Before leaving the hospital, the group made a stop at Xiang Nanzhi’s department and received a reply from her assistant.
“Dr. Xiang hasn’t come to work for over a week due to personal reasons.”
Just as expected.
Few mothers can function normally after such a tragic loss, especially when Zuo Nianchen’s death was also Xiang Nanzhi’s own karmic backlash. Still, the child was innocent, and Shen Huanhuan looked uneasy.
“All these children are innocent.”
She paused, then added, “He Shuyu was someone’s daughter, too. She was innocent as well.”
The group fell silent.
It was Cheng Guang who broke the mood with a cough, “So, where are you all headed next?”
Jiang Yan said calmly, “First, go to the school where Zhang Tian works to check the surveillance. A machine that expensive definitely would have cameras in the room—I want to see how He Shuyu smashed it.”
“And then we visit He Shuyu’s mother,” Shen Huanhuan added.
“Zhu Xinyun already saved her own child, so she won’t tell us the truth. Xiang Nanzhi was Zhang Tian’s lover and tried to harm his child; she won’t talk either. Only He Shuyu’s mother did nothing wrong in any true sense.”
“He Shuyu died a tragic death. She’s most likely to tell us everything.”
Jiang Yan curled her lips with approval.
She had always intended to guide Shen Huanhuan’s thinking. If she could have her way, once she achieved human form, she’d go wander the mountains and never bother with humans, let alone waste time explaining herself. But since she signed up for the competition, she wouldn’t slack off and naturally intended to play her cards.
The competition was a last-place elimination. As things stood, the twins wouldn’t be eliminated for a few more rounds, and if they improved over time, their group might last even longer working together.
Jiang Yan saw all this clearly—Shen Xiaoxiao either hid her real skill or was simply a scatterbrain, but her psychic talent was very handy, and her lively personality was not annoying; Jiang Yan didn’t object to her.
Shen Huanhuan, on the other hand, was less useful in terms of raw talent—binding people or spirits was something Jiang Yan could do herself, even without tools, and she could kill in a flash if needed (though saving someone was less certain). But having promised He Qingyuan not to reveal her identity, she wouldn’t act unless it was urgent, making Shen Huanhuan a great public cover—and more importantly, Shen Huanhuan had read a lot of psychic books, liked thinking, and was oddly obedient, making team tasks much less work.
Jiang Yan didn’t mind being more relaxed, and as long as she wasn’t at risk of elimination, she was happy to guide Shen Huanhuan and get her to do more thinking and work.
“Forget it, going everywhere in order is too much trouble,” Jiang Yan told Shen Huanhuan. “You take Shen Xiaoxiao to the school for the surveillance; I’ll go with Cheng Guang to see He Shuyu’s mother.”
The twins had no objection, but Cheng Guang was a bit embarrassed.
“I’m freeloading too much,” Cheng Guang scratched his head. “I’ll just hang around the hospital here. It’s almost dinner anyway, and I’ll take a peek in Xiang Nanzhi’s office—maybe I’ll find something, like her conditions for curse transfer…”
Different curses had different transfer requirements. What Shen Huanhuan described before were just the most basic ones; real requirements could be stricter. Cheng Guang was raised by He Qingyuan and only started learning skills as an adult, but he was pretty good at phasing through walls—walking through a few walls unnoticed was easy for him.
Jiang Yan nodded, and the twins went along with it.
Once out of the hospital, Shen Huanhuan wanted Shen Xiaoxiao to follow Jiang Yan.
“I don’t know how much you’ve learned from Abbot He—she should follow you. Just in case you encounter ghosts, she has more protective stuff on her and can help.”
“No need, nothing’s going to happen.”
Jiang Yan did have a reason for sending Shen Xiaoxiao with Shen Huanhuan. “Your sister notices things carefully. Have her check the footage, too.”
Shen Huanhuan agreed. In the silkworm village, it was Shen Xiaoxiao who first spotted the marks on the tablet behind the altar. But she still worried about Jiang Yan.
Shen Xiaoxiao nudged her: “Jiang Yan is really awesome.”
Shen Huanhuan turned.
