Chapter 57: Worshipping Gods and Buddhas

He Sui rubbed his face and said in a hoarse voice, “A-Yan, he’s already dead. Don’t you know that?”

“What kind of madness are you Ravings?” Tan Yanning’s brows furrowed.

He really didn’t want to deal with He Sui tonight. After saying this, he pushed He Sui aside, intending to return to the dormitory.

The program crew’s live broadcast was intermittent. After escaping from the village chief’s house, it became almost impossible to see anything clearly. All anyone knew was that something had happened, and now the trending searches were in an uproar.

He Sui was soaked through. He wiped the rainwater from his face again; it was rare to see him in such a wretched state.

Tan Yanning glanced at him, indifferent to his miserable condition, but he was blocked by He Sui once again.

“What I’m saying is true,” He Sui’s voice was still trembling, and he couldn’t even bother with Tan Yanning’s cold attitude. He caught his breath for a moment and said, “Let’s go talk in your car.”

Tan Yanning’s face darkened with annoyance, but the He family was, after all, powerful and wealthy. He didn’t dare offend He Sui too much, so he could only get into the car.

The heater was on in the car, and He Sui’s icy body finally recovered a bit. He leaned against the car seat, gasping for breath with difficulty.

He had run down the mountain alone. The fog was extremely thick, and he had lost his way at one point. Fortunately, he had a magical treasure his father had given him in his hiking bag, which occasionally cleared the dense mist.

Even with his excellent physical stamina, a “speed-run” through such a superstitious mountain village in the middle of the night was a life-threatening ordeal. It wasn’t easy for him to finally reach the highway.

His phone was out of power. Seeing headlights in the distance, he waved his hand, and the driver stopped beside him.

He lowered his head, intending to get in, but out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed something that made his entire body go stiff. Above the license plate of this car hung a large black silk flower.

The cold air mixed with the darkness, burrowing straight into the marrow of his bones. He Sui suddenly shivered. When he looked up again, the driver’s pale, eerie face had drifted toward him at some unknown point. Pitch-black eyes with no whites stared at him, slowly splitting into a grin.

A hearse.

After He Sui realized it, he let out a low curse, grabbed the Buddhist beads in his hand, and smashed them toward the ghost driver before turning around and bolting.

The ghost driver was hit in the face by the beads and let out a shrill, piercing scream behind him. His entire face rapidly carbonized.

He Sui ran forward again, his legs nearly breaking from the effort, before the number of cars on the road finally began to increase.

He stopped a taxi. After pulling open the door, he fiercely threw his hiking bag at the driver first. This time, nothing changed; the driver looked like a human.

The driver was stunned by the impact and opened his mouth to curse, but He Sui threw ten thousand in cash at him. Crawling into the car, his whole body shivering with cold, he told the driver to return to the city. Only then did the driver shut his mouth.

Probably some young master running away from home, the driver muttered while tucking the money away. Just looks like his head isn’t working quite right.

He Sui charged his phone in the car. After turning it on, he finally saw the message sent from home. His cracked lips trembled, and his pupils shrank instantly.

He stared at those few words in disbelief. After a long while, he spoke in a hoarse voice, telling the driver, “Go to Beijing University first.”

…

“I’m not lying to you,” He Sui said to Tan Yanning, his hair still dripping rainwater and his face deathly pale. “You know Tan Shangli was adopted and isn’t biological, right?”

Tan Yanning frowned. What did this have to do with Tan Shangli?

He Sui looked at him and spoke with difficulty, “Back then, your parents did have a child, but that child wasn’t Tan Xueci…”

After Father Tan and Mother Tan got married, they hadn’t been able to conceive for several years. Mother Tan’s maiden family used to be wealthy in Beijing, but after her father passed away, the family fell into decline. It was only thanks to Father Tan’s help that it didn’t collapse completely, so she had always felt guilty about being unable to conceive.

Father Tan’s original name was Tan Xiangyong. After he made his fortune, he found a master to change his name to Tan Chongchuan, implying that he had crossed the “lofty mountains and ridges” of life and that the future would be a “vast, level plain.”

He was actually born in a poverty-stricken county. In his first year of high school, his grades weren’t good, and he spent his days fighting and making trouble until a philanthropist from Beijing came to his school to give a lecture.

That philanthropist was Gao Ying’s father, Gao Qingping. At that time, Gao Ying and her mother had also gone to the school.

Gao Qingping wore a very low-profile, restrained suit, but it still couldn’t hide the aura surrounding him. He looked very polite, even overly gentle, yet he made people afraid to offend him.

Gao Ying and her mother were also so beautiful that people didn’t dare look directly at them, making this county school look drab and dusty in comparison.

It was the first time Tan Chongchuan had seen such a dignified big boss. He suddenly felt that being a “king” or “hegemon” in school was no real skill; if one truly had ability, one should go out and build a career.

From then on, he studied hard and got into a university in Beijing. Then, by chance, he met Gao Ying again.

He regarded Gao Ying’s family as his benefactors and cherished his wife deeply. Gao Ying was anxious to have children, but he actually didn’t care much about offspring.

