We Are Filthy, Born From Mud - Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Yes, They Are Struggling. The Night Is Like Filth Piled in a Septic Tank…

The night was as thick as the filth piled up in a septic tank.

The conversation took place in such a night.

Zong Yougu trembled in the darkness.

“Why didn’t you die?” Zong Yougu’s voice drifted in the wind.

Zhang Mumu froze for a moment, then she laughed brightly. Her hand brushed the hair at her temples, revealing a faint, light-pink scar climbing across her wrist bone.

She said, “Actually, that dog was tied up. My wrist was only bitten slightly; it wasn’t that terrifying. Sister Liangu, things that felt like the end of the world when we were little don’t seem that serious now—at least, that’s how it looks today.”

Seeing no reaction from Zong Yougu, Zhang Mumu continued: “We all grew up safely. Sister Liangu, I’m so happy. You, me, Xiaoyang… we all grew up safely.”

Zhang Mumu’s slightly rapid speech betrayed her excitement; it seemed that meeting Zong Yougu was something she had dreamed of for a long time.

Zong Yougu gave a “tsk” and leaned against the balcony railing. Tilting her head slightly, she saw Zong Liangu hiding in the shadows. In the total darkness, Zong Yougu could only see Liangu’s bright eyes. She knew Liangu was observing her—Liangu always loved seeing her in a wretched state.

Zong Yougu took a deep breath, collected herself, and asked, “And then?”

“And then? And then I was so scared that I fainted in the yard. The little dog was a guard dog; once it saw I had fainted and wouldn’t try to enter the house anymore, it stopped barking and biting. The owner of the house didn’t come home often, but maybe my luck was good—she happened to return that night. She was startled to see me lying in the yard. She asked who I was. My mind was in a fog, my memories were like mush; I couldn’t explain anything, I didn’t remember anything. Then, I became her child. I only started remembering things about you all in the last two years.”

Zong Yougu gave an “un-huh,” her fingertips trembling slightly.

“Speaking of which, I have you to thank. If I hadn’t seen you on TV, my memories wouldn’t have slowly flooded back. If it weren’t for you, Sister Liangu, I couldn’t have remembered everything so quickly.”

“My name is Yougu,” Zong Yougu corrected her.

Her fingers continued to tremble, and even her voice began to shake. Turning her head, she forced herself to look the other woman straight in the eye; as a result, even her pupils began to quiver.

“Do you hate me?”

“Hate? Why?”

“Hate me for being a thief, hate me for leading us into danger, hate me for abandoning you and leaving you behind.”

Zong Yougu spat the words out in one breath. She expected her chest to heave violently; she expected to panic. But she didn’t. Her breathing was steady, and everything that had been trembling settled down. This was the exhilaration of having nothing left to lose.

Before Zong Liangu started breaking into her dreams repeatedly, her mind had been occupied day and night by images of the past. More than once she had dreamed of the scene back then; in the dream, she would scream at her fleeing self, even wanting to step forward and slap that cowardly girl. But it never worked; the “self” in the dream would still abandon Zhang Mumu and run away.

Zhang Yinyang had witnessed it all.

Perhaps, by getting rid of Zhang Yinyang, she could get rid of her mental knot. As long as no one saw it, the mistake never happened. These thoughts appeared naturally in her mind.

Zhang Mumu stared with some surprise. She said, “Sister, why would I hate you? I still remember how you risked everything to save me, but that dog just wouldn’t let go, biting my wrist bone and not releasing. I know you did your best. I won’t blame you.”

Zong Yougu’s eyes widened. She looked at Zhang Mumu and spoke blankly: “No, no… you remember wrong. I didn’t save you. I ran away. I abandoned you and fled, leaving you there alone.”

Zhang Mumu shook her head and said, “It wasn’t like that. You were trying all along. I still remember you jumping down from the wall and running toward me, screaming as you ran, trying to scare the dog away.”

Zong Yougu’s face turned pale. She leaned heavily against the railing, her lips trembling, her upper and lower teeth chattering against each other.

“I abandoned you, I’m sure. You remember wrong.”

“Even when my memory was at its most chaotic, I remembered these things clearly. There’s no mistake; not a single mistake.”

Zong Yougu slid down the railing into a crouch, muttering to herself: “That’s not right, not right… I should have run away, I remember it clearly… clearly?”

The expression on Zong Yougu’s face froze, and she pursed her lips into silence. A name appeared in her heart.

Zhang Yinyang.

Back then, although Zong Yougu was the oldest of the three, she wasn’t actually that old—not old enough to handle such a crisis calmly. Facing such an event, her mind had gone completely blank. Afterward, her brain’s protective mechanism had blurred the memories; she truly didn’t seem to remember the details of that moment.

