A brief silence settled inside the train car, broken only by Li Chengyu’s occasional unconscious groans and the faint whisper of wind outside the window.
Chu Yao drew a deep breath, her chest trembling visibly as if summoning immense courage just to speak.
Her voice was soft, as though afraid of disturbing something, or as if telling a distant story that had nothing to do with her.
“When I was twenty…
I started raising my younger brother on my own.” Her unfocused gaze rested on the deformed wall opposite her.
“My parents…
took us on a road trip.
On the way back…
a semi crossed the median and crashed into us.” Chen Yexun had been looking down, absentmindedly wiping the blade of his fruit knife.
At the word *parents*, his hand paused so subtly it was almost imperceptible.
“The front seat…
was crushed entirely.” Chu Yao choked back a breath, sniffling hard to keep her composure.
“My brother and I were in the back.
We only had minor injuries…
but my parents…
just like that, they were gone.” “Later…
he was about to start elementary school.
I gave up on applying for grad school, got a job as a nurse right after graduation, and earned money to put him through school.” Her tone held no complaint, only the crushing fatigue of someone worn down by life.
Chen Yexun raised his head, no longer playing with the knife.
He noticed that as Chu Yao spoke, there were no tears in her eyes—only a bottomless, consuming remorse.
Chu Yao’s breathing grew rapid as she fell into an excruciating memory, her body trembling faintly.
“The reason we came to the temple fair…
was for his school essay.
*An Interesting Activity*…
I thought…
I took a day off from the hospital to bring him here for inspiration…” Her voice fractured into sobs.
“I saw those people…
those maniacs…
laughing like that…
I froze completely.
My mind went blank…
By the time…
by the time I snapped out of it…
my brother…
my brother…” She clamped her teeth onto the back of her hand, trying to choke back the flood of tears, but huge droplets spilled over anyway.
Releasing her hand, a deep ring of teeth marks remained on her skin.
“I just stood there and watched…
watched him get…
and then…
I actually turned and ran.
I ran up the mountain…” She stared at Chen Yexun, eyes bloodshot with self-loathing.
“I’m a monster…
a damned monster who abandoned her own brother.” Chen Yexun listened silently, his face expressionless.
Yet inside, a strange resonance stirred.
*A damned monster…* *So I’m not the only one who sees myself that way.* A faint smile crossed his face—devoid of warmth, steeped in cold, almost cruel irony.
“So,” he said, his voice terrifyingly steady.
“You want to use that idea you mentioned to redeem yourself?
To go throw your life away?” Chu Yao was caught off guard by the sharp cross-examination.
She stared at him blankly, forgetting to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
“Do you think dying will make you feel better?” Chen Yexun pressed on, relentless.
“Do you think throwing yourself into some self-sacrificing grand gesture will undo the fact that you abandoned him?
That it’ll earn you forgiveness?” “I…
I don’t…” Chu Yao stammered a weak protest.
His words pierced like blades.
“This isn’t atonement.
It’s the most irresponsible kind of escape.
You just can’t stand the guilt of being alive, so you’re looking for the fastest way to check out.” “You won’t even face what might have happened to him.
You just want to end it all.
How is that any different from running away back then?
It’s the exact same cowardice.” “Stop…
please stop…” Chu Yao collapsed under the merciless dismantling.
She buried her face in her hands and broke into racking sobs, her shoulders trembling violently.
“I don’t know…
I really don’t know what to do…” Chen Yexun stopped, watching her quietly without pushing further.
Some wounds had to be lanced before they could heal.
He turned his head toward the window.
Unnoticed, the rain had completely stopped.
A rift broke through the heavy clouds.
Crimson sunlight poured down like molten metal, painting the crushed car and pierced trees in a desolate, bloody hue.
Time dripped by amid the silence and her low weeping.
Finally, Chu Yao’s cries died down into intermittent hiccups.
Drained of all strength, she sat slumped in place.
Gazing out at the blood-red sky, Chen Yexun spoke slowly, his voice calm as before, but carrying a newfound weight: “Even if you want to make amends…” He paused, looking out at the red expanse.
“At the very least, you have to survive first.” Chu Yao raised her head slowly, looking at him through tear-filled eyes, her face a mask of confusion and panic.
Chen Yexun turned to meet her gaze, measuring every word: “At the very least, survive this hell.” “Then come back here and find him.” “And with your own hands…
build your brother a grave.”