However, seeing Gao Ying unable to eat or sleep over the matter of a child, he felt truly pained and went to a Taoist to have their fortunes read.

The Taoist said they were fated to be childless but that if they adopted one, there might be hope of conceiving.

A child had been left behind, kicked around by relatives with no fixed abode. So, he adopted that child and renamed him Tan Shangli.

Soon after, Gao Ying became pregnant, and they gave birth to a child.

It was Fallot’s Tetralogy—a type of congenital heart disease with a malformed heart. Not long after, the child also developed pulmonary edema and…

Gao Ying had only recently had her C-section, but she stayed by the child’s hospital bed day and night, shedding tears.

The couple sought medical help everywhere. The child finally survived, but his body remained frail.

The doctors’ attitude was not optimistic. They told them to be mentally prepared; the child’s Lupus Erythematosus was very serious, and combined with his poor heart, many medicines couldn’t be used, making treatment extremely difficult.

Gao Ying refused to accept this fate. She brought the child home to raise him carefully, but when he turned three, he fell seriously ill again.

The doctors’ rhetoric was much the same. Even Tan Chongchuan’s parents advised her that perhaps some children were just “heavenly attendants” coming to the human world for a brief visit before returning, and one shouldn’t force it.

But Gao Ying was unwilling. Initially, she wanted to repay Tan Chongchuan, but once the child was born, he was a piece of flesh that had fallen from her own body. In her despair, she carried the child everywhere to worship gods and Buddhas. Eventually, she drew a “Lotus Divination Stick” at a temple.

There were no monks in the temple to help her interpret the stick. After searching through many people, she finally found a Taoist.

“Lotus?” The old Taoist held the stick, glanced at the child in Gao Ying’s arms, and shook his head with a sigh. “In Buddhism, the lotus has the meaning of rebirth. Your child will face a great calamity when he is seven years old. To survive, he can only use ‘Substitute Life, Substitute Death.'”

“Daoist Master,” Gao Ying was exhausted to the limit. Her beautiful face was pale and her hair was disheveled. Knowing the child still had a chance, tears burst out instantly. She hurriedly asked, “What do you mean by ‘Substitute Life, Substitute Death’?”

The old Taoist stroked his beard and said, “Your child’s Bazi (Eight Characters of Destiny) is weak, and his Yin energy is too heavy. He is easily haunted by small ghosts. His body was already poor; if he is haunted further, he will eventually be taken away by the small ghosts.”

Hearing his words, Gao Ying reflexively tightened her embrace, fearing some small ghost would pop out and snatch her child.

“Substitute Life means finding a child with a Pure Yang Bazi to switch fates with him,” the old Taoist paused and looked at her. “Substitute Death means finding someone with an even more Yin Bazi than his, so the small ghosts can’t tell which one is your child, and then that person will die in his place.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it fell upon Gao Ying’s ears like a thunderclap. Gao Ying stumbled back home with the child and told her husband about the matter.

Initially, Tan Chongchuan didn’t want to agree. Wasn’t this equivalent to taking another person’s child’s life to trade for their own? It sounded like it would severely damage their karmic virtue. But he couldn’t withstand his wife’s tears and pleas, so he finally agreed and began helping her search for a child.

But such a child wasn’t easy to find. Even if he could use private connections to check other children’s Bazi at hospitals, once he found one, there was no way to bring the child over.

He couldn’t exactly go to someone else’s house and snatch them by force.

He also sent people to orphanages to look, but most children in orphanages were abandoned. Some didn’t even know how old they were, let alone their exact birth times.

Whether it was fate or a curse, they actually found one in the end. There was a newborn baby at Sacred Heart Orphanage.

The child’s mother had been an employee at the orphanage. Her husband had died in a boiler explosion at a factory workshop while she was in her late pregnancy, leaving her psychologically traumatized.

She was an orphan herself who grew up in the orphanage. She loved those children dearly, so after graduation, she returned to work there. The children all liked to call her Mother Xiao Fang.

Her husband was also an orphan. They had no other relatives in this world and were each other’s greatest support. She had thought she could have a new little family with her husband and child, but this happened before the baby was even born.

However, her personality was very cheerful and resilient. After finishing her husband’s funeral, she quickly returned to the orphanage.

Sacred Heart Orphanage was very poor and didn’t have many employees. She kept it in her heart, wanting to go back and help take care of the children.

The older children in the orphanage all knew that the uncle who visited often seemed to have died. They wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how to start, so they just watched her hesitantly.

She would always rub their heads vigorously, pat her belly, and say with a laugh, “That’s right, he’s too much. Once I raise the baby, I’m going to go scold him severely in the future.”

With her optimism, the other employees thought she was truly fine. But in reality, she was overly grief-stricken. She suffered a difficult labor while giving birth, and the baby had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, nearly suffocating. She died on the operating table, and the child was barely brought into the world.

His birth time was the exact time of his mother’s death, so although he was an orphan, his Bazi was very clear.

