A world-renowned famous painter imprisoned, abused, with dozens of victims dead.
These keywords strung together were enough to cause a massive uproar from early morning that day, stirring up a huge storm across Country A.
The Qinghui Cup had already garnered immense attention, and Song Lan was one of the judges.
The combination overshadowed the upcoming award announcements and the exhibition’s opening entirely.
But none of this had anything to do with Sheng Shubai and Lu Jia anymore.
Not long after being rescued, Lu Jia sent Rong Yi a message to report that she was safe, only to be pulled onto a plane by Sheng Shubai.
The two hadn’t rested much in days. They slept through the flight and woke up back in the country.
The first thing upon landing was to take Lu Jia for a full-body checkup at the hospital. Then, they brought in a senior psychological counselor to guide her and assess whether the kidnapping would leave any mental trauma.
Afterward, the Sheng family matriarch came to visit. Lu Jia’s grandmother and mother also rushed to Z City. Lu Jia was surrounded by loved ones fussing over her until late into the night before things finally quieted down.
The elders thoughtfully left, giving the young ones some space.
Lu Jia changed from loungewear into pajamas and stepped out of the bedroom to find Sheng Shubai on the phone with someone.
“Do you still have things to take care of?”
After Sheng Shubai hung up, Lu Jia sidled over and asked.
She had caught the words “Country A” in the woman’s response but didn’t know the specifics.
Sheng Shubai ruffled her hair. “Some updates on Song Lan’s aftermath.”
The place where Song Lan had made those things turned out to be right below the prison cell. Most of the victims had been forced to ingest them, and now the police were investigating each one.
The incident was too big, and with the Sheng Family’s arranged media spreading the news immediately, public discussion raged on. The police treated it with utmost importance, their efficiency far exceeding the norm.
But with Shen Zhiwei’s testimony, Lu Jia didn’t need to go back for questioning. Her morning checkup report also showed everything normal.
Sheng Shuyun and Liu Zhao stayed in Country A to handle the follow-up.
That phone call had mentioned that after Song Lan was taken into custody, her mental state swung between madness and lucidity, with repeated suicide attempts.
In less than twenty-four hours, she had two failed attempts. Now, her limbs were restrained, and three guards watched her in shifts.
They couldn’t let her die so easily.
The Sheng Family’s stance was unanimous: They wanted this woman alive until the trial, when she would be utterly disgraced and publicly sentenced to death.
Sheng Shuyun would stay in Country A a few more days, not just to wrap up the Sheng Family’s arrangements over the years but also to fan the flames with major media outlets.
Now that the story had blown up, even without official police details, busybodies piecing together Song Lan’s past deeds revealed most of the truth.
The once-universally acclaimed genius had climbed to her honors on innocent lives. The famous philanthropist was actually a bloodthirsty executioner.
Even the students who studied printmaking under Song Lan weren’t all innocent.
The case details topped the foreign hot search lists but hadn’t yet reached the domestic ones—though it was only a matter of days.
Pulling Lu Jia back onto the sofa, Sheng Shubai said gently, “There are two pieces of news. I’ll start with the first one, okay?”
Seeing the odd look on her face, Lu Jia nodded obediently. “Tell me.”
She nestled into the woman’s arms, wrapping her arms around the slender waist and pulling her closer.
Sheng Shubai knew Lu Jia was worried about her and smiled softly. “The first is good news. You won the gold award.”
The moment they received the news, the Sheng Family had people cover up Lu Jia’s kidnapping, vaguely attributing Song Lan’s arrest to a vicious crime without specifics.
Lu Jia’s first major award like this would soon make her a rising star in the printmaking world, especially with the Sheng Family’s backing—her future was limitless.
Sheng Shubai wouldn’t allow even a hint of that woman’s shadow on Lu Jia’s name.
Almost as soon as she said it, the phone rang. It was Rong Yi.
Before leaving Country A, Lu Jia had asked her mentor to accept the award on her behalf if she won.
She heard the steady female voice on the line laced with joy, mixed with Shi Mengxi’s boisterous tone.
Learning that her senior sister’s work had also won a prestigious technique award, Lu Jia was equally happy for her.
“Are you doing okay right now? Once you’re recovered, let’s get together back home to celebrate.”
Rong Yi paused. “And invite Professor Sheng too.”
“Of course.”
That was Sheng Shubai speaking.
Tugged by the hem of her clothes by the girl in her arms, Sheng Shubai glanced at the phone on speaker and softened her tone further.
“Thanks for picking up the award for Xiaojia and for all your help these past few days. Why don’t you come to Z City when you’re free? Let Xiaojia take Mengxi to tour the exhibition hall at the old mansion?”
Rong Yi knew many peers in Country A who had helped out recently.
Turning this favor into something beneficial for Shi Mengxi would surely appeal to her.
Sure enough, Rong Yi agreed after a brief pause.
After some more small talk, they hung up. Lu Jia received a photo of the trophy from the other end.
