6 – I hate you, why didn’t you take me
Fu Yao had been waiting for Jin Zhi to say something.
Though she didn’t know exactly what she wanted to hear from him.
But the Jin Zhi before her seemed as if he had been struck by a spell of paralysis, his entire body rigid.
She sighed, the cold wind scattering her long hair, forcing her to turn away.
Yet, in that very moment of turning, her wrist was seized—painfully, as if bound tightly by a rope, the ache so intense it felt as though her blood had pooled there, unable to circulate.
Fu Yao turned her head to look. Jin Zhi held her, his eyes unreadable, the colors behind him a mix of blue and green, betraying his sorrow and guilt.
Afraid she would leave, afraid he couldn’t keep her.
Jin Zhi gritted his teeth. Having just mastered human speech, his words now choked with unclear emotion:
“Don’t… don’t go.”
Fu Yao didn’t want to leave either, but she knew all too well that if she didn’t, Fu Chengyu would force her away in his own way. When that happened, the scene would surely be ugly, and she didn’t want the little wolf cub to see her in such a state.
She pushed Jin Zhi’s hand away, momentarily at a loss for words, and could only brush it off:
“We’ll meet again, but not now.”
But instead of letting go, he gripped her even tighter.
Fu Yao saw tears welling in his eyes, reddening the corners until they looked pitiful.
She used her fingers to wipe away his tears.
Jin Zhi still repeated those words: “Don’t go…”
“Fu Yao, aren’t you done yet?”
Her father, seemingly impatient with the pain, strode in and saw his daughter entangled by the boy, unable to break free.
Fu Yao still wanted to plead, to fight for it. Lifting her head, she asked again, “Dad, can we keep him? I’ll take care of him, please?”
Fu Chengyu’s gaze was icy, colder than the December snow, like a dagger that could pierce deep into one’s marrow, instilling fear.
He grabbed Fu Yao’s hand firmly and said in a low voice:
“Fu Yao, don’t make me repeat this a third time. Don’t cause me unnecessary trouble. I’m busy!”
“I no longer have the energy to take care of another burden. Don’t make me disappointed in you.”
With that, he pulled Fu Yao’s hand so hard she felt as if her arm were about to be torn from its socket. Against her will, her feet began to move in his direction.
Behind her, Jin Zhi grew frantic, his whole body trembling. Clutching Fu Yao’s hand, he crouched down, unwilling to let her be taken away, and was dragged along the ground.
Fu Yao felt as if both her arms were about to break, the pain unbearable. But she gritted her teeth, knowing she had to part with Jin Zhi today.
What could she do? She was just a child who could barely take care of herself.
“I’ll handle this! Let go of me!”
“It’s because you’re so terrible that Mom left us!”
She didn’t know how many times she had defied her father, nor how many times she had brought this up. But every time she mentioned her mother, it had some effect.
This time was no different. Fu Chengyu finally released her, his anger simmering beneath the surface, his gaze threatening—not as if looking at his own daughter, but at an enemy.
“One last minute. And don’t bring up your mother again. If you do it too often, it won’t work anymore!”
Fu Yao trembled all over. If she had more time, she could glare at him with hatred for an hour. But now, she only had one minute.
As always, she gently stroked Jin Zhi’s hair.
Jin Zhi shook his head frantically, tears stubbornly trapped in his eyes, nearly overflowing yet never falling.
“Don’t go… don’t go.”
He kept shaking his head, repeating only those two words.
Fu Yao felt a sharp pang in her chest and said:
“I’m sorry, Jin Zhi, but this time I really have to go.”
As if sensing the impossibility of the situation, the little wolf cub’s pent-up emotions finally erupted. A dense red aura swirled behind him as he grabbed Fu Yao’s hand and bit down hard!
Ah—!
Fu Yao cried out in pain.
Fu Chengyu, who was standing nearby, was immediately alarmed. Seeing blood begin to seep from his daughter’s hand, he wasted no time and delivered a fierce kick to Jin Zhi’s abdomen.
A six-year-old child was like a sheet of paper before a thirty-year-old man—fragile and powerless, easily torn apart by the slightest force.
Fu Chengyu saw the row of teeth marks clearly, with blood continuously welling up from the deep wound.
He was furious, yet his tone remained calm.
“Still want to keep that little beast?”
“Come with me. I’ll take you to get a rabies vaccine.”
This time, despite Fu Yao’s slight resistance, Fu Chengyu paid no attention. He grabbed her hand and led her straight to the car.
Just before getting into the car, Fu Yao stole a glance at Jin Zhi and noticed that the purple aura she hadn’t seen in days had reappeared around him.
Jin Zhi lay on the ground, clutching his kicked abdomen as he coughed painfully. It hurt so much he could hardly breathe.
But he had to stand up. His eyes reddened as he watched Fu Yao being pushed into the car.
As the car started, an unprecedented sense of crisis surged within him.
He struggled to his feet, his frail body trying to chase after the car. But his stomach hurt terribly, forcing him to clutch it with one hand while running, unable to make a sound.
He reached out, trying to get closer to the car, his hoarse voice screaming desperately, unheard:
“Don’t go… don’t go… please don’t go…”
He pleaded over and over, hoping Fu Yao would hear his despair and pity his sorrow.
The wind stung his face painfully.