“Did you forget? Last night, when I was in trouble with Cheng Guang, it was Jiang Yan who saved us!”
Shen Huanhuan hadn’t seen it herself, so she was still uneasy, not wanting to leave.
Jiang Yan was a bit helpless.
“How about you put one of your paper talismans on me—if you sense I’m in danger, you can come help.”
Five minutes later, Jiang Yan pocketed a limp paper-talisman person and hopped on a bus.
The destination, found by Shen Huanhuan, was not far from the hospital: six stops, and less than twenty minutes later, Jiang Yan got off.
He Shuyu’s mother’s apartment was right in the city center. The building’s paint was peeling, but the flowerbeds were new and the trees neatly trimmed.
Jiang Yan followed the address to building 2, sixth floor, and knocked.
Opening the door was an elderly woman, hair mostly white, nearly seventy, eyes clouded, her gaze slow to focus. She looked at Jiang Yan for a long while before asking, “Xiao Chen?”
Jiang Yan’s heart sank.
Before the old woman could say more, a young woman’s voice called from inside, “Aunt Song, time for dinner! Let me help you wash your hands. —Who is it? Did someone come?”
A twenty-something woman appeared in an apron. When she saw Jiang Yan, she looked surprised.
“Who are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for Song Zhaoping,” Jiang Yan said. “He Shuyu asked me to come. I’m her friend.”
The girl’s eyes widened.
“Are you the care worker she hired?”
Jiang Yan examined her, then slowly said, “She mentioned you before—young, but with lots of work experience. She chose you after a long search. Before she died, she told me I must visit her house, but didn’t say why.”
“I just got back to Anping City today and remembered this, so I came over.”
Jiang Yan dropped her gaze. Visibly, the girl breathed a sigh of relief, and her guard eased. She stepped aside, “Come in.”
Jiang Yan took off her shoes at the door and put on the slippers the girl handed her.
“Did you eat?” the girl asked.
Jiang Yan shook her head. “I came straight from the airport—my suitcase is still in the doorman’s.”
There were three dishes and a soup on the table. The girl went to the kitchen, scooped a bowl of rice for Jiang Yan, and said, “I cooked a lot—let’s eat together.” Then she helped the elderly woman over and put a bib on her.
Jiang Yan, expression unchanged, poured water for the old lady and checked the temperature. “Is Song’s illness serious?”
The girl sighed: “She used to just be forgetful, but now she doesn’t recognize people anymore. The doctor says in another year or so, she may even forget herself.”
“Sigh, let’s eat.”
Looking at the neatly prepared boiled shrimp and braised ribs, Jiang Yan nodded.
The old woman ate slowly. To better care for her, the girl finished her rice in a few bites and then kept feeding the old woman.
Jiang Yan picked up a rib and suddenly said, “Is the money she gave you still enough? She never mentioned it to me—if not, I can chip in.”
The girl froze, then quickly nodded. “It’s enough. Shuyu gave me a bank card—money always arrives on time, and it’s a lot. She set up the transfer to keep going for five years.”
“What about after five years?”
The girl thought a while and said honestly, “By then I’ll be marriage age anyway, so probably send her to welfare care. Alzheimer’s can’t be cured. By then, Aunt Song won’t recognize me, and I can’t devote my whole life out of kindness.”
Jiang Yan gave a sound of acknowledgement.
Judging by the dishes and portions, it was obvious that He Shuyu sent plenty each month, plus a bulk sum for five years…
The family’s supposed financial crisis probably wasn’t as dire as the rumours said.
Most likely, it was all a cover so they could move into the barrel building.
Jiang Yan, done thinking, rested her chin in her hand and studied Chen Wan.
The girl, focused, kept feeding the old lady, gently wiping away anything that dribbled out.
Chen Wan had worked here for over two years and wasn’t used to entertaining guests, so she seemed nervous.
For a while, all was quiet. Curious, she looked up and locked eyes with Jiang Yan, then quickly looked down again, embarrassed: “I’m Chen Wan. If Aunt Song knew her daughter’s friend had come, she’d be so happy.”
Jiang Yan looked down, spitting out a bone into her bowl.
“This is my first time here. She didn’t like talking about her family with me or asking for help.”
