Yin and Yang - Chapter 18

Shen Qingwei’s heart skipped a beat, but she immediately noticed something was wrong with Yin Zheng. “Senior Sister? What’s wrong?” she asked.

Yin Zheng forced herself to sit up straight. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I suddenly got a fever and feel dizzy.”

Shen Qingwei helped her sit on the sofa and leaned down to examine her. Yin Zheng’s face was pale, her usually neat hair slightly disheveled. The usually stern and composed Yin Zheng now looked frail and vulnerable, stirring Shen Qingwei’s heart with tenderness. She couldn’t resist placing the back of her hand against Yin Zheng’s forehead. It wasn’t hot at all, but cool.

This doesn’t feel like a fever, Shen Qingwei thought, frowning and casting a suspicious glance at Yin Zheng.

Yin Zheng averted her gaze. “Qingwei, could you get me a glass of water?”

Shen Qingwei bit her lip, rose, and went to the kitchen. Yin Zheng struggled even to turn her head, her senses filled with Shen Qingwei’s faint fragrance. She closed her eyes and took a shallow breath.

When Shen Qingwei looked up, she saw Yin Zheng’s slender figure on the sofa. Clutching the glass, she walked over. As she passed the sofa, she noticed the Soul-Binding Bag hanging nearby. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and touched it. Her expression changed slightly. “Did you let them go?” she asked Yin Zheng.

No wonder she looks like this! It’s not a fever at all—it’s angina!

Shen Qingwei knew firsthand how agonizing angina could be. How could Senior Sister do this?!

She hurried back to Yin Zheng, her voice a mix of anger and urgency. “Did you release them?”

Yin Zheng had no intention of hiding anything. She nodded slightly, and Shen Qingwei’s eyes reddened. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“What would telling you accomplish?” Yin Zheng’s lips curved into a rare, faint smile. “Just to watch you cry?”

Shen Qingwei wiped the corner of her eye. “I wasn’t crying.”

Still, her heart ached for Yin Zheng. “If you had told me, I wouldn’t have…”

Wouldn’t have resented you so much? Shen Qingwei felt like a fool for being angry these past two days. Yin Zheng had endured not only her complaints but also the agonizing pain of her condition. The more Shen Qingwei thought about it, the more her eyes welled up. Yin Zheng reached out and brushed away a tear from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t tell you because I knew your temper. Mr. Zhao wouldn’t have made it to the police station alive.”

Death comes easily, but atonement is hard-won.

Mr. Zhao hadn’t yet atoned for his crimes in life. He couldn’t be allowed to escape so easily. Otherwise, who would ever know the suffering he had inflicted on that mother and daughter? Shen Qingwei suddenly understood. She looked at Yin Zheng, the corners of her eyes reddening, her delicate face filled with guilt and self-reproach. As Yin Zheng raised her hand, Shen Qingwei instinctively leaned closer, whispering, “Does it still hurt?”

“Not as much now.” It was just a temporary flare-up; the pain subsided after the episode. But Shen Qingwei’s heart ached, a pain that pierced to the bone. After a moment, she reached out and took Yin Zheng’s hand.

“If it hurts, just pinch me,” Yin Zheng said, tilting her head to glance at Shen Qingwei. After a moment, she changed the subject. “Have you had lunch?”

Shen Qingwei shook her head. “No. What would Senior Sister like? I’ll go get it.”

Yin Zheng had little appetite, but fearing Shen Qingwei’s worry, she ordered steamed dumplings and lotus seed and lily congee. Shen Qingwei noted the order and said, “I’ll be right back.”

She hurried out of the suite. After Shen Qingwei left, Yin Zheng gazed out the window. Dark clouds massed on the horizon, a heavy, oppressive blanket. A fierce wind howled against the glass, emitting a piercing shriek.

As a torrential rain threatened to break, on the opposite side of the city, in a cramped room with a single window, a hot gust squeezed through the opening, instantly transforming into a bone-chilling draft that sent shivers down the occupants’ spines.

“What kind of hellish weather is this? It’s freezing!” someone grumbled.

Mr. Zhao huddled trembling in a corner, the other inmates keeping their distance, repulsed by the stench emanating from him.

Ever since he’d been brought here, a peculiar odor had clung to him—a nauseating, putrid stench like rotting flesh. Even without approaching him, the stench lingered in his wake, so foul that one inmate had vomited on the spot.

Even the guards couldn’t stand it any longer. They agreed with the other inmates’ suggestion and decided to move Mr. Zhao to a solitary cell that afternoon.

“No! Don’t move me to a solitary cell!” Mr. Zhao pleaded, his face contorted with terror. He looked at the men around him. “I’ll shower! I’ll shower every day!”

Don’t leave me alone! He was terrified, afraid to be alone in that room.

No one listened. As he trembled toward the door to beg for mercy, someone finally snapped, kicking him against the wall. He struggled to his feet, but his body froze. A phantom voice echoed in his ears—a woman’s shrill, piercing voice asking, “Do you eat meat?”

He desperately wanted to scream, but no one could see the withered hand clamped around his throat, choking him. The grip loosened slightly as he gasped for air, only to tighten again in a relentless cycle. Mr. Zhao was drenched in sweat, his stench growing even more unbearable.

“Guards! Move him!” his cellmate finally vomited. The guards arrived quickly, frowning as they moved the cellmate to another room, leaving Mr. Zhao alone. He huddled in the corner, still desperately calling out, “Don’t go! Don’t go…”

But his cries remained trapped in his throat, sounding more like whimpers. No one heard him.

He vaguely recalled the sounds Xiaoqian had made when he had forced himself on her—broken and faint. Tears streamed down his face as he silently repeated, “I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong…”

No one answered him. Dark clouds blanketed the sky outside, casting the room into shadow. Hallucinations began to flicker before his eyes. He was back home, pushing open the door to find the house pitch-black. He didn’t want to enter, but someone shoved him inside.