He was born on a night near the Mid-Autumn Festival when the moon was round and full, yet his Bazi was Pure Yin, and he was born with a calamity in his destiny.

The director of the orphanage desperately wanted to save this child. Xiao Fang had grown up in her orphanage; she had watched her grow up, get married, and become pregnant, only to die after just a few days of happiness. How could she not be sad?

But the child had been deprived of oxygen for too long. The doctor said that even if he were barely saved, his intelligence might have problems in the future. Furthermore, their orphanage already had several sick children and likely couldn’t afford the treatment costs for this child.

The director sat in the hospital corridor with the child for a whole night, weeping the entire time. Feeling the child’s cold little face, she finally decided to give up treatment and take him back.

However, unexpectedly, not long after taking him back, Gao Ying and Tan Chongchuan arrived at the orphanage, saying they wanted to adopt the child.

They even said that no matter how much money it cost, they were willing to treat his illness; they had a “predestined affinity” with this child.

It was the first time the director had seen such great philanthropists. Amidst her gratitude, she felt a bit strange because Gao Ying and the others repeatedly confirmed the child’s exact hour of birth.

Regardless, as long as the child could live, it was fine. She didn’t think too much at the time and handed the child over to Gao Ying and her husband.

Tan Xueci remembered everything since his birth. Back then, many people were crying near him, as if someone had died. He was groggy, spending most of his time sleeping. When he opened his eyes again, Grandma Director was holding him. Her aged face, crisscrossed with wrinkles, was covered in tears as she said to him, “Look, this is Mama.”

He couldn’t understand anything. Sucking on his finger, he looked at the couple in front of him and made a few “ah-ah” sounds like a kitten.

When Gao Ying heard this, her tears fell instantly. She pulled him into her arms, lowered her head to press against his forehead, and cried until she could barely stand. When her own child was born, he had been just like this—so thin, so small, looking so pitiful.

Although Tan Xueci couldn’t understand their words, he could feel it—the temperature of a mother’s tears.

Father Tan stood by, holding his wife’s shoulder and comforting her, while also reaching out to touch the child’s little face.

Seeing that they liked the child so much, the director felt even more at ease than before and said she would visit the child later.

Tan Xueci was carried away in a daze. When his parents took him to the hospital, he was already failing in the car. His lips were cyanotic. Gao Ying held him, lowering her head to listen to his almost vanished heartbeat. Her tears flowed onto his little face as she called out to her husband in a panic, “Chongchuan, what should we do? The child seems to be dying.”

“Don’t be afraid,” there was also pain in Tan Chongchuan’s eyes as he helped her protect the child. He comforted her, “It’s fine. He can definitely be saved at the hospital. He’s still so small; who would have the heart to take him?”

Tan Xueci stayed in an incubator for a long time and even underwent several surgeries. He weighed only a bit over three pounds, lighter than a kitten, and his body was covered in tubes.

Because of the oxygen deprivation at birth, his body was covered in patches of purplish-red spots. He looked ugly, even frightening, like a little monster, and his features couldn’t even be clearly seen. Sometimes, when he gained a bit of consciousness, he would see his mother through the glass, her eyes red as she watched him.

He fainted and woke up several times, finally gaining the strength to suckle on his own. At that time, his mother sobbed uncontrollably, and even Tan Chongchuan took off his glasses and turned away to wipe a tear.

Tan Xueci stayed in the hospital for nearly half a year before his body gradually improved. Fortunately, his brain was fine. Though according to the doctor uncle, he was a bit dull, he wasn’t exactly a “little fool.”

Back then, he often needed IV drips. He was skin and bones, and his hands were too small, making the injections very painful. He loved to cry, and his mother would always hold him and gently coax him. Sometimes, before he even cried, his mother would start crying first, holding his little hand and heartfully blowing on it for him.

His mother stayed with him in the hospital every day, so Tan Xueci wasn’t afraid at all. His father would come after work, and he also had a big brother. Big brother would also come to see him after school.

Following the Taoist’s instructions, Gao Ying couldn’t give Tan Xueci a formal name. Once he had a name, he would have a karmic connection with them. Furthermore, she needed Tan Xueci to take the position of the Second Young Master of the Tan family and treat Tan Xueci just like her own child; that way, the small ghosts would take Tan Xueci away as her child.

Tan Xueci was very well-behaved when he slept, never making a fuss. Gao Ying gave him the nickname “Xiao Gui” (Little Well-Behaved One) and ordered everyone in the house, including the servants, to call him Xiao Gui or Second Young Master.

Gao Ying and Tan Chongchuan weren’t exactly wicked people. Moreover, while Tan Xueci had initially been red and purple all over and quite frightening, he actually grew more and more beautiful as time went on. His biological parents’ looks weren’t particularly outstanding, yet Tan Xueci was exceptionally cute.

The guilt in Gao Ying’s heart grew heavier day by day. She touched Tan Xueci’s little face and promised him, “Xiao Gui, Mama will be good to you. I’ll treat you just like my own child.”

Tan Xueci blinked, reaching out a little hand that had been raised to be white and tender, to touch her face.