Chen Wan sighed: “Shuyu had a strong sense of pride, never wanted to talk about herself, and after she got sick, she spoke even less, never visited Aunt anymore. But I know she had her reasons…”
She listed He Shuyu’s virtues: “I was hired two years ago. She used to joke with me and urge me to read more, so I’d have more options… When my mom got sick, and I lost my papers and couldn’t go, Shuyu even spent the night at the hospital for me… She was the best person I ever met, but her biggest—” She broke off.
Jiang Yan finished for her: “Her biggest problem was marrying the wrong man. She told me about Zhang Tian.”
Chen Wan shot an anxious look at the old woman, and when she looked back, the guard in her eyes had mostly vanished.
“Shuyu told me she told only me. Turns out she told you, too.”
Jiang Yan said, “She probably told you first. By the time she mentioned it to me on the phone, she was in bad shape.”
Chen Wan’s face clouded over.
“Shuyu always tried to carry it all herself. She must’ve been depressed then, looking for someone to talk to… You must be a real friend.”
Jiang Yan had just made up the explanation about He Shuyu sending her—with the sole aim of getting in—but now realized she’d stumbled on a good excuse.
She lowered her lashes, shaking her head slightly:
“I don’t know. I have other friends—maybe in daily life I overlooked her… So I don’t know why she insisted I come.”
“When she told me to come, I felt she was in a bad way, but when I called, she didn’t answer. I had issues at home and couldn’t check on her. Then last week, after a business trip, I heard she’d passed away.”
Chen Wan said sadly, “You can’t blame yourself—we all have to live our own lives first.”
“That’s true… but I keep thinking about her lately,” Jiang Yan sighed. “I even suspect her death wasn’t simple; otherwise, why make me come here secretly?”
Chen Wan’s eyes suddenly reddened.
She said nothing more, just quietly helped put Song Zhaoping to bed.
But the moment Song was seated on the bed, she turned to look at Jiang Yan, her gaze suddenly serious.
Chen Wan was shocked: “You know her? You remember?”
Song Zhaoping pointed at Jiang Yan and made some “mmm mmm” noises, drooling a little; Chen Wan quickly wiped her mouth, apologizing: “She means no harm.”
“It’s nothing,” Jiang Yan nodded and started to leave for the living room, when another burst of “mmm mmm” stopped her.
And then a voice thick with the wear of years:
—“Baby…”
—“Baby’s here?”
The old woman’s gaze was still clouded, staring blankly at Jiang Yan, her eyes drifting up to the big portrait on the wall.
It was He Shuyu just after college, in a cap and gown.
Youthful and bright.
A world away from the woman who’d died beaten and torn.
Hearing “baby,” Chen Wan thought of He Shuyu’s kindness and covered her mouth, choking up.
Jiang Yan walked a few steps and squatted before Song Zhaoping.
Song tilted her head, staring for a long time, then at the floor, as if searching her memory. Eventually, she reached with her wrinkled hand, trembling as she felt her pocket: “…money.”
Jiang Yan: “You want to give me money?”
“Baby’s still little, still little, at New Year’s mama gives you… a red envelope.”
Jiang Yan: “But it’s not New Year’s now.”
Song seemed to grow angry, reaching out to prod Jiang Yan’s forehead: “Little liar, every time you come it’s New Year’s!”
This time, the words were smooth, and Jiang Yan leaned back, not used to the gesture.
Yet Song, seeming to enjoy it, poked Jiang Yan’s forehead again. “Don’t dodge. Mama’s red envelope is big. Accept it and don’t cry—if you cry, Mama’s heart breaks.”
Song’s words flowed faster and faster, like she’d said the same many times before, all in one breath without pause.
Finally, she stuffed a spit-soaked tissue into Jiang Yan’s hand.
Jiang Yan looked a bit speechless.
But now she knew how the curse was transferred.
*
The old lady eventually tired and settled in.
She turned the TV on high volume to watch comedy sketches in the bedroom—it wasn’t clear if she even understood them.
Chen Wan led Jiang Yan to another room and softly shut the door.
Jiang Yan waited calmly to see what she would do.