Jin Zhi chased the car for a long distance until his legs gave out. He collapsed, rolling on the ground, unable to stand again.
The tears he had held back finally overflowed, blurring his vision and the fading taillights of the car.
Unable to contain his emotions, he knelt in the snow, reaching out toward the direction the car had gone, but grasping nothing.
“If you’re leaving, take me with you…”
“Why… why won’t you take me?”
The warmth he had finally managed to hold onto, the comfort he had barely grasped—
Why did it slip away? Why couldn’t he hold onto it?
“I hate you!!”
His small body curled into the snow as he wept bitterly.
Why was he alone again?
He couldn’t understand—why tame his wildness only to abandon him afterward?
“I’ve cleaned myself up… why won’t you keep me…”
From the back seat, Fu Yao pressed against the window and saw the emaciated little wolf cub lying in the snow, weak and helpless, screaming his hatred for her.
That snarling expression once again seemed more helpless than ever before.
Finally, she understood what the suppressed purple aura represented.
This was the first time she had recognized the color purple.
It was hatred.
Her eyes felt sore and swollen as she sat in the car seat, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.
Fu Chengyu never comforted her.
She sat quietly, crying.
When she grew tired of crying, numb, her expression gradually faded into a blank stare fixed ahead.
Only after Fu Chengyu saw through the rearview mirror that she had finally quieted down did he speak coldly, shifting her attention:
“I heard from the police that when you were rescued this time, the two kidnappers were already dead?”
He never cared about others’ feelings, only the results he wanted.
Fu Yao’s expression remained calm, her gaze fixed straight ahead on the road, neither confirming nor denying the fact: “Mm. Did you receive the letter they sent you? Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
Fu Chengyu hesitated for a moment before replying, then spoke the truth:
“I received it. There was an important meeting at the company that couldn’t be delayed.”
So, in other words, his daughter’s life was worthless compared to the company.
Fu Yao had long known it would be like this, but she hadn’t expected him to even bother fabricating a lie to deceive her.
As if suspecting something, Fu Chengyu continued to ask, “What did you do?”
“…”
Fu Yao’s gaze locked onto her father, her lips parting slightly as she spoke: “One of them wanted to take all the money for himself. While he was away, I told the other one. They fought each other, killed each other, and neither survived.”
She said this with such calmness, as if it were as simple as eating or drinking. The irony was that neither of them got the money—even if they hadn’t died, they wouldn’t have.
Fu Chengyu didn’t seem particularly surprised or curious about this outcome. He simply said, “Don’t do this again next time. It’s difficult for me to spare time to deal with such trivial matters.”
Even though Fu Yao thought her heart remained undisturbed, these words struck her like a stone causing ripples in still water. Her voice, though soft, cracked with bitter amusement:
“There’s going to be a next time?”
Fu Chengyu replied matter-of-factly, “You are Fu Chengyu’s daughter. There’s too much about you worth coveting. No one can guarantee there won’t be a next time.”
His words were so reasonable that silence lingered in the car for a while.
Fu Yao couldn’t see her own expression, but she knew she must be torn between red and blue—between anger and tears.
In the end, her expression settled on neither. Instead, she let out a cold, mocking laugh.
“I understand.”
She added another sentence:
“It’s great to be Fu Chengyu’s daughter.”
Then she took out her long-dead phone, connected it to the car’s USB cable, charged it briefly, and turned it on.
She scrolled through her contacts, found the two entries labeled “Idiot 1” and “Idiot 2,” and casually deleted them. There was no need to keep the numbers of two dead people in her phone.
Next, she opened her email and deleted all the correspondence between herself and those two.
【Me: Fu Yao will be at the park this afternoon, alone. It’s your best chance to make a move.】
Seeing this, her eyes dimmed. With another cold, self-mocking laugh, she still chose to delete it.
After confirming that no traces remained, she closed her phone.
As if sensing Fu Yao’s emotions through the rearview mirror, Fu Chengyu suddenly said:
“Adjust your emotions. Your mother and younger brother are both waiting for you at home.”
Fu Yao could no longer hold back her smile, gritting her teeth as she said, “Dad, not every woman of yours can become my mother. I don’t have a mother anymore, and I am an only child.”
Fu Chengyu snapped, “Fu Yao!”
Fu Yao ignored the reprimand and pushed further:
“Thanks to you.”
Whoosh—!
Fu Chengyu slammed on the brakes, turning to glare at Fu Yao on the quiet street.
“Children shouldn’t meddle in adult matters. Put away your little tricks, and don’t learn to be as neurotic as her.”
Fu Yao smiled brightly, revealing her little canine teeth.
“To protect Dad’s happy family, I’ll work hard to be a normal child.”
Layer upon layer of frost covered the illusory beauty, freezing everything and reflecting the false image everyone wanted to see.
At seven years old, Fu Yao knew that some emotions were cheaper than grass. Everyone maintained a facade of harmony, all for the sake of presenting a glamorous image to others. If you truly tore away that hypocritical layer to see the core, you’d find it had long become a nest of insects and ants, rotten beyond recognition.
“Dad, I’ll work hard to be a normal child.”
She emphasized it once more.
Smiling, a scalding tear traveled from her left eye down her cheek, hanging precariously on her chin before lingering for a moment and finally falling.