His palm was very soft and had no strength, but it was more effective than all the consolation in the world.

After Tan Xueci was moved to a general ward, his mother bought him a little sheep plushie because he was so well-behaved, like a little lamb with drooping ears, and his skin was milky white.

Tan Xueci still remembered when his parents taught him how to walk. His father squatted a short distance in front of him, while his mother followed behind him, terrified he would fall.

He was wobbly, like a weak and powerless newborn lamb. It made one’s heart race, thinking he would surely take a tumble, but he stood up on his own and even wobbled forward a few steps, falling into his father’s palms.

His father very happily lifted him high up, just like Simba being lifted in The Lion King.

Tan Xueci stayed in the hospital for a long time and was finally able to go home. After arriving home, he discovered that he actually had another brother.

That brother was very thin, three or four years older than him, and his skin was even paler than his own, looking as if he were constantly ill.

They all called him A-Yan.

Gao Ying made the servants change their way of address to call Tan Xueci “Second Young Master,” while her own child could only be called by his name; no one was allowed to call him “Young Master.” If she heard it, they would be fined.

Tan Xueci stared with his dark, moist, and beautiful eyes at the brother called A-Yan.

“Mama,” A-Yan’s thin little hands gripped the edge of the bed as he looked up and pleaded in a small voice, “Can I hold Little Brother for a moment?”

Gao Ying was afraid he would drop Tan Xueci—what if he fell to his death? Tan Xueci’s life was very important. She had wanted to refuse, but Tan Xueci blinked and suddenly reached out his own little hands.

A-Yan very happily leaned over the edge of the bed and gave him a hug.

Gao Ying was stunned for a moment, and her gaze softened as well.

That Taoist had only said to substitute death but hadn’t said exactly how. Furthermore, the man could no longer be found. Gao Ying felt uneasy in her heart, so she had the two children sleep together at night.

A-Yan’s health actually did become much better than before. The more she thought about it, the more she felt that doing this might be correct. Perhaps Tan Xueci was taking away the Yin energy and illness from A-Yan’s body.

But in reality, it was just because Tan Xueci was cute.

A-Yan had Lupus Erythematosus. His joints were swollen and malformed, and he often couldn’t sleep at night due to the pain. Fearing his mother would worry, he never dared to tell her unless it was truly unbearable.

He liked reading very much. By the age of three or four, he already knew many words and even understood a sentence: This body is full of illness and pain, suffering through day and night.

But after having Tan Xueci, Tan Xueci would lie on the bed and smile at him, play with his own chubby little feet, or press his face against A-Yan’s sickly face and “wu-wu” while calling him “Brother.”

Leaning against Tan Xueci’s warm little body, A-Yan felt an urge to cry. He was no longer all alone. His mood improved a lot, and his complexion began to look a bit more ruddy.

As Tan Xueci gradually grew up, he discovered that he seemed to be adopted. His mother kept telling him to accompany his brother.

He didn’t know the reason he was adopted, but little Tan Xueci didn’t care.

Anyway, his parents and two brothers were all very good to him.

Perhaps because his parents had to work and his eldest brother had to go to school, they couldn’t accompany his brother. It didn’t matter; he could be a “little illiterate,” not go to school, and stay at home to accompany his brother.

Gao Ying didn’t teach Tan Xueci anything. According to the Taoist, her child would face a great calamity at the age of seven, which meant Tan Xueci would only live until he was three at most. As long as he was happy, it didn’t matter if he knew nothing.

Tan Xueci was practically treated like a “Little Bodhisattva.” The whole family was very good to him. He originally liked to “wu-wu” and run around everywhere, and being pampered only made him more of a “little rascal.”

He was extremely busy even during a meal because he had to finish what was in his own small bowl first, then run over to cling to his mother and let her feed him a bite, then go find his father, and then go find his eldest brother.

Finally, he had to run over to feed his brother.

Nanny Zhang and Mother Tan’s relationship was better than that of sisters. She even spent her own money to have a gold collar made for Tan Xueci to wear.

Although Tan Xueci’s health wasn’t great either, he was raised to look snowy white and soft. His soft jaw was surrounded by a fluffy white fur collar, and he wore that gold-inlaid jade collar. Anyone who saw him when he went out would praise him. In a home that had been sickly and gloomy, the sound of laughter grew more frequent.

Brother could no longer walk and had started using a wheelchair; even at home, he was bedridden. Little Tan Xueci would stand on his tiptoes to pour water for his brother to drink, then help him spread the quilt so they could sleep together.

At night, Brother would hold him, and Tan Xueci would hold his own little sheep. Brother attempted to teach the “little illiterate” a few words, but the little illiterate would pick up the sheep and cover his eyes, “wu-wu”-ing that he wanted to be illiterate, looking very averse to learning.

Brother couldn’t bring himself to teach him then, either. He would pinch his face with great amusement, not knowing what to do with him.

He didn’t know why his parents had adopted Tan Xueci, but he liked this younger brother very much. He knew his body was poor and that he might not live for long. His eldest brother had a silent personality; when the time came, Tan Xueci would still be there to accompany their parents.

