive,” Quan He recited.

Because some people don’t deserve to survive.

This sentence echoed in Zong Yougu’s mind, and her eyes widened.

“Yu Yulai, do you think all lives are equal? Are you and I equal? Do you deserve to live?”

The three questions left Zong Yougu speechless. The lines she had been struggling to remember vanished completely. She stood dazed, her fingers and lips trembling. she could hear the crisp sound of her teeth chattering, like clashing porcelain shards. She couldn’t ignore the rising taste of blood in her throat, a metallic tang mixed with the taste of her breakfast.

“Yu Yulai’s state is wrong,” the on-set instructor whispered to Wan Chunming through the headset.

Wan Chunming frowned. Throughout the shoot, she had felt Yougu’s hard work, seriousness, and resilience. Today, she was clearly off.

“Cut!” Wan Chunming picked up the megaphone. “Xiao Zong, go rest for a bit. Your state isn’t right. If you’re really feeling unwell, I can give you the day off.” She handed Yougu a bottle of water.

Zong Yougu took the water numbly. She really wanted a drink to wash away the foul taste in her mouth, but her hands were useless; she couldn’t even twist the cap open. Seeing Quan He slowly approaching, she fled in a panic, stumbling back to the room where Zong Liangu was waiting.

She burst in and slid down the door, sitting on the floor in a disheveled heap. Zong Liangu crouched down in front of her.

“Help me,” Zong Yougu said. After those two words, she simply gasped for air.

“Help you with what?” Zong Liangu sat on the floor opposite her.

Zong Yougu pushed the water bottle toward her: “Help me open this.”

Zong Liangu twisted the cap effortlessly. Yougu didn’t move to take it, so Liangu held her head with one hand and carefully fed her the water with the other. After a few sips, Yougu finally came to her senses. She gripped Liangu’s hand and repeated: “Help me.”

Zong Liangu straightened up, narrowing her eyes. “Help you with what?”

“Help me act this scene.”

Zong Yougu’s fingers reached for Liangu’s face, trying to remove the mask. Her agitation made it hard to control her movements; her fingertips brushed over Liangu’s eyelids several times, causing them to flicker.

Zong Yougu put the mask on her own face. Behind the fabric, her already raspy voice sounded muffled: “Haven’t you wanted to try for a long time? Help me act this one scene. I’m begging you.”

Zong Liangu thought for a moment, her gaze drifting into the distance. After a while, she said: “Fine.”

Zong Yougu used the wall to stand up, her eyes curving into a smile: “Then, thank you.”

The door closed again. This time, Zong Yougu stayed in the room, and Zong Liangu went out.

Finally, she had time to gather her thoughts. Zhang Mumu hadn’t died. It made sense; back then, when the director passed away and the orphanage was disbanded, everyone was worried about their own uncertain fates. Who could be sure if Zhang Mumu had actually died?

And besides, Zhang Mumu’s “death” had been told to her by Zhang Yinyang. Back then, Yougu had only been in the acting industry for a year, still working as an extra with Su Tongguo. She thought her life was finally improving and she could leave her sordid past behind. But Zhang Yinyang had spotted her in the background of a TV show and hunted her down.

She told Yougu that it was she who had killed “Little Cow,” and asked how Yougu could live such a good life. Yougu panicked and, in her confused state, believed the story. That’s why, when she saw Su Tongguo worrying for her, she told her that she didn’t deserve a good future.

But Zong Yougu had never been a good person. Even if she couldn’t bring herself to harm Zhang Yinyang directly, she wanted to silence her. She found a compromise: trying to send Zhang Yinyang to prison on charges of extortion.

Acting while feeling guilty, being cold-blooded while cursing her own malice in her heart—she had struggled for seven years. Now, fate was telling her that Zhang Mumu wasn’t dead; she was living well. She couldn’t help but feel she had wasted seven years.

If only she had known. If only she had known sooner.

However, she was the one who had abandoned Zhang Mumu. These seven years would be her punishment. This was her atonement. She wondered if Zhang Mumu still hated her.

Zong Yougu finally regained her full composure.

“Cut!” The director’s voice rang out from the other side of the door. The sounds of a busy set followed. Footsteps approached; Zong Liangu was back.

“How was it?” Zong Yougu asked.

Zong Liangu looked up, savoring the memory of the shoot. She took off her jacket and tossed it onto Yougu. “Very interesting. I really am talented; I found the feeling quickly. But I’m not as good as you. The director didn’t seem entirely satisfied. But considering your ‘bad state’ today, she did a few takes and let it pass.”

Zong Yougu smiled. But Zong Liangu’s next words made the smile vanish.

“Quan He said she wants to talk to you.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”