But Chen Wan only wiped her eyes and looked Jiang Yan in the face.
“What’s wrong?”
Unexpectedly, Chen Wan cut straight to the chase: “Do you believe that immortals exist in this world?”
Jiang Yan squinted; Chen Wan stared back relentlessly.
A few breaths later, Jiang Yan nodded: “I do.”
Chen Wan’s shoulders relaxed.
Jiang Yan: “She asked you to check.”
“Mm,” Chen Wan opened the wardrobe, bent inside, and took out a metal box. “Two months ago, Shuyu mailed this to me. Her note said: if someone who looks trustworthy comes asking after her and knows the right info, give this to her.”
Jiang Yan: “And she must believe in the supernatural?”
“That too,” Chen Wan replied.
Jiang Yan took the rusty box, which had a combination lock.
She glanced at Chen Wan, who shook her head. “Shuyu never told me the code.” Her expression tensed, cautious again: “Do you know it?”
Thinking a moment, Jiang Yan dialled in the code and unlocked it.
“10170355”
Inside was a camera and two fully-charged batteries.
The chat room had just started to speculate about the code when Jiang Yan unlocked it, leaving everyone unsatisfied and grumbling.
But some hadn’t figured it out:
[What do these numbers mean…]
A helpful user replied:
[The minute before Zhang Xiaoliang was out of danger—precisely the moment He Shuyu was hurt.]
Once Jiang Yan opened the box instantly, Chen Wan relaxed, patted her apron, and stood to open the bedroom door.
“Take a look—this is what Shuyu wanted you to see.”
Jiang Yan raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you curious?”
Chen Wan shook her head. “Shuyu told me not to—sometimes, not knowing is less painful.”
Jiang Yan thought of the Alzheimer’s-afflicted Song Zhaoping in the next room, and agreed: “It really is.”
Once the door was closed, Jiang Yan looked online for how to install the camera battery, then opened her chat app.
Her phone had buzzed several times when Song stuffed the tissue in her hand—probably messages from Shen Huanhuan and the others.
There were seven or eight in all; Jiang Yan checked immediately.
[Jiang Yan, we got the premise all wrong—it wasn’t He Shuyu who wanted to visit Zhang Tian at work. Zhang Tian forced her to go.]
[The principal at Anping Middle School holds an annual family meeting, and married teachers all bring their spouses. If not, people think you don’t care. From the gate camera, He Shuyu looked terrible and tried to leave several times, but Zhang Tian stopped her. She was limping and could only walk normally while holding on to him. We talked to teachers who attended—they said they were concerned about her leg. Zhang Tian claimed she was hit by an e-bike on the way, but it was nothing.]
Jiang Yan rubbed her brow.
This meant her earlier reasoning was off—
She’d got the main character wrong.
Sure enough, the next messages from Shen Huanhuan confirmed her thoughts.
[We watched the footage from the machine room. Yes, He Shuyu smashed it with a chair, but her behaviour was odd.]
[She was brought to visit by Zhang Tian. All was normal until Zhang Tian left to fetch water, when she suddenly went into an episode. We watched it over and over—Xiaoxiao noticed a flash of white light across her face half a minute before she lost it.]
[We zoomed in on her eye in that frame. Reflected in her pupil, we saw a sharp shard of glass; I’d seen a photo at the hospital—it was identical to the one that pierced Zhang Xiaoliang’s eye.]
[Zhang Tian triggered her episode.]
Jiang Yan slowly lowered her phone and smiled.
She really wasn’t human and hadn’t spent enough time among them to think through all emotional motives with subtlety.
In her original reasoning, He Shuyu sabotaged the machine purposefully to move into the building, investigate the curse’s origin, and stop it from spreading.
But she’d overlooked a mother’s deep concern.
If she herself were cursed, Jiang Yan would surely investigate and fight back.
But He Shuyu wouldn’t.
She feigned recovery, feigned a broken curse, just to go on living in peace.
Her child had already suffered; she’d never risk him again.
So the one investigating was Zhang Tian.
After seeing his child and wife repeatedly injured, and his wife concealing her condition, Zhang Tian grew suspicious.