Thinking about it now, it was Zhang Yinyang who had been misleading her. It was Zhang Yinyang who kept telling her that she had fled in a panic. It was Zhang Yinyang who emphasized over and over that Zong Yougu had caused their tragic fate. It was Zhang Yinyang who condemned her repeatedly, saying it was her…

Zong Yougu’s expression turned cold, and a malicious light shot from her eyes. Her heart began to ache with a stabbing pain. She felt that all these years had been utterly meaningless.

“Sister Liangu, you’re in a very bad state. Mother was right; I shouldn’t have been so impulsive. You should rest well today; it’s my fault.”

Supported by Zhang Mumu, Zong Yougu stood up. She looked up and watched as Zhang Mumu grew smaller in her field of vision. She stopped staring in that direction and looked instead at Zong Liangu, who was hidden in the darkness.

“You need to rest,” Zong Liangu walked out.

Zong Yougu embraced Liangu without hesitation, forcing Liangu’s head against her own. Her grip was tight; Yougu could feel Liangu’s heartbeat and the slight rise and fall of her chest.

“What I need isn’t rest.”

Zong Yougu looked into the distance, then slowly retracted her gaze to rest on Zong Liangu. A few bright red blood vessels burst in her eyes. She narrowed them; after a surge of aching pain, her eyes were filled with an unmaskable madness.

“What I need is an answer.” Zong Yougu buried her head in the crook of Liangu’s neck. Her hand followed the curve of Liangu’s waist and back all the way down, pulling the spare phone out of Liangu’s pants pocket.

She skillfully dialed Zhang Yinyang’s number. Zhang Yinyang did not answer. Zong Yougu tried again; the call still didn’t go through.

Clang—

The phone was thrown heavily to the floor, bouncing a few times with a thudding sound before lying still. Zong Yougu took Zong Liangu’s hand, her nose brushing against Liangu’s fingers. She let out a breath and said, “Only you are trustworthy. I only have you left.”

Zong Yougu must be ill.

Although her temperature was normal and her breathing steady, Zong Liangu was convinced she was sick. Zong Yougu had become neurotic; she was always screaming or weeping. One second she might shout for Liangu to leave, and the next she would beg her not to go. One moment she’d be laughing hysterically, and the next she’d be slapping herself. In short, the current Zong Yougu would do almost anything, except sleep.

Lack of sleep and hyper-excitement made her look haggard.

“You need to rest,” Zong Liangu’s voice held a hint of helplessness.

Zong Yougu kicked her.

“Go to sleep,” Liangu said, frustrated.

“No,” Yougu shook her head.

“Get out from under the blanket, don’t stay smothered in there.”

“No, it’s cold outside.”

Zong Yougu’s complexion turned sickly, her eyes were bloodshot, and dark circles hung beneath them. With no other choice, Zong Liangu had to handle all the filming for the next two days.

Zong Liangu perfectly completed the subsequent action scenes. She quickly internalized the martial arts choreographer’s ideas, soaring through the air on wires and landing heavily on the foam mats. Her perfect condition earned praise from the director.

Zong Liangu didn’t smile, because she knew she would do well—this was her specialty. But she was still not good at handling emotions. She tried her absolute best, reading the script over and over and trying to mimic Zong Yougu, but she still struggled to convey emotions accurately.

Wan Chunming shook her head with some regret. Zong Liangu felt a sense of loss. She had watched so many of Yougu’s performances; she had participated in so many shoots. Why was she still inferior to Yougu? Why was she, Zong Liangu, still not good enough? She wanted to ask Yougu for the secret; she wanted to see Yougu perform the scene on the spot.

“Xiao Zong, your state has been fluctuating a lot lately. Has something happened?”

Wan Chunming noticed the abnormality and called a halt to the scene. Zong Liangu shook her head, then stopped mid-motion. She frowned, her face showing great difficulty: “Director… can I ask for three days of leave?”

Zong Liangu had prepared an excuse in her mind. To her surprise, Wan Chunming didn’t press for details; she simply looked at Liangu with concern and granted the leave readily.

“Thank you,” Zong Liangu said.

“This isn’t your usual level. I hope that in three days, I can see the person I saw at the beginning.”

“I will.” Zong Liangu’s fingers twitched.

Zong Liangu ran back to the hotel. She didn’t even have the patience to wait for the elevator stuck on the high floors; she turned and ran into the stairwell, bolting up ten flights of stairs.

She pulled the curled-up Zong Yougu out from under the blanket.

“Come with me, quickly.”

“Where to?”

“To find Zhang Yinyang. To get an answer.”