A dim, crimson lamp hung in the living room. His wife smiled at him, a smile that sent shivers down his spine, a smile that chilled him to the bone. He turned to flee, but she grabbed his arm, her grip unbreakable. “Everyone’s here,” she said. “You’re the only one missing. Why are you running?”

He shook his head frantically, but she dragged him to the dining table. A sinister voice whispered in his ear, “Let’s eat together.”

He was forced into a chair beside his colleagues, his boss, and Fu Yuan. Across from him sat his daughter. Before each of them lay a massive white plate, completely empty. His wife lowered her head and suddenly pulled out a large chunk of meat, still bloody and glistening, and slapped it onto the plate. Blood stained the tablecloth crimson, but his wife and daughter seemed oblivious, devouring the meat in huge, dripping chunks. He couldn’t help but turn away, desperate to escape.

Then he realized his legs were gone, leaving only his pant legs fluttering in the wind. He looked around and saw the same had happened to everyone else. His face turned deathly pale as his wife’s shrill voice pierced his ears: “Mr. Zhao, want some meat?”

He struggled desperately, but it was futile. He watched helplessly as his wife tore his body apart piece by piece—his chest, his heart, his vital organs. His daughter, chewing, turned her head and grinned at him with a sinister smile, her mouth stained with blood and filled with fangs.

Mr. Zhao could only watch in horror.

“You’re eating so fast today,” his wife said. “I’m still hungry.”

His daughter murmured, “Mom, there’s still the head.”

Mr. Zhao wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He watched with wide eyes as they placed him on the table and devoured him bit by bit until nothing remained.

In the silent living room, the satiated mother and daughter began singing an eerie, unknown song. A bone-chilling cold, like a malignant tumor clinging to his bones, pressed in from all sides.

“Ah!”

A disheveled figure jolted upright. Mr. Zhao’s body was emaciated, his face sallow, his eyes devoid of life, like a walking corpse. In his dreams, he had died ten thousand times, only to wake up and continue his miserable existence. This was how he would spend the rest of his life.

A thunderclap boomed across the sky, and a bolt of lightning flashed through the window, illuminating three blurred figures.

Moments later, rain began to pelt down in torrents.

Yin Zheng glanced out the window. After a few seconds, she returned to her room to change clothes, grabbed an umbrella, and went outside.

There was a congee shop just outside the hotel. Yin Zheng looked around before heading right. Soon, she spotted a familiar figure.

Shen Qingwei waited for her takeout order, gazing out at the sudden downpour. She hadn’t brought an umbrella and was completely unprepared. The shop owner smiled and said, “Young lady, why don’t you wait for the rain to stop? It’s just a thunderstorm—it’ll pass soon.”

She wanted to wait, but she longed to go home. Her heart ached with longing. After thanking the owner, Shen Qingwei turned and shielded her forehead with her hand, ready to dash out into the rain. Suddenly, an umbrella appeared above her head.

She glanced sideways. Yin Zheng stood calmly beneath the umbrella, her gaze cool as water. She had changed into a black half-sleeved shirt that accentuated her porcelain-like skin and graceful swan-like neck. A few strands of hair framed her neck, fluttering slightly in the wind, stirring a ripple in Shen Qingwei’s heart.

“Senior Sister,” Shen Qingwei said, her heart beating slightly faster. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s raining,” Yin Zheng replied. “You didn’t bring an umbrella.”

The shop owner called out from behind them, “Young lady, someone’s here to pick you up?”

Shen Qingwei turned and smiled sweetly. Yin Zheng said, “Let’s go home.”

The two figures walked through the rain curtain, the umbrella shielding them from the downpour and isolating them from the world around them. People hurried past, splashing water, and Shen Qingwei moved closer to Yin Zheng. “They were out of lily seed congee,” she said. “I got you purple sweet potato congee instead.”

Yin Zheng replied calmly, “I understand.”

Shen Qingwei stole a glance at her from the corner of her eye. Rainwater dripped vertically from the umbrella’s edge like strings of pearls. Yin Zheng’s expression remained serene as she gazed straight ahead, the rhythmic ding-dong of raindrops echoing beside her ear, truly like large and small pearls falling onto a jade plate.

For some reason, Shen Qingwei recalled the line from a poem: “Eastward boats and westward rafts lie still, only the autumn moon shines white on the river’s heart.”

She tilted her head and realized Yin Zheng was that radiant moon, suspended in her heart, flickering between light and shadow.

“What are you looking at?” Yin Zheng asked.

Snapping out of her reverie, Shen Qingwei replied, her ears flushing slightly, “Why are you wearing this outfit, Senior Sister?”

Most of Yin Zheng’s clothes were light-colored. This black half-sleeved robe was one Shen Qingwei had given her long ago, but she had never seen Yin Zheng wear it before. She had assumed Yin Zheng didn’t like it, so she was surprised to see her wearing it today.

“It would be a waste to leave it unused,” Yin Zheng explained, though a hint of reluctance lingered in her expression.

Shen Qingwei nodded. “It really suits you, Senior Sister! You look good in anything!”

Yin Zheng glanced at her, her gaze softening with warmth. “You’re just being flattering,” she said gently.

“No, I’m not!” Shen Qingwei protested playfully, leaning closer to Yin Zheng as they walked. In that moment, Yin Zheng tilted the umbrella, shielding Shen Qingwei almost entirely while the other half was already soaked through.

Shen Qingwei didn’t know that Yin Zheng was wearing this robe not because it was a waste to leave it unused, but because black fabric absorbed water, making it impossible to tell when it was wet.