He touched Tan Xueci’s small shoulders, feeling that it was very unfair to Tan Xueci. They always wanted Tan Xueci to accompany someone, but Tan Xueci was the child who should be accompanied.

“I’m sorry,” Brother said with a pale face, pulling him into his arms. “I’m sorry, Xiao Gui.”

Tan Xueci’s eyes widened. He didn’t know why his brother was apologizing to him. He hummed and grunted, using both hands and feet to burrow into his brother’s arms, shrinking into a small ball—like a little snowman turning into a little snowball. He said, “I like Brother A-Yan the most.”

They grew up together.

He was raised by his brother. His brother taught him to speak, taught him to use chopsticks, fed him, and took care of his little sheep when he went out to play. He liked his brother so very much.

Time passed quickly. In the year Tan Xueci turned three, Gao Ying and Tan Chongchuan went to have a small coffin made for him. It was exquisite and beautiful, lined with soft cashmere padding inside.

They also put in many jade ornaments, jewelry, and toys. Fearing Tan Xueci would be scared, they even carved many little sheep inside.

Tan Xueci felt that his mother was often in a bad mood during that time. She would hold him and daze off, or suddenly burst into tears and tell him she was sorry, which made him a bit afraid.

Furthermore, during those few days, his brother’s Lupus Erythematosus flared up. He went to the hospital, and the whole family was very worried.

Gao Ying went back to that temple. It was a day of torrential rain. She knelt on the prayer mat, devoutly bowed three times, and prayed with tears in her eyes: “Namo ten directions, three periods, all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas… I beg of you. I hope my child never leaves me.”

She had heard people say this temple was very efficacious, but she didn’t even know which god or Buddha was enshrined inside.

In the gloomy and dim rainstorm, the face of the divine statue was also covered in a layer of shadow. With lowered brows and eyes, it seemed to be smiling.

Brother had been running a fever. Tan Xueci lay beside him, clutching a few of his fingers. Sometimes when Brother woke up, he would hold him and they would look at a picture book together.

It was Brother’s favorite picture book. it illustrated a story of a family going to the seaside to catch little crabs.

The lights by the sea were brilliant. Several children carried small buckets; after catching little fish and crabs, they followed their parents home.

Tan Xueci propped up his snowy white cheeks, looking down at the book then up at his brother. He swallowed his saliva, not knowing if these little fish were tasty, but Brother wasn’t as greedy as he was; he probably didn’t want to eat the fish.

He wanted to tell his mother that Brother wanted little fish. But Lupus Erythematosus was originally an immune system disease; Gao Ying was constantly on edge, fearing the slightest problem with her child. Such “dirty” things could never be bought for him to play with.

Even if they let him see them, it was only a glance from afar.

With a pale face, Brother rested the picture book on his lap. He wasn’t like a “little illiterate” like Tan Xueci; he knew many words, was more precocious than children his age, and was very gentle.

He knew his mother was sensitive and fragile and extremely worried about him. Although his own body was in pain, he still frequently comforted her. He also wouldn’t bring up such matters that would make things difficult for his mother.

He watched little Tan Xueci running back and forth. Sometimes he would reach out to call Tan Xueci over, wipe the sweat from his little face, and then let him go off to play again.

He could never bear to make Tan Xueci accompany him for too long. Children were supposed to go out and play, not stay at home—even though he, at seven years old, was also a child.

He gazed at that picture book for a long time. Tan Xueci, who had been dragging a small cart around, also gradually came to a stop.

He bit his finger. He felt that his brother was a bit sad; Brother seemed to really want the little fish.

He remembered there was a fish pond in their villa which had little fish in it. But if he asked Nanny Zhang to catch them, Mama would definitely find out. Tan Xueci decided to secretly catch the little fish for his brother himself.

He secretly ran out of the room.

It was a while before Brother realized Tan Xueci was missing. He called out several times, but for some reason, no servant responded to him. He looked at the book in his hand, panicked, and hauled himself from the bed onto his wheelchair to go find Tan Xueci.

When he saw Tan Xueci, Tan Xueci was struggling in the pond. His little hands had almost vanished from the water’s surface.

What happened next was very chaotic. When Gao Ying discovered them, Tan Xueci had been pulled up at the critical moment and pushed onto the bank. But her child fell into the water, falling down along with his wheelchair.

If there hadn’t been a wheelchair, it might have been okay. But the heavy wheelchair flipped into the water, the back of the chair smashing onto his neck, pinning her child’s face firmly into the silt. The wheelchair completely trapped his thin body, leaving no possibility of escape in the water.

By the time the servants discovered the young master had drowned and went to save him, he had long since stopped breathing.

Tan Xueci didn’t know what had happened. When he opened his eyes, he saw Gao Ying, her eyes blood-red. Her whole body was shaking as she walked toward him and gave him a vicious slap across the face.

Tan Xueci was nearly deafened by the blow. Blood leaked out of his ear, but he could still hear Gao Ying’s heart-wrenching screams, telling him to go die, asking why it wasn’t him who died.

