Fu Xiaoya's face twisted with rage, her eyes blazing like twin fires in the rain-soaked night. "Beat him!" she screamed, her voice cutting through the drizzle like a blade. "Don't stop until he's dead!"
Fists and boots rained down like a storm, a blur of knuckles and leather. I curled into myself, arms shielding my head, but strangely, I felt no pain—only a hollow release, as if my body had given up before my mind could catch up. If this rotten life ends here, I thought, so be it. The world dimmed, the jeers of her crew fading into a dull roar. Darkness swallowed me whole.
When I woke, I was lying in a hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic sharp in my nose. Morning sunlight spilled through the window, bright and merciless, stabbing at my eyes. A clock on the wall ticked calmly, the date—July 19, 2025—etched in quiet cruelty. Everything from last night crashed back like a nightmare: Fu Xiaoya's wolfish grin, Yu Qingman's bloodied face, the pavement biting into my cheek. The ache in my body proved it was all real.
Fu Xiaoya. She'd beaten Qingman bloody. She'd sent me to the hospital. Mad. Rabid. Out of control.
A nurse in a crisp white coat walked in, adjusting my IV with practiced hands. I blurted out the question clawing at my throat: "What's my condition?"
"Mild concussion, multiple contusions. Nothing major," she said, her voice gentle but clinical. "You can be discharged this afternoon."
I hesitated, then asked, "Who brought me here?"
She flipped through the chart clipped to my bed. "Name's Fu Xiaoya. Listed as your relative. Paid the bill too—under a thousand."
My gut twisted, a sick lurch of confusion and anger. Why her? I'd rather it had been a stranger, some passerby with a spark of decency. So she saved me—but why? To dodge a murder charge? To keep her hands clean? Either way, it didn't wash the blood off her soul. She was still unforgivable.
"Anyone else visit?" I asked, my voice hoarse.
The nurse shook her head. "My colleague said no. Except… two officers from the precinct came this morning. Asked a few questions. Took your statement."
Police. Someone had filed a report. A flicker of panic stabbed me—was Xiaoya… arrested? Then I cursed myself for caring. Her fate wasn't my business. She'd made her bed.
By noon, I dragged my bruised body out of the county hospital and into a cab, the driver's curious glances burning into me. The city blurred past, gray and wet, as I headed home, each bump in the road jolting pain through my ribs.
Xu Li met me at the door, arms crossed, lips curled in disgust. "Where were you all night? Your dad's on a business trip—think you can do whatever you want?"
"I…" The words jammed in my throat. If I told her the truth—Fu Xiaoya's ambush, Qingman's tears, the hospital—she'd probably laugh in my face.
Her phone rang, cutting through the tension. She picked up, murmured a few words, then her expression darkened like a storm cloud. Her eyes sliced into me, sharp with malice. Slamming the call down, she snatched her purse.
"What happened?" I asked, cautious.
"What happened?" Her laugh was ice, bitter and jagged. "Thanks to you, Xiaoya's been detained!"
She kicked over a stool, the wood clattering against the floor, and stormed out, leaving the door quivering on its hinges.
I stood frozen, my bruised body throbbing. How was this my fault? I was the one beaten half-dead, my face swollen, my first love shattered—and somehow I was the villain?
School was a blur, the halls buzzing with whispers I couldn't block out. I wasn't thinking about Xiaoya, though. I was thinking about Yu Qingman. Her tear-streaked face haunted me, her pain a weight I'd carried since the moment Xiaoya's hand struck her. It was my fault she'd been targeted, my fault for daring to hope for something better.
In the classroom, I found her in the corner, her head bowed, a mask covering half her face. Her hair fell forward, hiding her eyes, but I could see the shimmer of tears. My chest clenched, a dull ache spreading through me.
"Sorry," I whispered, sliding into the seat beside her, aching to wipe her tears away.
She turned aside, her voice cracking like thin ice. "Zhou Yan… from now on, we have nothing to do with each other."
The words gutted me, sharp and final, like a blade through my heart. My hatred for Fu Xiaoya burned hotter, a fire that consumed every thought. She hadn't just broken my body—she'd shattered my first love, the fragile hope Qingman had planted in me.
"Last night, my dad saw my face," Qingman continued, her voice shaking with fury. "He called the police. His friend runs the station. Your sister is finished."