If he investigated enough, he’d find his lover’s child’s injury oddly timed and, digging deeper, he’d connect Zuo Nianchen’s recovery with Zhang Xiaoliang’s injury, and Zhang Xiaoliang’s recovery with the moment after He Shuyu’s injury.
So, following the timeline from Zhang Xiaoliang to Zuo Nianchen, then back to Li Cheng, he found his way.
For revenge, he staged He Shuyu’s outburst and the machine destruction to create grounds for bankruptcy and moving into the barrel building, entangling them with 303.
That explained why Zhang Tian kept helping Zhu Xinyun.
—He Shuyu wanted to hide everything, so she wouldn’t tell him the truth. Xiang Nanzhi, fearing reprisal, wouldn’t explain how to transfer the curse. So Zhang Tian had to focus on Zhu Xinyun.
In the end, he succeeded: learning how to transfer the curse, and a week ago, passed it back to Xiang Nanzhi.
But all this was Jiang Yan’s speculation. The actual timeline would be in the camera that He Shuyu left behind.
Jiang Yan stretched, installed the battery, and comfortably propped herself on the carpet with a cushion.
There were no photos in the camera, just one video.
She didn’t hesitate to hit play and soon saw He Shuyu, fingers on her knees, sitting a bit like a primary school kid.
Since He Shuyu’s last night had been all blood and wounds, this was Jiang Yan’s first time seeing her whole and clean at age thirty-eight.
She was a plain but pleasant woman, soft features, fair brows—a face that would be easy to like.
Her lips had a natural upward curve—never rosy, but always slightly smiling, so no matter the sorrow in her face, she always seemed okay, always as if still smiling and getting by.
Jiang Yan met her eyes through the camera.
He Shuyu probably hadn’t faced a camera in years; she sat nervously, silent and motionless.
Jiang Yan waited patiently, chin on hand.
After three minutes, He Shuyu finally spoke.
“Hello.”
Her voice was hoarse as she greeted whoever watched the tape, “Hello, I’m He Shuyu.”
Jiang Yan, cooperative, replied, “Hello.”
After saying this, He Shuyu said nothing more.
Seeming nervous, she began biting her nails, but after a few seconds, forced her hands down.
“Hello,” she repeated.
“I don’t know where to start. I’m ill, so my words don’t count as evidence, but I think I should say them.” She glanced at the ceiling, then at the door.
Jiang Yan knew, by the door was a mirror covered with cartoon stickers.
“I’ll talk about myself, then about Zhang Tian.” He Shuyu continued.
She tilted her head at the lens—less stable now, but kept going: “If anyone sees this tape, you must be investigating me. For a long time, I hoped someone would investigate me, but nobody did. I thought I was unlucky, but every time my misery fell on someone else, they got unlucky too, so I stopped wishing. If someone else suffered what I have, I’d be too wicked… Don’t you think?”
She frowned, “Oh, right, I should talk about myself and Zhang Tian.”
“Zhang Tian is my husband,” she said outright. “We’ve known each other for many years. In high school, we sat front and back, sometimes walked home together. People always thought we were dating, and teachers called us in for talks.”
“I was so rebellious; the more they advised us, the more I clung to him. In senior year, he confessed, said we’d try for the same university, and once we were adults, no one could interfere. We really got into the same college.”
Her eyes were full of memory here, but not happiness.
“I majored in nursing, didn’t like socializing—just did well with my roommates. But Zhang Tian loved meeting people and became the student council vice-chair in his junior year.”
“I was always afraid he’d leave—selfishly so. I dreaded breaking up more than anything, especially having to get close to a new man. I refused to leave my circle and life, so we never broke up.”
“On graduation day, Zhang Tian proposed. He wasn’t well-off, but he took me on a trip to the plains; we learned to ride horses, and I almost fell once—I remember how panicked he looked, how he grabbed my hand and kept holding on, even in sleep.”
“Doesn’t that sound all right?”
Her tone was gentle, “But happiness…it’s nothing much. I’m pessimistic about love, always thinking feelings run out little by little, time wears them down, so you cherish the moment. Until I had my baby.”
This time, her natural smile was genuine.
“I had my own child—he was so small and cute.”
