Why did she avoid Tao Xiao?
Even Qi Ran didn’t fully understand it herself.
She couldn’t quite explain where this inexplicable wariness of Tao Xiao came from. Perhaps it truly was hereditary. She had perfectly inherited Qi Jianguo’s tendency to vent his anger on others, and maybe she had also fully inherited his emotional detachment from family. After all, she felt little for her biological mother or her so-called blood-related elder sister, Qi Xin. The last time they contacted each other was during the New Year, exchanging well-wishes and red envelopes. Since her parents had been separated before she could even form memories, calling Qi Xin a sister felt less accurate than calling her some distant relative you never see.
The very word ‘family’ only made her feel irritated, like a wool felt she couldn’t shake off.
Wasn’t it enough that Tao Xiao was living her own life? She had finished her doctorate at the best university in Pingjiang. Her conduct was impeccable; everyone liked her. She was gentle and upright. By all accounts, she should have a brilliant career, find her own love, and perhaps even have a daughter truly her own, connected by blood, honest and straightforward. Such a life was practically perfect, enviable. Meeting Qi Jianguo was a stain on her life, a blemish of the most exaggerated kind.
Qi Jianguo was already locked up. Maybe even the heavens couldn’t stand to see her go astray and gave her a chance to start over. Why did Tao Xiao insist on wasting time with her? Did Tao Xiao even realize she was wasting her own life?
This irritation was actually quite unreasonable, and Qi Ran knew it deep down. She was, after all, still a consumer in this dynamic. If Tao Xiao and her biological mother ever actually said, “Fine, we won’t look after you then,” her education would grind to a halt. What could a person with just a middle school diploma do to support themselves in this society? Nothing made sense. No matter how mature she pretended to be, the essence of the matter was that she was cursing the chef while eating their cooking.
But what else could she do? There was still one year left of high school, then four more years of university. If she went to graduate school, it would take even longer. Several years, almost a tenth of a human lifespan—a span of time so long it was mortifying.
Qi Ran sighed heavily. Doing so made her feel slightly lighter.
When the green light came on, she lifted her head again and stepped onto the straight crosswalk.
Then, the screeching sound rang out.
“Screech—screech!”
What was happening?
Qi Ran didn’t react. She just looked up blankly, toward the crosswalk.
Time seemed to slow down. She watched a black sedan, speeding the wrong way, graze past her body at an unimaginable speed. Right behind it were a dark brown SUV and a deep blue sports car that looked incredibly expensive—a race car? A sports car? She didn’t know cars. But the aesthetically pleasing streamlined body and the roaring engine were exceedingly eye-catching. It was like a scene straight out of a street racing movie, utterly fantastical.
Drip.
A drop of warm liquid splashed onto her face.
She reached up to touch it and realized it was a crystalline drop of blood.
But how could there be blood here?
A crisp sound was born with an extremely slow pace. Although Qi Ran had never heard this kind of sound before, her subconscious mind understood it almost instantly—it was the sound of bones shattering.
A flower slowly bloomed before her eyes.
She gazed at the blooming flower, feeling dazed. It felt like walking into an art gallery by mistake, understanding nothing yet faintly perceiving a strange beauty.
She was suddenly a bit surprised, because the flower was wearing clothes she recognized intimately. Black, white, and red, constructing a jacket. It was the standard Jiang High school uniform.
Amid the scattered strands of hair, a hidden touch of blue was breathtakingly beautiful.
Only then did she realize, in a dazed, hazy way, a fact: this blooming flower was herself.
She opened her mouth, as if wanting to say something.
But to whom?
She looked around somewhat blankly.
After the black sedan screeched to a halt, the two cars behind it naturally rear-ended it. The huge collision was deafening. The sharp, piercing sound of metal crashing against metal made goosebumps rise instinctively, like sharp nails screeching across a blackboard. Shattered glass and twisted metal tangled together, scattering and flying outward.
Qi Ran took a gentle sniff. She smelled blood, smoke, and burning.
That touch of blue lay quietly far down the street. It seemed to have rolled a considerable distance. The ground was sticky and smeared outwards, like an unrolled scroll painting.
Qi Ran stood before the painting, feeling somewhat awkward. She didn’t know what expression to show. After all, this was the first time she had seen her own death scene.
No, no normal person would ever get the chance to see this, she thought subconsciously.
What should she do next?
Ah, call the police, then an ambulance… No. Seeing her condition now, an ambulance seemed pointless. Notify the funeral parlor directly. Ugh, I might need to inform the sanitation workers of this grim news too, to clean all this up. They’d really be put in a difficult position.
She pondered in confusion. Maybe she could use this time to say her last words, or write a will.
But what would she write in the will, and who would she write it to?
Her biological mother and sister? That would only cause them trouble. Any normal person would find it unlucky. Qi Jianguo was even less of an option; he’d only regret not buying accidental death insurance for her, worrying about the beneficiary details.
What about Liu Xu and Xu Yan? After thinking carefully, she shook her head. Xu Yan would definitely cry; her nature was too gentle and empathetic. Liu Xu would be sad, but Qi Ran really couldn’t imagine Liu Xu crying. Just thinking about it gave her goosebumps. Were they close enough friends to warrant a final letter? Wouldn’t that be overly sentimental?
Most importantly, what would she write? She racked her brains, but could only come up with some grandiose, empty blessings, like “May you lead a better life,” “Good luck with the Gaokao,” “May your dreams come true.” It all felt so hypocritical.
Or Tao Xiao?
Would Tao Xiao be sad? She didn’t know. Maybe. She had never actually seen Tao Xiao cry. Tao Xiao always seemed so capable. Perhaps she was a little jealous of Tao Xiao, and maybe even admired her a bit. Like how a daughter subconsciously imitates her mother, or a younger sister imitates her older sister.
But there was still a worry… a worry that if Tao Xiao found out she was dead, what if she showed an expression of relief?
Relief.
I see.
She suddenly felt the fog in her mind clear. She finally understood why she had felt such wariness towards Tao Xiao. It was such a childish reason.
What if Tao Xiao was only bound by her own sense of morality? She was such a gentle person, almost weak-willed. She definitely felt obligated to treat her husband’s daughter as her own, even after that husband went to prison. Maybe Tao Xiao actually found her a huge headache but felt she had no choice but to take responsibility. At this thought, an involuntary wave of nausea rose, reaching her throat. Qi Ran felt the urge to retch.
Responsibility—such a good word. But when connected to her, when someone had to be responsible for her, it became disgusting.
Now that she was dead, would Tao Xiao’s responsibility vanish?
She suddenly froze.
No, it wouldn’t.
Because she had chosen to walk home alone, just to avoid Tao Xiao. If she died, that responsibility would fall squarely on Tao Xiao. Death ends everything for the dead, but knowing Tao Xiao’s nature, she would never think, “It’s none of my business; she just didn’t listen.” She would only blame herself. Everything would be fixed, unchangeable in death.
Truly sickening.
“Do you want to live?”
Qi Ran suddenly heard her own voice say.
She nodded subconsciously.
Then, before her eyes, that touch of blue slowly pieced itself back together. It struggled to its feet. Its appearance alone would put any character from a horror movie to shame.
But strangely, Qi Ran didn’t feel a shred of fear. What she felt was more like familiarity. Like looking into a mirror. This was just how it was supposed to be.
It reached out a hand. Qi Ran reached out her own. The moment their fingertips touched, she felt an overwhelming, sweeping suction force engulf her. Starting from the point of contact, it swallowed her whole.
She plummeted through darkness, pain following closely behind.