She didn’t open it right away, tossing the phone aside and looking at Sheng Shubai. “You only told me the first one. What’s the second?”
Sheng Shubai was silent for a few seconds before saying, “Shen Zhiwei is dead.”
It happened very suddenly.
By the time the jailer noticed something wrong, it was too late to save her.
Preliminary judgment: Over the years, Song Lan had forced or coaxed her into ingesting those substances in excessive doses. Combined with extreme emotional agitation she couldn’t control, it triggered a sudden heart attack.
Lu Jia sighed softly.
She wasn’t a bleeding heart. For someone who had kidnapped her and harmed so many others, she felt no pity.
But on the way back, she had already heard the whole story from Sheng Shubai.
Pitiful, yet hateful.
Hateful, yet pitiful.
She didn’t know how to judge Shen Zhiwei, nor could she pinpoint her feelings—perhaps a bit less than sympathy, a bit more than indifference.
Lu Jia just thought she would have preferred Shen Zhiwei to die after Song Lan.
In her final moments, Shen Zhiwei probably regretted not seeing Song Lan convicted with her own eyes.
Next Qingming Festival, when Song Lan was surely sentenced to death, she would burn incense for Shen Zhiwei and tell her the good news.
It would repay the favor of her cooperating with Sheng Shubai to help rescue her.
Seeing Lu Jia’s lashes droop, Sheng Shubai guessed her thoughts.
She gently took Lu Jia’s hand and said softly, “Good and evil have their consequences; there’s always a price.”
The girl was still young. Even after brushing death this time, she held some sympathy for Shen Zhiwei’s past.
Sheng Shubai was different.
Song Lan and Shen Zhiwei had kidnapped and tormented Lu Jia, committing those crimes. She felt no mercy toward them.
Even if Shen Zhiwei had been a victim back then, it was no excuse for aiding and abetting all these years.
She had chosen her own path.
–
“Song Lan’s condition is very bad.”
When Sheng Shubai received this message, her brows furrowed slightly. She wondered if the woman could hold out until the trial.
It was early morning domestically.
She planted a gentle kiss on the girl’s forehead.
After hesitating a few seconds, she reluctantly released her arm around Lu Jia and quietly left the bedroom.
During yesterday’s psychological counseling for Lu Jia, the girl insisted Sheng Shubai stay by her side.
Unable to refuse and worried Lu Jia feared recalling those days, Sheng Shubai agreed to accompany her.
Throughout, the girl recounted every detail calmly and rationally—from waking up after being knocked out, to her confrontations with the two, to Song Lan threatening her with a knife.
Only at the end did the counselor say Lu Jia’s mental resilience was excellent, with no issues, so Sheng Shubai needn’t worry.
Though relieved, Sheng Shubai ached even more for what the girl had endured.
If not for Song Lan’s situation, she wouldn’t dream of leaving the bedroom. What if the girl woke up and didn’t see her?
The message came from Sheng Shuyun’s people, saying three minutes ago, Song Lan had just driven the nurse out of the ward.
Before leaving Country A, Sheng Shubai had given special instructions.
Song Lan was injured and shackled in the hospital ward under monitoring.
Sheng Shubai paid top dollar to bribe all the nurses, instructing them to loudly read hot search news and public comments in front of Song Lan whenever possible, picking the harshest ones.
With the Sheng Family’s influence in Country A and Song Lan’s heinous crimes, the police turned a blind eye.
A crippled wreck with broken hands and feet endured endless police interrogations and, even back in her ward, couldn’t cover her ears to block the noise.
Every second felt worse than a year.
No visitors, no concern—just cold or disdainful gazes.
Her former mentor, close colleagues, and students over the years were all implicated.
The power and fame she once prided herself on now crashed back as a tidal wave, turning her into a pariah.
How could this…
How dare they…
These people were only fit to be trampled underfoot, only fit to look up at her. This was all fake… fake!
Song Lan was on the verge of madness.
“Reports say the famous painter Song Lan is suspected in multiple murders, imprisonments, and kidnappings. She was arrested in the early hours of today. Police currently…”
Accompanied by the report from the phone, the increasingly loud readings of comments filled her ears. Articulate and dramatic.
It permeated the entire ward; she had nowhere to hide.
Especially when she heard, “Reliable sources say the actual author of that Qinghui Cup Gold Award-winning piece from back then was someone else,” Song Lan lost control.
“Enough!”
She thrashed violently, trying to strangle the nurse beside her, forgetting her limbs were securely cuffed and recently pierced by bullets.
Excruciating pain surged through her.
Eyes bloodshot, teeth chattering, she glared at the nurse like a demon. “Get out! Don’t come in!”
The nurse tsked, signaled to the camera for approval, set the phone video to loop, and swiftly left, locking the door.
“It’s not like this… it’s not… this is a dream, it must all be a dream…”
Neurotic mutterings.
In her daze, she seemed to see Sheng Ling beckoning her.
“Ah Lan, the Qinghui Cup is such a great opportunity. You have to enter.”
