Yangzhou’s mother was too kind.
In a village like that, kindness toward the wicked is itself a kind of error. She gave and gave, turning the blade upon herself, and when the knife finally fell, it pierced not only her, but also her husband and child.
“They took your house, you went to the village chief to argue but he’d already been bribed and ignored you… Even then, your mother didn’t hate the chief at all?” Shen Xiaoxiao was puzzled. “Couldn’t she see the chief was counting on her nature?”
“She could see through it,” Yangzhou replied.
“The first time she gave blood, she truly wanted to save the chief’s daughter. That little girl was so young, always wearing a garland as she ran through the village. Mom said seeing her was like seeing me. So when the chief begged for blood in tears, she went without hesitation.
“But after that, she was swept along.”
“Afterwards, the chief often brought things to our house,” Yangzhou’s lashes lowered. “Sometimes half a sack of flour, sometimes pastries that only city folks had. We’d rarely had white flour, and never tasted those crispy breads. Mom would accept these things, and after that, when the chief came and asked her for more blood, she found she couldn’t refuse.”
“Dad begged her to refuse—those things were rightfully hers, after all, Mom had already been tricked into giving blood for two years and never got a cent; the chief pocketed all the money. But when he came by with a slab of pork, Mom’s eyes lit up. She’d pretend to say no, but slip out to give blood anyway, coming home pale-faced, smiling as she cooked us the meat.”
“It had been so long since we’d tasted even a little meat,” the boy said softly. “Dad needed money for his illness; he needed nutrition. All we had were crops, and there was never enough. My parents couldn’t bear to kill a chicken, and the eggs went to me. If I tried to give them eggs, they’d pretend to throw them out, and Mom would cry looking at me.”
“It was an unequal bargain, plain for all to see.”
“Because we were poor, Mom accepted it. She ignored our protests and slipped out as always. We didn’t know what a proper gap between donations was, or how much blood could safely be taken at once, so we thought it would be just some weakness for a couple days, made up quickly.”
At this point, everyone realized something was wrong.
Since the chief’s daughter was treated at a county hospital after her accident, Yangzhou’s mother would have donated blood there too. But how could a county hospital draw so much blood from her? It didn’t make sense—it wasn’t legal.
Yangzhou saw their expressions and understood what everyone was thinking. He went silent for a moment, then nodded softly.
“Mom was deceived again.”
“She’d never gone to the city to give blood, so she took the chief’s word for everything. She’d never left the village in her life—she was born right there. Guided by the chief and a blood dealer posing as a doctor, she was bled at a black market shop next to the hospital.”
“Dad later learned the truth after Mom died—he dragged her body on a cart to the county, walking with a crutch, and only then heard secondhand what had happened. That person recognized Mom and, thinking Dad was another seller, tried to draw him into the shop.”
“Dad stood outside the hospital, wailing.”
“But with only one leg, he couldn’t do anything for revenge—they just pushed him out of the shop.”
Shen Huanhuan’s eyes were wet. She couldn’t bear to listen further, quickly wiping her face with her sleeve.
Yangzhou kept going.
He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “The hospital had enough blood, and the chief had connections—they never needed Mom’s blood at all. He just wanted the money. Mom’s life was taken for profit.”
“We couldn’t afford the medical exam, didn’t know what exactly caused Mom’s death—was it sudden, was it something else? All I could do was hate the chief, and hate my mom.”
“I hated her.”
“I didn’t care about living a good life—I just wanted her to live.”
“If she loved me, she wouldn’t have this useless kindness, and wouldn’t have left me behind.”
By now, Yangzhou couldn’t stop crying, hiccuping as he forced out his story, as if saying enough would bring an end to the tears.
At last, he bowed his head. A tear slipped off his nose and fell to the ground.
“After witnessing my mother’s death,” he whispered, “I developed a language disorder and couldn’t speak. Dad, desperate to get me treated, left me with my aunt and left the village.”
“He said there are more jobs in the city, even for someone missing a leg—he could learn massage, wash dishes, anything. Every month he’d send money to my aunt. My two uncles were no good; my aunt was the only one kind to Dad. She married into the county, and took me in, even under pressure from my uncle.”
“The first month, Dad didn’t earn anything, but after that he sent 800 yuan a month. We never knew what work he did, or where he lived or ate, just that he sent money each month, and his own life was hard.”
Once separated from his father, little Yangzhou’s life as a dependent began.
It was not a good life.
“My aunt had no say with her husband,” he said. “Uncle didn’t like me. If not for my aunt going around telling neighbors my story so everyone would pity me, uncle would have kicked me out already.”
“Aunt’s son was three years older than me, and under Uncle’s orders, he always bullied me, calling me a jinx who killed his own parents. But my dad was still alive—just, I couldn’t speak for myself, didn’t dare eat much, or show myself before Uncle.”
“I’d call Dad and beg him to take me away, but all I could do was cry, and Dad would cry too.”
“Dad worried about phone bills and only called once a week. For half a year, that was my life in Aunt’s house. Then one month, Dad’s calls stopped, and he sent no money. The following month, still nothing.”
“No one knew what had become of him, but I knew.”
“He must have died quietly, somewhere.”
“At last I was truly an orphan,” Yangzhou said, “and life as a dependent grew only harder, until I couldn’t bear to go on.”
“My aunt worked at Tongyuan Amusement Park. The owner was rich enough to host free days, but always found excuses to delay wages. I thought, before leaving, I’d let Aunt get paid—after all, I owed her and Uncle for so long.”
“After I was thrown from the roller coaster, the owner and my uncle reached a settlement, and the payout was huge.”
“My aunt took the money—they couldn’t help it—and with my cousin, they moved to a bigger city, bought a new apartment, and started over.”
Yangzhou finished, falling silent.