She stood and walked away, her back a wall of ice, leaving me in the wake of her words. Whispers curled around me like smoke—classmates snickering, their voices pricking like needles. "No gift for the class beauty? Rookie mistake." "Flowers fall, water flows—guess she wasn't into him." I tuned them out, my head pounding, bursts of pain blurring the world.
That evening, I stumbled home, dizzy, my concussion flaring with every step. Dad was back, his face haggard, Xu Li beside him, both looking wrecked, as if they'd been locked in a war of words all day. The air in the house was thick, suffocating.
"Xiao Yan," Xu Li began, her tone soft, desperate, tears glistening in her eyes. "I know I haven't treated you well. But I cooked, washed, cared for you for years. Please… let Xiaoya go."
Dad chimed in, his face dark, voice heavy with warning. "She's right. Don't be ungrateful."
Unbelievable. Me—bloodied, broken, fresh from the hospital—cast as the villain. I couldn't hold back the rage any longer. "She sent me to the hospital!" I roared, my voice raw. "I was unconscious all night. Concussion. Bruises everywhere! And you think a few days in detention is too much?"
They froze, blinking like they couldn't process my words. Xu Li's tears stopped, her mouth half-open. Dad's cigarette trembled in his hand.
"Sit," he ordered, his voice low, grim.
Like a scolded child, I perched on the bench, knees tight, my bruised body screaming in protest. He lit another cigarette, the smoke curling like a ghost between us. Then he dropped the bomb.
Last night, the cops had picked up Xiaoya and her crew at some dive, hauling them in front of a crowd. But that wasn't all. They'd also arrested a man called Brother Tian—a pimp, busted for running an illicit "massage" ring. Under pressure, Tian sang, giving up every contact. One name on his list? Fu Xiaoya.
Xu Li had panicked, called Dad back from his trip. He'd spent the day groveling, pulling strings, burning through favors, shoving money into the right hands just to learn the full story. Xiaoya confessed to the assault—beating Qingman, sending me to the hospital. But she swore she had nothing to do with prostitution. The cops had only one piece of "evidence"—that night at the Xiangyang Motel. Eight hundred yuan. Door-to-door "service."
Xiaoya claimed she was there looking for me—her runaway brother. Even without blood ties, she said, "I'd never do something so filthy. Not with him. That's worse than being an animal."
Dad's eyes narrowed at me, cold as steel. "You didn't… do it, did you?"
"No!" I shot back, panic clawing my throat, my face burning under his stare.
Xu Li looked unconvinced, her tears spilling as she clutched my hands, her grip desperate. "Please. I'm begging you. Never admit to that night. If she's branded with this… she's ruined forever."
My mind twisted into knots. I hated Xiaoya—wanted her locked up, wanted her to pay for every bruise, every tear she'd caused. But some buried part of me hesitated. Flashes of memory pierced me—her hair whipping my cheek in the night wind, the warmth of her waist beneath my fingers on that bicycle. The way she'd called me Xiao Yan, soft and fleeting, like a crack in her armor.
Dad slammed his palm on the table, his voice like thunder. "If you dare drag her down, forget school! Get out of this house and die in a ditch for all I care!"
And then—"smack!"
His hand cracked across my face, hot and stinging, the force snapping my head to the side. My vision blurred, the taste of blood sharp on my tongue. I sat there, stunned, the pain in my cheek merging with the ache in my chest.
Xu Li sobbed, her hands still gripping mine, but Dad's eyes were unyielding, a storm of anger and desperation. I was trapped—between their demands, Xiaoya's lies, and the truth I couldn't speak. The weight of that night at the motel pressed down on me, a secret that could destroy us all.
I thought of Qingman, her words cutting deeper than any blow: "We have nothing to do with each other." I thought of Xiaoya, her wolfish grin, her rage, her tears. And I thought of myself, bruised and broken, caught in a war I hadn't started but couldn't escape.
The university exam is my only way out, but it felt farther away than ever. As Dad's cigarette smoke curled toward the ceiling, I realized the truth: no matter what I did, the chains of this family, this house, this night, would hold me tight. And somewhere, in the dark, Fu Xiaoya was fighting her own battle—one I couldn't save her from, even if I wanted to.