“What about you?”
“Of course I’ll enter too. If we both win, we’ll come back holding our trophies together—the most enviable couple.”
The scene darkened, then brightened. Now Sheng Ling held the gold trophy on stage, surrounded by flashing lights and media, smiling gracefully.
No! Impossible!
Why was Sheng Ling always better?!
The gold award was hers—it should have been hers!
As if reading her mind, the vision shifted to her holding the trophy, with a tombstone nearby.
Twisted for so many years, Song Lan had long forgotten her feelings upon hearing of Sheng Ling’s death.
But none of that mattered now!
She had won. She could finally beat Sheng Ling!
Song Lan burst into laughter, but it grew harder to breathe.
Something crushed her chest.
One hand, two hands, three hands… dozens of hands.
Song Lan froze, looking up in disbelief. Vaguely, she saw shadows of many people.
All familiar—young women who died by her hand over the years. Some bloodied in their final moments, others barely alive when tossed into the sea, devoured by fish until unrecognizable.
Dozens of lives pressed down; she could hardly breathe.
Finally, Shen Zhiwei aimed a gun at her forehead, smiling with resolute joy.
She snapped out of the hallucination with a struggle.
Breathing grew harder. Song Lan’s eyes bulged.
Her throat wheezed as she clenched her fingers, grasping at nothing.
Her features twisted; words squeezed through gritted teeth. “I… won…”
But the words cut off as her wrist slammed against the bedrail.
No more breath came.
In the hospital room, only a video that had looped countless times remained, playing once more from the beginning:
“It has been reported that the famous painter Song Lan was suspected of multiple murders…”
–
Z City, Suburban Cemetery.
Sheng Shubai placed a bouquet of blue-and-white baby’s breath in front of the tombstone and tilted her head to look at the sky. It was a clear spring day, and even the passing breeze felt gentle.
In previous years, it had always rained during the Qingming Festival visits to the grave.
As a result, her final impression of Sheng Ling had lingered on the burial day over a decade ago, with the sound of rain echoing endlessly.
Sheng Shubai gazed at the black-and-white photo on the tombstone.
In the photo, Sheng Ling was forever smiling, in her twenties, young and full of vitality. Now, Sheng Shubai was already in her early thirties, nearly a decade older than Sheng Ling had been back then.
“Auntie, I’m here to see you again.”
As soon as she spoke, Sheng Shubai feared she might not hold back her tears, so she temporarily shifted her gaze from the photo to the bouquet of baby’s breath she had brought.
These were Sheng Ling’s favorite flowers in life—free and romantic.
After steadying her emotions, Sheng Shubai said softly, “Song Lan is dead. Heart attack. Before the law could pass judgment, she died first in her hospital room.”
Over the years, to gain more inspiration for herself, Song Lan had consumed even larger doses of those substances than Shen Zhiwei.
After carefully reviewing the surveillance footage and confirming that Song Lan’s death process had been agonizing, Sheng Shubai felt a little better.
She didn’t want that woman to die painlessly—that would have been too easy for her.
She fell silent for a few seconds, as if waiting for Sheng Ling’s reaction.
Sheng Shubai continued, recounting in detail what had happened during her trip to Country A. She knew Sheng Ling would want to know, so she spoke word for word, at great length.
She described Song Lan’s evil deeds and her eventual downfall.
She admitted her own lingering resentment, feeling that the woman had died too lightly.
Sheng Shubai didn’t hide anything in front of Sheng Ling—she knew her aunt would understand her feelings.
A long time passed before the topic wound down. But Sheng Shubai didn’t rush to leave. Instead, she began talking about Lu Jia, her tone unconsciously softening.
Gentle breezes blew in waves, mild in strength.
She knew that if Sheng Ling were here, she would listen intently—perhaps even tease her about her relationship with Lu Jia—so Sheng Shubai spoke in even greater detail.
“Xiaojia came with me today. She’s waiting over there. I’ll bring her to say hello later. Auntie, you’d definitely like her.”
At this point, Sheng Shubai let out a soft laugh.
“If you could see Xiaojia’s works, you’d definitely want to take her as a student.”
With those words, Sheng Shubai stood up and looked into the distance.
Lu Jia had considerately not followed, leaving the space for her and Sheng Ling. She leaned against the car door, waiting patiently. Seeing Sheng Shubai approach, she took a few proactive steps forward.
“Shall we go say hello to Auntie?”
This was something they had discussed before coming today.
Lu Jia curved her eyes in agreement. “Okay.”
Sheng Shubai ruffled her hair, followed by a soft embrace.
The sky was clear. The warm spring sunlight shone on them, casting overlapping slanted shadows.
Sheng Shubai closed her eyes briefly.
It wasn’t just the gentle warmth of the sunlight—there was also the soft warmth of the person in her arms. It was so wonderful that for many years, she hadn’t dared to hope for such peace.
Everything had finally settled.
The long-accumulated dampness and gloom pressing on her heart finally dissipated.