“I couldn’t even imagine: every day I loved him more. I had thought I’d reach the peak of maternal love holding my newborn, but as he smiled, cried, called me mom, walked toward me day by day—my love kept growing.”
“And from then on, I loved my own mother so much more, realizing her love for me grew every day, every year—a surging tide.”
“I was so full of love that even when I found out Zhang Tian had cheated, I didn’t stay heartbroken for long.”
Her mood stabilized, no more nail-biting, her gaze steady.
“This isn’t my fault. I didn’t stop buying him clothes, didn’t stop feeding him. When he needed me at work dinners, I’d show up made up and presentable. When he drank too much, I kept him from passing out, then stayed up all night to care for him. I did my duty as a wife every day. Even pessimistic about love, I was very clear: I loved him.”
“I really loved him, even after becoming a stay-at-home mom, even after spending most of my time with my child—I knew I loved him.”
“Zhang Tian’s cheating wasn’t my fault. My love for him was not wrong. It’s just that he’s garbage.”
“But I didn’t want a divorce,” He Shuyu went on.
“Not because I expected anything more, just because I hate socializing and don’t want to go out and see people.”
She analyzed calmly: “The money I made writing thrillers just barely covered daily necessities, not enough for my baby and me, nor my mom’s care worker. Zhang Tian lost his parents to a work accident, got a big payout, had a good job and social status, and could provide us a good life, so I pretended nothing happened.”
“After that, I spent every day with my child. When I felt good, I gave Zhang Tian attention. Funny thing—maybe all men are like that—when I stopped caring, he came home more, brought flowers and gifts.”
He Shuyu frowned in thought: “So when did things go wrong…”
After a while, she went back to biting her nails—her illness too unpredictable, any memory might trigger her.
Soon enough, her left hand’s forefinger was bitten bloody, but she didn’t stop, even gnawing the knuckle; Jiang Yan thought she’d go all the way, but He Shuyu’s actions suddenly ceased.
“Noon of the 16th, that’s when it all went wrong.”
Her mental state grew oddly clearer.
She recalled: “That day, Zhang Tian’s mistress asked to meet. She didn’t say who she was, just that she was a college friend—called herself Xiang Nanzhi.”
“She said Zhang Tian had helped her big-time; she wanted to thank him but didn’t know how, so she wanted to take his wife shopping.”
“That excuse was so clumsy—I knew all of Zhang Tian’s college friends, and the request was nonsense, but I went anyway, curious. I wanted to see what she had to say.”
“We had lunch together; halfway through, she suddenly put down her chopsticks and started crying into her hands…”
“I already guessed what she’d say.” He Shuyu’s eyes fell, a faint smile appearing. “I’m a novelist—I’ve written all kinds of melodrama. I thought she’d say she was pregnant, wanted me to divorce. Turns out I was wrong.”
“Instead, she confessed she was Zhang Tian’s mistress. She said she dreamed every night of her parents cursing her, telling her she wrecked someone’s marriage. She cried so hard I almost softened.”
“She begged me to forgive her, but honestly, what is there to forgive?” He Shuyu’s look was hard to read, “Zhang Tian’s had six mistresses—she was just the latest. I’d planned to leave, but as I accepted her apology, I noticed a photo on her phone—a girl.”
She remembered Zuo Nianchen: “Gorgeous girl, probably in Year Three or Four at school, teardrop mole by her eye, smart and sweet—looked just like her mother. I figured Xiang Nanzhi couldn’t get over her guilt, wanted peace of mind so she could be a good mom, so I accepted her apology.”
“And then…”
Jiang Yan already knew what was coming.
Just as expected, He Shuyu said,
“She gave me a red envelope, stuffed with money.”
At this, He Shuyu suddenly sobbed, attempting to hide it, but her shoulders shook so much she couldn’t.
A long time passed before she quieted. She crawled over the bed, found some yellow packing tape, and secured her wrists and thighs tightly.
“Sorry—I thought I’d be okay, but I think I’m having an episode. When I do, I want to kill myself.”
“I’m okay now; I’ll hurry.” She lifted her face to the camera with a smile, “Xiang Nanzhi said the money wasn’t meant as compensation, just for peace of mind. Not taking it meant not forgiving her.”