Time seemed to freeze, and the livestream stayed quiet for a long while.
At last he shook his head, comforted the swallow on his shoulder, and looked at everyone.
“That was my life.”
“Even though my parents were good people, I felt more hatred than love for them. I didn’t want a happy, comfortable life. I didn’t want to watch them all leave me.”
“I just wanted a life with my mom and dad.”
“But…” He paused, lifting his eyes in a smile. “It wasn’t a happy story, but I’m still grateful to the little swallow for bringing me to this world.”
“So are we,” the other five children said together.
Jiang Suisui raised her duck toy high. “If I hadn’t come here, I’d never have seen so many cute animals.”
Ding Fuya agreed, “Exactly.”
“Even if not me, our parents would someday have other kids. But that child wouldn’t be me. If the school collapse was bound to kill us, I’d want it to be the original me who died. My life truly knew happiness; I had so many friends, and when the collapse came, my friends and I said our goodbyes there, dying together beneath the ruins.”
“In a sense, that’s still a life.”
“A life that belonged to me.”
Luo An spoke softly: “My dad wanted to sell me, but my mom loved me. I never became human because I died before turning eight, but I did feel my mother’s love.”
Meng Jinru spread her hands. “Sister Xiaoyu and Aunt Xu were so nice—even if I never felt my parents’ love, I knew love from strangers.”
“That’s love, too.”
Liu Yitian quietly echoed, “That’s love, too.”
“After the kitten was poisoned, Mom killed herself. Before she jumped, she killed Dad, and when she jumped, she took my ashes and the kitten’s body with her.”
“After I died, Mom finally loved me.”
“That’s love, too.”
Knowing how guilty and sad the little swallow felt, all six children offered comfort together. Their purpose fulfilled, the weak little swallow perked up. It sprang into the air, soaring in circles over everyone’s heads.
At this moment, the swallow’s lingering resentment, perhaps, finally dissolved.
Ten minutes had passed. Again, the sky of the energy field started to shudder. The black curtain of night spread from the horizon and, in mere seconds, blanketed the sky. Countless stars shone in the deep dark, pink and violet nebulae slowly swirling—a dreamy meteor shower unfolded before them all.
The scene lit up their faces.
“I was eaten by an owl yao. My ability had no attack power, so dying was really aggrieving—but now I’m happy.”
“A gift for you,” said the little swallow. “Let’s call it ‘Shattered Galaxy.’”
Jiang Yan tipped her head back to marvel at the sight. At the first burst of a star cluster, her hand was gently taken.
She looked down. Little Jiang Yan scratched her palm with a finger.
So Jiang Yan knelt, looking into the little girl’s face.
Amid the booms of exploding star clusters, little Jiang Yan grinned and whispered in her ear: “Are my memories real? Did I really exist?”
Jiang Yan froze.
From her expression, little Jiang Yan got her answer, and solemnly nodded. “What a troublesome thing.”
“But thank you anyway. I was really happy these three days.”
Jiang Yan looked at her for a few seconds, then, instead of denying her words, said seriously, “If you really exist, I’ll bring snacks to your world to find you someday.”
The girl’s eyes sparkled; she couldn’t help but smile.
“Then I’ll wait for you.”
Jiang Yan hooked pinkies with her. When she looked up, she saw little Xiaoxiao struggling to push her wheelchair—with effort, she reached out first to take little Huanhuan’s hand.
Shen Xiaoxiao’s eyes went wide with surprise and delight. She lavished praise on her, exhorting her to keep it up. Shen Huanhuan smiled sweetly, squatting to hug both little girls.
Little Yu Renwan pulled at Yu Renwan’s hand.
“I really will have friends in the future, won’t I?” asked little Yu Renwan.
“You will.” Yu Renwan pointed at Jiang Yan. “She’s my best friend.”
Little Yu Renwan studied Yu Renwan, then glanced at Jiang Yan, skeptical. “You’re not lying to me? Even though you’ve told me so many times, I still think it’s unlikely—you don’t look like someone with such a good friend!”
Yu Renwan widened her eyes. Little Yu Renwan put her hands on her hips and laughed.
“Oh well, oh well, I’ll believe in myself this once.”
One star cluster after another burst in the night, dazzling fragments drifting through the air. Black Taotao hesitated for a long time, then threw itself into Jiang Yan’s arms. Pink Taotao called it shameless for running ahead. Mu Wang came forward to take both little ones away.
The final golden cluster burst.
Everyone headed for the energy field’s collapsing exit. Just before leaving, Shen Huanhuan was struck by a feeling, and turned back.
Amidst the ruins and under the endless black sky, six tall black chairs had somehow appeared.
Each was set two meters apart, each occupied by a silent child, sitting neatly with hands on knees, watching straight ahead.
The high chair-backs looked like tombstones, or cages.
Not a single good person died in this field. All that perished were six puppets unable to reincarnate, and a little swallow who’d cycled through nine lifetimes—a being who ought to have become one of the strongest in the world.
Suddenly, Shen Huanhuan could not stop crying.
Shen Xiaoxiao noticed her sister’s sobs, and turned back quickly. Everyone turned, all at once. After a moment, as if having remembered something, Shen Xiaoxiao crouched to open her suitcase.
“I brought my camera, and an instant,” she said. “Let’s take a photo together!”
After a brief scramble, Shen Xiaoxiao raised her instant camera and dashed back. The little ones hadn’t vanished yet; when they heard, all ran to the chairs.
Half a minute later, the camera was set up before everyone.
“Who’s going to take the picture?”
The swallow scratched its head with a claw. “Why don’t I do it?”
Jiang Yan cut in, “Look over here—”
Everyone instinctively turned toward the lens. Just then, a peach blossom drifted down from the sky and landed softly on the shutter button.
Click.