Seeing his wife’s agitation, Tan Chongchuan, whose eyes were also red, held her firmly, trying to calm her down. But Gao Ying still cried until she fainted.

The coffin prepared in advance for Tan Xueci wasn’t used. When Gao Ying saw it, she screamed and had people smash the coffin to pieces, as if she were hacking Tan Xueci into bits.

Tan Chongchuan seemed to age several years overnight. Gao Ying’s health was poor; they likely wouldn’t have another child.

And even if they did, how could there be a child better than A-Yan in this world?

He was the best.

Gao Ying was pained to the core. Her wonderful child, her A-Yan, couldn’t be kept despite using every possible means.

Tan Chongchuan pulled himself together, stayed by his wife’s side, and arranged the funeral for the child. During those few days of the funeral, the Tan family was so oppressed and somber that no one dared to speak; the servants walked soundlessly.

Gao Ying had Tan Xueci locked up.

Tan Chongchuan was very busy with his company. Although the child was dead, he still had to go on a business trip after the funeral was over.

At that time, seven or eight days had already passed. During this period, Tan Xueci had been locked in the attic. No one had brought him any food.

Logically, such a young child could not have survived—especially since Tan Xueci’s health hadn’t been great to begin with.

Gao Ying and Nanny Zhang went upstairs. Upon opening the door, they were startled. Tan Xueci was actually still alive, though he had thinned significantly. His eyes appeared even larger than before, looking almost terrifying on that gaunt, pale little face.

The slap mark on his face was still swollen and red, and the blood that had leaked from his ear was dried on his face. Seeing Gao Ying, he was a bit afraid, but he still rubbed his eyes and began to sob. He said in a small voice, “Mama, I want to find Brother. I want Brother.”

But it was no longer the time when he was treated as a “Little Bodhisattva” by the whole family. The look Gao Ying gave him could be described as sinister.

Nanny Zhang could not describe the tragedy of that day. She had only stepped away for a short while; when she returned, she saw Gao Ying holding a knife and hacking at Tan Xueci’s body.

Tan Xueci’s small body was hacked to pieces by her. He kept crying and screaming; initially, he sobbed and called for Mama, but Mama ignored him. His hands were hacked off, his lower legs were severed, and his face was slashed. Tears and blood flowed down incessantly, blurring his eyes. Through the mist of blood, he looked at Gao Ying and choked out a small, aggrieved sob: “Brother… I want Brother…”

If Brother were here, he would definitely hold him and not let anyone hit him.

In the past, when he ran around the house and accidentally tripped, Papa would scare him by pretending to hit his bottom. Brother would always nervously pull him into his arms, not allowing anyone to hit him.

Gao Ying had gone mad, hacking away while tears flowed. Nanny Zhang’s legs went weak and she slumped onto the ground. By the time she reacted, the blood had already flowed to her feet, splashing all over the attic.

The child’s limbs lay scattered on the floor, chopped into hundreds of pieces, his breath long gone.

Gao Ying’s tears flowed horizontally, her heart so pained she could barely breathe. But in the next moment, her face turned deathly pale. Her eyes widened in horror, and Nanny Zhang was also scared nearly to death.

They saw Tan Xueci’s blurred flesh and blood wiggle on the floor. It actually gradually began to move, then fused back together. Every cross-section of the chopped corpse pieces was bleeding.

Tan Xueci’s snowy white little face had also been chopped to bits—his nose, eyes, and lips were all bleeding. The parts that hadn’t fully joined back together were precarious, the flesh almost falling off.

His eyes were blank. He looked at Gao Ying with tears flowing, not knowing what exactly had happened. His vocal cords, which had been slashed and then healed, were thin as he sobbed and called to her in a small voice, “Mama.”

Gao Ying was covered in blood. She stared at Tan Xueci in terror; she could even hear the sound of her teeth chattering. But after the terror passed, tears flowed down her almost-torn eye sockets. She suddenly burst into a hysterical laugh. “Ha… Hahaha…”

Her laughter beneath the night sky, dampened by the torrential rain, was chilling. Nanny Zhang was so frightened she collapsed on the floor, unable to even crawl.

As Gao Ying laughed, her tears poured down instantly, covering her entire face. She had been cheated! She had been cheated!

Her child would indeed never leave her again, but this simply wasn’t her child. This wasn’t the child she wanted.

“Madam…” Nanny Zhang trembled with fear, speaking incoherently. “Madam! What kind of Buddha were you worshipping…”

Tan Xueci came back to life again. Gao Ying wanted to tell her husband that there was a monster in the house, but she was stopped by Nanny Zhang.

“How are you going to tell the Master?” Nanny Zhang’s eyes were sorrowful. “Are you going to say you killed him, then found out he couldn’t die?”

Tan Chongchuan was a well-known philanthropist in Beijing. His feeling for Gao Ying wasn’t so much love as it was that Gao Ying perfectly satisfied his imagination of a successful person’s family.

