Liang Sheng no longer cared. She didn’t want to live anymore. Everyone at the company pointed and whispered about her because of Lin Yiyi’s words. Her mother didn’t understand her either and subjected her to constant “psychological education,” even spreading her embarrassing secrets everywhere, as if she couldn’t wait for the whole world to know. She was twenty-eight, nearing thirty, yet she had no personal freedom at all.
With vicious determination, she clawed at Lin Yiyi’s mouth. Lin Yiyi kicked and punched her in pain, but Mature Liang Sheng didn’t let go. Only when she saw blood trickling from the corner of the other woman’s mouth did she finally release her grip, satisfied, and turned to leave.
When she got home, her mother was already waiting for her. The fleeting thrill of tearing into someone earlier evaporated in an instant. Even now, at the sight of her own mother, a deep-seated fear gripped both her body and soul.
“Your performance today has left me extremely disappointed,” Zhao Xin said sternly, fixing Liang Sheng with a hard stare.
Witnessing all this from above, Liang Sheng couldn’t help but shiver. It had been so long since she’d seen her original mother, but the fear lingered.
Mature Liang Sheng lowered her head, letting the accusations wash over her. She had grown accustomed to it.
“Mr. Jin comes from a good family, and he’s a decent man.”
“Hah, you’re just after his money, aren’t you?” Mature Liang Sheng thought. She didn’t want to live anyway—what did it matter if she talked back a little?
Zhao Xin eyed Mature Liang Sheng in surprise for a moment, wondering why her usually obedient daughter was suddenly contradicting her today.
“I’m doing this for your own good…”
“Hah? For my own good?!” Mature Liang Sheng looked up. “Everything’s ‘for my own good.’ I wanted to study journalism, but you forced me into finance, saying it was for my own good. Fine, I listened to you. But now you want me to marry a bald, narcissistic, divorced man I’ve only met a handful of times?!”
“You!” Zhao Xin staggered back from the verbal blow. It had been ages since her daughter had talked back like this, and now she glared with bulging eyes. That little rascal had grown up, had she? Daring to defy her own mother! She’d show her!
“And do you even know how Lin Yiyi badmouths me everywhere in that company you insisted I join? Do you have any idea how precarious my situation there is now? I want to quit, but you won’t let me! Are you trying to mold my life into the one you want, or make me fulfill the regrets you never could?!” Mature Liang Sheng’s emotions spiraled out of control.
Zhao Xin stood up without backing down, her eyes widening like saucers. “You pervert have the nerve to talk to me like that? Being a lesbian is disgusting and shameful enough as it is—others find you repulsive, and whose fault is that? Yours, that’s who!”
Liang Sheng trembled violently, her laughter shaky and tearful, more like sobbing.
“Fine, it’s my fault! All my fault! I never should have… been born… into this world! Me living is what’s disgusting! I’m just your burden, a worthless piece of trash! Happy now? Don’t worry—you’ll be even happier soon.” With that, she stormed into her small room and slammed the door shut with a resounding boom, locking it tight.
Zhao Xin seethed with rage at Mature Liang Sheng’s defiance. She marched to the door and pounded on it furiously. “Bang, bang, bang!” “Grown some wings, have you, little rascal? Think I can’t beat you anymore? If you dare come out today, I’ll kill you!” A torrent of foul language followed.
Mature Liang Sheng lay stiff as a corpse on the bed, utterly motionless, her face expressionless. Only the tear tracing down her cheek proved she still felt anything at all.
Slowly, she sat up and shuffled to the pillow. Her hand slipped beneath it, pulling out a rusty fruit knife.
The scene felt so familiar. The Liang Sheng hovering in the air suddenly understood why she had the habit of keeping a knife under her pillow. For one thing, it stemmed from a lack of security, a fear of sudden harm. For another, it was a backup plan for herself.
It hurt—a lot. Mature Liang Sheng had slit her wrists once before and knew that heart-wrenching agony all too well. But compared to the inhuman torment her soul endured day after day, a brief physical pain was a fair trade for eternal relief.
The rusty blade was dull. She slipped once, slicing too shallowly; flesh parted, but the cut was slight. Still, the blood flowed steadily. Liang Sheng nearly cried out from the pain, bit her lip hard, and slashed deeper with grim resolve.
Her lip broke open, blood welling up, but it paled beside the gash on her wrist—wide enough to hold her heart. Blood gushed forth as Mature Liang Sheng shuddered uncontrollably. She closed her eyes, awaiting death’s embrace.
People always revisited memories before dying.
An image flashed in Mature Liang Sheng’s mind: her father caught cheating yet again, his face clawed beyond recognition by her enraged mother.
Another scene followed: in middle school, she struggled with social interactions, stuttering whenever she spoke, her grades poor. Every time she answered a question, the class erupted in laughter. Over time, she developed Pinocchio Syndrome—any unexpected laughter made her feel targeted, her body stiffening up.
Then came high school, when depression set in amid her mother’s uncomprehending stares and the whispers, mockery, and curses from those around her. It was as if her depression stemmed solely from her own fragility and glass heart, unrelated to her environment or the people in it.
Confusion and agony flooded every part of her being.
Were there no good memories? Couldn’t she feel even a shred of warmth or kindness from this cold world in her final moments?
There were—there were some.
Her mother truly loved her. To get her treatment, that woman had carried her across the country to see doctors, even skimping on her own medical care when she fell ill.
Her mother doted on her, skimping on her own meals to save money each month for Liang Sheng’s favorite foods or expensive, nutritious treats—never taking even a bite for herself, saving it all for her daughter.
Before marriage, her mother had been a beautiful delicate lady, gentle in temperament, fair-skinned and lovely.
When had she turned into a Mother Rakshasa? After discovering her husband’s first affair post-marriage.
Her world had collapsed. Her father ignored the infant her and the mother still recovering from childbirth, carousing every night.
Back then, her father’s monthly salary of two thousand yuan left only five hundred after he handed it over. Her mother had to dip into her own savings from pre-marriage jobs to raise her. Whether married or divorced, little had changed.
What had twisted her mother like this? A failed marriage and an illness—poverty. What had broken Liang Sheng? A broken home, indifferent classmates, and the same illness: poverty.
Her mother, crushed by poverty and financial strain, had fallen ill but couldn’t afford treatment. She kept saying it was all because of raising Liang Sheng that she couldn’t seek care herself.
Liang Sheng had always felt indebted to her mother, so she’d obeyed unquestioningly, hoping to ease her burden and bring her some joy.
But now, she couldn’t take it anymore. She was so, so tired…
The memories hadn’t even finished when Mature Liang Sheng’s body went rigid. The blood had run dry.
