Jiang Zhaolin sat down beside her, gazing at her face intently. After a long silence, he asked in a low voice, "Are you okay?"
Tao Siyue frowned, her thoughts momentarily stalled before she shook her head and replied, "I'm fine."
Cautiously, Jiang Zhaolin probed further, "After your father took you back to the countryside, did anything happen?"
Tao Siyue's gaze turned a bit strange as she looked at him, seemingly puzzled. "Nothing happened. We just stayed there for a few days. I felt fine, so I came back. The college entrance exams are coming up—I don't have time to waste on distractions."
Jiang Zhaolin felt a coldness in his limbs as he realized something was wrong. He thought for a long half-minute before tactfully asking, "Do you still remember what happened with Uncle He?"
The pen in Tao Siyue's hand paused in mid-air. After a moment, she nodded sadly and said, "He... apparently committed suicide. My dad told me."
Jiang Zhaolin slowly turned away, too afraid to ask more. The sound of blood rushing in his ears was like a roaring river. He blinked stiffly, unable to wake up from what felt like a dream, until he realized that he was, in fact, wide awake.
"Why would he put that on the test?" Tao Siyue remarked, picking up the test paper in front of her. "Did you get this right? I feel like the teacher never covered this topic.
Jiang Zhaolin's mind was a chaotic mess. He deflected her question, suggesting she ask someone else, and then he went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, seeking calm in the chill and the suffocating sense of clarity.
He decided to find Tao Xianyong to inquire about Tao Siyue’s condition.
Tao Xianyong, indifferent as ever, simply said, "Isn't this a good thing?"
He showed no concern for whatever might be wrong with his daughter. The plot had derailed but then corrected itself in an unexpected way, returning to what he had anticipated, leaving him thoroughly satisfied, as if even fate favored him.
Recently, Tao Xianyong had been in high spirits, and his attitude towards Jiang Zhaolin had softened slightly. He wasn't as dismissive and rude as before, showing a bit of patience as he offered advice.
"If you care about her well-being, don’t bring up anything related to He Xu in front of her again. No matter whether she remembers or not, the outcome won’t change. It’s a good thing she’s moved on, so why force her to look back? Just let it go."
"I can help with your college tuition and give you some startup capital after graduation. But you either stay away from Siyue, or you listen to me and don't get any funny ideas." He patted Jiang Zhaolin on the shoulder, his tone heavy with meaning. "I've laid it out for you good and bad. If you disappoint me, I won't let you off easy. You know what I'm capable of."
Jiang Zhaolin didn’t care about the threats, nor did he need the financial support. What troubled him was whether Tao Siyue was truly ill or just pretending to forget.
He recalled the lifeless look in her eyes before she was taken away and didn’t dare to shatter this delicate facade.
A little over a month later, the school organized a medical examination before the college entrance exams.
After leaving the hospital, they had half a day of free time. They had lunch in town and were on their way back to school when they ran into He Chuan Zhou.
She was sitting on the roadside, resting with a bottle of water in her hand. She shot them a cold glance before turning away.
Tao Siyue felt a shiver run down her spine and only asked Jiang Zhaolin after they were a safe distance away, "Why did she look at me like that?"
Jiang Zhaolin didn’t know how to explain. His throat dry, he asked, "Do you still remember Uncle He?"
"I don’t really want to talk about him," Tao Siyue said, a hint of resistance in her voice. "I didn’t want him to die, but what could I have done? I couldn’t stop it."
Jiang Zhaolin fell silent.
After a while, Tao Siyue added, "I’m not blaming him. It’s just... such a shame. Whenever I hear his name, I get this uneasy, painful feeling that I can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s because I once thought he was such a good person, but it turns out he was just an ordinary man."
Jiang Zhaolin’s expression grew desolate, and in the end, he only said, "Forget it."
Later, when Jiang Zhaolin began studying medicine, he learned that this was the brain’s way of protecting itself.
In Tao Siyue’s distorted perception, He Xu was not so noble after all. He had taken money from Shen Wenzheng and urged her not to report the crime. Misunderstanding He Xu as the suspect in a **assault case, Tao Xianyong’s accusations and the crushing weight of public opinion eventually drove him to suicide.
Tao Siyue had always been fragile, like glass that shatters at the slightest touch. The consecutive blows had utterly destroyed her mental world, as well as her will to live.