He wanted to become a successful person like Gao Qingping—successful in his career, with a gentle and virtuous wife, and of course, children who were obedient, sensible, and had good grades. So, he was very satisfied with his family and was happy to be a good husband.

But what if Gao Ying wasn’t as good as he imagined?

Regarding the “Substitute Life, Substitute Death” matter, he had actually been a bit dissatisfied with Gao Ying, but he was immersed in being a doting husband, and Gao Ying had also promised she would definitely be good to that child.

Even if that child could only live for three years, she would certainly give him all the best things in the world and not let him suffer any grievances.

Only then did Tan Chongchuan agree.

If he knew Gao Ying had killed Tan Xueci—even if Tan Xueci was a monster—he would definitely divorce Gao Ying.

Gao Ying’s health had originally been poor, and it became even worse after giving birth. Her family’s company had been completely merged by Tan Chongchuan, and she had grown accustomed to the life of a wealthy socialite.

How could she survive without Tan Chongchuan?

Gao Ying stumbled and sat on the sofa, clutching Nanny Zhang’s hand and weeping incessantly, sobbing, “A-Xiu… A-Xiu…”

Nanny Zhang’s original name was Zhang Xiu’e. She let out a sigh, huddling together with Gao Ying in the bleak wind and bitter rain.

Gao Ying was terrified. Fortunately, Tan Xueci was no different than before and had no intention of hurting her. It was just that whenever she closed her eyes, she remembered that tragic night. She couldn’t sleep at night; all she could see was Tan Xueci’s ravaged face.

Later, they adopted Tan Yanning. Tan Yanning suggested letting Tan Xueci be hospitalized, so she arranged for Nanny Zhang to take Tan Xueci to find a doctor.

She had heard that the doctor was obsessed with researching children’s brains and had once electrocuted several children to death.

How wonderful it would be if Tan Xueci were sent there and died too.

But Tan Xueci didn’t die. He still came back. He was like a nightmare trapping her.

…

“I don’t know what their biological child was called,” He Sui had bloodshot eyes. “They kept that child very well hidden, not letting him see anyone from the outside, making everyone think Tan Xueci was the First Young Master of the Tan family. But there indeed was such a child. He is already dead. Tan Xueci was just used as a substitute for death.”

Tan Yanning’s expression was a complete blank.

“Tan Xueci was killed by that mother of yours,” He Sui grabbed his shoulders, saying in fear, “Don’t go looking for trouble with him anymore. My father did a divination; Tan Xueci is very dangerous. Don’t go near him.”

He would definitely be locked up after returning home, and he wouldn’t be able to contact Tan Yanning then. Fearing Tan Yanning would go looking for trouble with Tan Xueci, he came to find him at school first.

His feelings toward Tan Yanning were very complex now. It was as if he really didn’t love Tan Yanning that much anymore; even upon hearing such a terrifying thing, he still couldn’t help but think of Tan Xueci.

But after all, he was someone He Sui had once liked. The Tan family was mysterious and supernatural; he felt it was better for Tan Yanning not to stir up trouble.

“…”

For a moment, Tan Yanning was speechless. His mind was a mess, yet there was also a bizarre sense of logic to it.

The “steady father,” the “gentle mother,” the “mature brother”—they were all a front. The Tan family should be crazy and deranged.

“I…” Tan Yanning murmured, “I’ll think about it first…”

Being held in He Xunye’s arms, Tan Xueci calmed down completely. He suddenly felt that the “Master of Emotions” was very reliable after all. Sure enough, dumplings should be eaten hot, and men should be found “hot” as well.

After tossing and turning for so many days, he was tired. Unconsciously, he fell asleep. By the time he opened his eyes again, they had arrived in Beijing.

The guests all bid their farewells, each returning home. They were truly exhausted and needed to rest first.

Tan Xueci also hailed a taxi and went home with He Xunye. He fell asleep in the car again and was carried home by He Xunye, who scooped him up by the knees.

The evil ghost walked into the He family’s main gate quite openly. Everyone’s faces turned various shades of blue and black, looking quite unsightly.

Tan Xueci slept through the entire day, only getting up when evening arrived. He Xunye wasn’t there when he woke up. Lu Qi had sent him a message saying the boss had called him and Jin Chen to the company.

Tan Xueci pulled back the quilt but didn’t find the “dead ghost.” He didn’t know if he had died somewhere outside. He informed the butler and then took Lu Qi’s car to the company.

The company wanted to ask about his and Jin Chen’s situation over the past few days and then arrange their subsequent work. When it was over, Jin Chen received a call from home.

It seemed to be Jin Chen’s mother. She was very worried after seeing the live broadcast. Initially worried, she suddenly burst out into fierce scolding, but as she scolded, she also began to cry.

Whether scolding or crying, in short, she was worried.

It was already dark outside. Tan Xueci took his phone and sat on the sofa in the company corridor. His eyelashes drooped, and his pale cheeks looked a bit dazed. Suddenly, he remembered his childhood.

His parents would occasionally go on business trips. Brother never proactively called them, fearing he would disturb them.