“I could tell from her clothes she wasn’t short on cash, so I took it.”
“I shouldn’t have,” said He Shuyu, curled up, face to the camera. “I only took it because I knew she needed closure, not because I wanted it.”
“I paid for that lunch myself, using money from the envelope right in front of her.”
The audience watching boiled over.
[So dumb. What good is a mistress ever? She’s here to harm you, not to find peace. Damn, I’m furious!]
[With everything that happened after, I think I’ve figured out the curse’s condition.]
[Me too—“passing the red envelope”—a folk custom. You put your hair and “buy-life” money in the envelope. Whoever spends the money bears the curse for you.]
[So why did He Shuyu spend that money?]
[Doing it face-to-face shows she’s accepted the apology.]
Worried about her mental state, He Shuyu talked faster, going straight to what happened after.
“After lunch, we parted ways. I had a paper due by the afternoon, so I went straight home. It should’ve been easy—two hours of work at most—but for no reason, I was in a daze, couldn’t write a thing, and lost track of time. Nothing felt real.”
“This trance was broken by a phone call—the ambulance siren was piercing, so many voices, some screaming.”
At this, He Shuyu faltered.
The memory was too much. She curled into herself defensively, fragile as if a breath would break her.
“My child was going to die,” she murmured.
She tried to wipe the tears streaming down her face, forgetting her limbs were bound. As she struggled, her bracelet struck the bed frame with a crack.
The shards sliced her wrist, making her flinch, blood beading on her skin.
Crystal clear.
“My child was going to die.” She repeated.
He Shuyu gave a hoarse chuckle.
An episode was upon her—not sudden; she’d stepped over that line with this memory.
Soon she was shrieking, wrenching on her bonds, her nails digging deep gouges in her thighs; the neighbours, annoyed, banged on her door to shut her up.
No one knew what torments she endured inside. In a storm of curses, He Shuyu slowly calmed down.
The sunset of spring flooded the narrow room.
The floor was littered with bracelet fragments.
She gazed hollowly at the ceiling, then slowly climbed up and made her apologies to those outside. Once they’d gone, she apologized to the camera, too.
“Sorry you had to see that,” she said, a bit sheepish, “Don’t be scared, don’t be scared.”
Afraid of slipping again, she licked her pale lips and spoke with unprecedented speed.
“Where was I? Oh yes—the call from the hospital.”
“I’d just received the hospital’s call…”
She closed her eyes, drew a long breath, and rushed out her thoughts:
“I was terrified. After the call, I drove to the hospital. The nurse told me Xiaoliang had gotten into a fight with a drunk on his way home, right eye pierced, brain damage—she suggested I cancel work and stay until morning.”
“I’d majored in nursing, knew all the medical implications, and heard what she wasn’t saying.”
“She meant I should stay for my child’s death.”
“All I could do was wait. Zhang Tian scolded me, I waited; my aunt wept, I waited; my mom, confused, came and scolded me for crying.”
“Mom was really old now, hair all white, slurring her words, but like a little kid—seeing Zhang Tian yell at me, she tried to hit him, telling him not to bully me.”
“But I could barely think. That night, I swear, was the darkest of my life,” said He Shuyu softly, “Pain so great I could’ve died on the spot. Every mistake I ever made was laid open, and all of it fell on my child. At 9:30 p.m., the hospital issued a critical warning; the first time I ever saw Zhang Tian cry. That’s when I got a text.”
Her still-bleeding wrist was forgotten, as if she couldn’t feel it.
“It was a message telling me how to save my child—but it meant letting someone else’s die.”
“It told me to go to the second flowerbed on the left outside and pick up a red envelope. Inside was something special—put your hair in, add ‘life money,’ pass it to someone who needs it, and all would be well.”
“The instructions were clear. If the recipient spent that money, soon their child would suffer through the mother’s fault, saving my own child.”
He Shuyu said, “I couldn’t find a reason to harm someone else.”
“But I took the red envelope anyway.”
She described it: “An ordinary red packet, but on the back was a strange symbol, like a rune from TV.”