For the young Tao Siyue, the assault she endured, her father’s cruel betrayal, and witnessing He Xu’s death were all unbearable realities.
Jiang Zhaolin was deeply troubled by it all.
Sometimes he felt that this was a blessing in disguise Tao Siyue wouldn’t have to suffer through such pain again. But other times, the burden of carrying this secret alone filled him with an unbearable loneliness, tormenting him with shame and guilt.
He couldn’t bring himself to cruelly dredge up the memories Tao Siyue had buried so deep, nor could he face He Chuan Zhou’s coldness and distance with a clear conscience. He tried everything he could think of, but in the end, like Tao Siyue, he resorted to avoiding the harsh reality.
It wasn’t until Tao Xianyong’s death that various related articles resurfaced, and Tao Siyue began to remember bits and pieces.
But after holding on to her version of events for over a decade, she struggled to distinguish fact from fiction. She became plagued by nightmares, growing increasingly sensitive, negative, and unpredictable. She would often talk to herself in the mirror, only to shake her head afterward, trying to deceive herself.
Dreams are always a mix of reality and illusion, but once shattered, they can never be put back together. Not even the dream Tao Siyue had woven, which was never particularly beautiful to begin with.
When the news of Han Songshan’s death broke, Jiang Zhaolin had just finished surgery. He saw the news, took a day off, and went to a small restaurant where he ordered half a bottle of white wine and chatted amiably with a stranger at the next table.
Late that night, he bought a bag of fruit downstairs and walked home with a spring in his step.
Tao Siyue asked if he wanted to visit Tao Xianyong’s grave. Jiang Zhaolin, his face twisted with disgust, refused.
When she asked why, he couldn’t remember the excuse he gave—probably something about being busy. But after he had undressed, his head buzzing, he blurted out, "Dead is dead. We should be celebrating."
Tao Siyue stood in the unlit hallway, her thin figure casting a long shadow. Her voice trembled with confusion and sorrow as she asked, "Why did you lie to me?"
Jiang Zhaolin turned around, staring at her with deep, almost hypnotic eyes for a long time, as if trying to convince himself, "I did it for your own good."
Suddenly, Tao Siyue lost control, erupting in a hysterical rage. She grabbed whatever she could find and started smashing it in a blind fury. An ashtray flew at Jiang Zhaolin.
Bright red blood oozed out, dripping down his brow, quickly streaming past his eyes, soaking half his face.
The ashtray shattered on the floor, and Tao Siyue froze.
Jiang Zhaolin slumped to the ground, his back against the sofa, barely managing to sit up. After a moment, he lifted his head, not moving to stand or touch his wound. He just looked at her in despair.
At that moment, he felt utterly exhausted—truly, deeply tired. The numbness from the alcohol dulled the physical pain, but the crushing weight in his chest was heavier than ever, as if it could grind his flesh to dust.
He feared saying something reckless again, so he left Tao Siyue’s home.
Looking back now, he realized that Tao Siyue had probably come to her senses then. The old wounds had been torn open once more, leaving scars scattered all over, with new ones being added to the mix.
Now she had nothing left to lose and wasn’t afraid of doing anything with Wang Yifei.
"Where did I go wrong? Was it because I wanted too much?" Jiang Zhaolin lowered his head, sobbing uncontrollably. "I just wanted everyone to be a little less sad. Why? Is that really so greedy of me? Maybe I just couldn’t think of a better way."
He grasped He Chuan Zhou's hand, collapsing weakly to his knees. His head hung low, torn between wanting to draw closer to her and fearing to do so, as he whispered in despair, "I'm sorry, sis... I really don't know what to do..."
Brother Huang covered the lower half of his face with one hand, his gaze shifting toward the window.
He Chuan Zhou crouched down, gently ruffling his hair, and noticed the still-healing scar hidden beneath his messy bangs.
Jiang Zhaolin leaned his head back, pleading, "Please, save her. If she had a choice, she would never have let Uncle He die so unjustly... She didn't mean it. It’s my fault, really—it's all my fault!"
He Chuan Zhou looked into his dark, sorrow-filled eyes, then reached out and hugged him.
A muffled whimper escaped from Jiang Zhaolin’s chest. After a moment of stiffness, he lost control and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.
He Chuan Zhou patted his back, then gently released him and said, "It's all right. Go sit over there for a while."