But Tan Xueci was a “clinger.” Sometimes he would secretly call his mother. He was too embarrassed to say he missed her, so he would just hold the phone, pressing his little face against it, and say in a huffing, small voice, “Mama, I just wanted to see if this receiver is broken.”

“Is it broken or not?” Gao Ying was amused by him and said intentionally, “It seems to be broken. Why can’t Mama hear Baby talking anymore?”

When Tan Xueci was hospitalized for the first time, Xie Yun had lent him a phone, telling him he could call home.

At that time, Tan Xueci was still dazed from the electrocution. His arms were covered in patch after patch of blackish-purple scars. He hesitantly took the phone and finally got through, but there was only silence on the other end.

Tan Xueci’s throat was choked and dry. He wanted to say, just as before, that he only wanted to see if the phone was broken. But before he could even open his mouth, he heard Gao Ying’s tired and annoyed voice from the other end: “What do you want? If there’s nothing, I’m hanging up.”

All the words Tan Xueci had were stuck in his throat.

It was a long time before he learned that his brother was dead. Initially, he thought Brother was ill and hospitalized. Mama was in a bad mood. He was truly in pain, but he didn’t hate her at all, because she was his mother—Mama had been so good to him before.

It wasn’t until he timidly went to find Nanny Zhang and said he missed Brother and wanted to go to the hospital to see him.

“Second Young Master,” only then did Nanny Zhang, her eyes red, look at him with a complex gaze and say to him, “Young Master A-Yan is already dead.”

Dead?

The three-year-old Tan Xueci encountered the concept of death for the first time. His brother was dead—gone from this world. There would never be anyone to wait for him to sleep while holding his little sheep again.

So this is what it meant for a person to die.

Tan Xueci wanted to explain many times that he wasn’t just being playful. He only wanted to catch little fish for his brother. And he had been very careful; Brother had told him the water’s edge was very dangerous. They had agreed to grow up together; how could he have been so careless?

He had been kicked in. He didn’t see who kicked him, either. But this was no longer important, because Brother A-Yan was dead, and Mama would never forgive him.

Why wasn’t it him who died?

He was just a “dummy” who didn’t even know many words. He didn’t know anything; it wouldn’t matter if he died. But Brother A-Yan should have lived.

Tan Xueci had thought this countless times. Even when he encountered a ghost for the first time after falling into the water, he hadn’t felt afraid at all.

When people die, they become ghosts. Perhaps Brother would come back to find him.

When that happened, he wanted to tell Brother that he dared to sleep alone now. The attic was very dark, but he wasn’t afraid at all, because he was a child raised by his brother.

When Tan Yanning was first adopted, he heard them calling him “A-Yan” from the attic. He was very happy, thinking Brother had returned. He went to find Brother at night clutching his small pillow, his tears flowing uncontrollably as he ran. But unexpectedly, when he pulled back the quilt, it wasn’t Brother, but a child who was secretly crying just like him.

Tan Xueci was stunned. He was a bit disappointed, but he had already reached an age where he could be a brother. So, he held Tan Yanning and told him that with Brother here, A-Yan didn’t need to be afraid anymore.

He didn’t treat Tan Yanning as his brother; he simply liked Tan Yanning.

But this A-Yan didn’t like him.

Tan Xueci held his phone and took a deep breath. Lu Qi and Jin Chen had something to discuss and had gone to the nearby meeting room.

He took several deep breaths while sitting in the corridor, but tears still flowed uncontrollably, splashing onto the phone screen.

He picked up the phone, rubbing Gao Ying’s name on it. But until his hands were somewhat stiff and trembling, he still didn’t make that call.

He was twenty-two years old this year.

He wasn’t going to test that “receiver” anymore.

Tan Xueci raised his hand to wipe his tears, afraid of being seen. But the phone suddenly began to ring. There was no caller ID; he didn’t know who was calling.

Hesitating, Tan Xueci still answered it. Then, he heard He Xunye’s voice. The man’s voice was blurred by the current of the receiver, making it sound very gentle.

Actually, it was originally very gentle.

He Xunye’s voice held a smile as he asked him, “Why has my Little Lamb disappeared? When are you coming home?”

Tan Xueci’s lips trembled, and he sniffled. He wanted to speak, but before he could make a sound, he couldn’t help but sob. He bit his lip hard, not daring to speak.

But on the other end of the phone, He Xunye seemed to realize something. He paused, softened his tone, and asked Tan Xueci, “What’s wrong, Baby? Should I come find you?”

His tone was so gentle—gentle to the point that it was almost hateful. Because the “bones” that had finally, with great difficulty, managed to become firm would easily collapse under his voice.

After so many years, it was the first time Tan Xueci had met someone like his brother—even someone who was better to him than his brother… no, ghost.

…

Ghost?

Tan Xueci’s face turned pale. Before he had finished shedding his tears, he suddenly threw away the phone. He had never seen He Xunye use a phone; what on earth did this dead ghost use to call him?!

A ghost call in the middle of the night—and that ghost said he was coming to find him!

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