“But I didn’t care what it was—I put in my own hair and asked my mother to use the envelope money to buy me water. My mom is quite silly—eager to help. She soon brought back water…”
He Shuyu stopped, then added, “Actually, she bought my favourite drink, too.”
“Afterward, I followed her home. I didn’t want to die, so knowing that harm was coming, I did everything I could to prepare. Back home, I tried to cover every way I might be hurt, triple checked everything. Before bed, I spotted that the security door wasn’t latched.”
She shook her head, no blame in her tone: “My mother’s memory was getting worse.”
“We’d had some shoe theft in our building, so it was no surprise that night someone broke in.”
At this, even Jiang Yan was surprised.
She was cooler than Jiang Yan had thought.
He Shuyu finally smiled: “Because I anticipated it, I only hurt my knee—not a vital spot. I even stabbed the thief.”
“I thought about a lot that night… I didn’t want my child’s innocence to carry a death, or for any more mothers to suffer at the hospital, so I decided the curse should stop with me—or at least, to pretend it had.”
“So,” He Shuyu said softly, “I let the man go.”
Not just Jiang Yan—the whole chat was shocked.
[Did I hear that right?]
[She let him go?? The guy trying to kill her??]
“I did talk to him,” He Shuyu seemed to think she needed to explain. “He said he didn’t know why, but he suddenly wanted to kill someone. When he got the knife, he couldn’t stop; he only came in to steal some fruit and veg because the door was open. He had a child, too—didn’t want to kill.”
“I understood, and besides, he was huge—I couldn’t fight him. So I let him go, dressed my wound myself.”
“After that, well…” She slowed and looked at the lens. “You must know it already if you’re investigating me.”
“From then on, to get close to the state the curse required, even as I stayed away from my mother, my own body deteriorated,” she lowered her gaze, revealing her scarred arm. “I got what they call mental illness. Each episode, I self-harmed. Each time I looked at the wounds, I knew the curse wanted me dead.”
“When I thought that was the worst it could get, things unravelled further.”
She gave a bitter laugh: “I was too naive—I thought I could fool everyone, but Zhang Tian figured it out anyway.”
“My knee was locked, a lasting injury; at first, I said I’d been bumped by a friend and passed it off for a while, but he suspected me. Noticed me and our son were hurt at almost the same time, and when he looked up his mistress’s kid—Zuo Nianchen’s medical file…”
“He started using his connections to probe. From the way he maneuvered me, tricked me into an episode smashing that machine, faked bankruptcy and rented the flat, I guessed what he was really after.”
“He’s a scumbag, but he really loves our son.”
“Xiaoliang’s near-death blinded him—it was pain for me, and for him.”
“Zuo Nianchen was in danger.”
After a long string, her mouth went dry. She licked her lips and looked up at the camera.
Red lines crisscrossed her eyes, but they were very clear.
Jiang Yan waited for what came next.
“I couldn’t go out, and Xiang Nanzhi blocked my number; maybe she locked her account—I could never reach her.” After a moment, in a soft voice:
“There was no way to warn her, but children are innocent, and I wanted to protect Zuo Nianchen; she shouldn’t pay for her parents’ feud.”
“But if—”
She sounded very calm, like all mothers in this world quietly planning for their children, “If Zhang Tian really did pass the curse back to Xiang Nanzhi and killed that child, I don’t know if I’d have covered for him.”
“Zhang Tian’s parents are dead; I only have a sick mother left. He can’t go to jail. If he goes to jail, my child will have no one.”
“Xiaoliang is still so small—he can’t be without someone.”
Jiang Yan said nothing.
The livestream was silent too.
After this, He Shuyu didn’t speak for a long time—so long that Jiang Yan thought the video was done.
But just as she reached to turn off the camera, a tear fell from He Shuyu’s eye onto her scarred arm.
Jiang Yan halted.
He Shuyu leaned her head, wiped it away, and her hoarse voice went suddenly soft.
“What I said just now was too wrong. Let me say it again.”
“I mean, if I really did cover up for him,” she smiled gently at the camera, “I sincerely ask you to keep investigating.”
“Because Zhang Xiaoliang’s mother is a good person.”