The Byoukidere Is Her Sweetie-Chapter 187 - : 187: The Truth About the Great Fire, Xu Fang’s Mother (Second Update)

Chapter 187: 187: The Truth About the Great Fire, Xu Fang’s Mother (Second Update)

Fang Lixiang said, “Okay.” She added, “I’ll also bring someone with me.”

The person Fang Lixiang brought was her father, Mr. Fang.

At three o’clock in the afternoon, they agreed to meet at a café.

When Zhou Xufang arrived, she greeted them first, “Hello, Uncle Fang.” Jiang Zhi’s expression was not very friendly; with a scowl on her face, she sat next to Zhou Xufang.

Mr. Fang was so emotional he was about to cry.

“This is my dad.” Fang Lixiang felt it necessary to formally introduce him.

Zhou Xufang nodded. Jiang Zhi had already told her.

After the greetings, they fell into silence.

Fang Lixiang was the first to call the server over and order some drinks.

“Lixiang,” Zhou Xu Fang initiated the conversation.

“Hmm?” Today’s Fang Lixiang didn’t seem as energetic as usual; she couldn’t even manage a smile. Her gaze at Zhou Xufang was…very mournful.

Zhou Xufang was calm, as usual, “When did you recognize me?”

She hoped it wasn’t from the very beginning.

Fang Lixiang stirred her coffee repeatedly: “It was at the dressing room in the film studio when I saw your necklace; that’s when I recognized you.” She explained, “Every time Mr. Fang got drunk, he would talk about you. I could recite it all by heart.”

Zhou Xufang nodded.

It was good it wasn’t from the start; by the time she found out, they were already friends. That was enough.

After Fang Lixiang finished speaking, she nudged her father with her elbow: “Mr. Fang, just spill it.”

Mr. Fang wasn’t quite ready and seemed a bit flustered. He took a sip from his iced drink in front of him to calm his nerves before speaking.

“There were three people trapped in the fire then, the house’s butler had already stopped breathing, and the gardener had injured his left eye.”

The third person was Zhou Xufang.

Mr. Fang took a deep breath and continued: “You were seriously injured when I carried you out; you were already unconscious.”

Back then, the Luo Family’s fire was publicly reported as two deaths, one injury.

In fact, it wasn’t so; Zhou Xufang still had a breath when she was taken out of the fire.

Mr. Fang said, “The ambulance was waiting outside, and nobody from the Luo Family accompanied me, so I went along.” Mr. Fang was lost in his memories for a long time and came back with a heavy expression, “There were two nurses in the vehicle and a male doctor. On the way to the hospital, that male doctor declared the time of death.”

There was a pause, and Mr. Fang looked at Zhou Xufang: “But at that time, you were still alive.”

Jiang Zhi asked, “Do you have any memory of that doctor?”

Mr. Fang shook his head: “He was wearing a mask, about 1.7 meters tall, and his voice suggested he was middle-aged.”

“Which hospital?”

“Changling Hospital.”

Changling Hospital.

Luo Qinghe’s uncle, Xiao Yi.

Jiang Zhi’s brows and eyes grew colder as she asked further, “What did he offer you?”

Mr. Fang’s eyes reddened with intense self-reproach, making it hard for him to look up: “At that time, Lixiang was hospitalized, waiting to undergo heart surgery, and we were dragging it because of the expenses.”

Zhou Xufang glanced at Fang Lixiang.

She had her head down, her nose red.

As Mr. Fang spoke, he began to sob: “I let that doctor take you away, and then I told the Luo Family… said you were beyond rescue.”

Mr. Fang wiped his eyes, tears streaking down his face: “I’m not human, I—”

Zhou Xufang interrupted him: “You’re the one who carried me out.” She spoke serenely, “If it weren’t for you, I would have died in the fire.”

There was not a trace of resentment in her tone.

“That’s different, I was a firefighter; it was my duty to save you.” Even though he was the one who had carried her out, he had no right to trade that life.

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The truth was that for the sake of his own daughter, he had sold the life of a child.

“It was my sin.”

The father and daughter sitting opposite were both about to cry, each with reddened eyes.

Zhou Xufang felt a bit of heartache, for herself and for this father and daughter; she guessed that for the past eight years, they must have been tormenting themselves too.

So, when Fang Lixiang recognized her, Mr. Fang started working as a security guard in her residential community; probably trying to make amends to her.

Actually, when it came down to it, she was both the victim and the beneficiary: “You saved me twice.” She stated the fact, “If I had been resuscitated that night, I probably wouldn’t have lived until today. Those people wanted me dead.”

It was a strange twist of fate.

What Mr. Fang had given to the Luo Family was the news of her death.

Zhou Xufang’s eyes were calm and quiet as she said slowly, “Uncle Fang, you don’t have to blame yourself, intentional or not, you saved me twice.”

Mr. Fang couldn’t stop his tears from falling.

So did Lixiang.

Father and daughter cried like babies.

Mr. Fang sobbed, “There’s one more thing; the wounds on your body, they don’t look like they were caused by the fire.” He pointed to a spot above his chest, “You had a large cut here, but I didn’t see any sharp object at the scene, I suspect,” here, Mr. Fang felt immense pain, “I suspect it was murder.”

The child was only fourteen then; what kind of deep hatred could there be to do such a thing to her?

Murder…

Someone so desperately wanted her dead.

After Mr. Fang and Lixiang left, Zhou Xufang sat there in a daze.

Jiang Zhi asked beside her ear, “What are you thinking about?”

Her thoughts were adrift, her gaze empty, “After I escaped from the Genetic Laboratory, because of my self-healing and regeneration abilities, I never had scars left on my body again.” She pressed her hand to the spot above her chest where there was a scar the size of a thumb, talking as if to herself, “The scar here must have been from the injury I sustained in the fire, from steel reinforcement.”

She lifted her eyes to look at Jiang Zhi, “It was made with steel reinforcement.”

From steel reinforcement and a hammer, a chiseled wound.

“I just don’t understand, I was already in the fire, did they still need to kill me? Were they afraid the fire wouldn’t kill me?” She thought that if she didn’t remember, she wouldn’t be too upset.

It seems that wasn’t the case.

Apparently, there were people in this world so eager for her to die, and that person was likely her own kin.

Jiang Zhi placed his hand over hers, gently pressing the scar, “Does it still hurt now?”

She shook her head: “It healed a long time ago, it doesn’t hurt.”

Jiang Zhi held her hand, pressing it to his lips.

“Jiang Zhi.”

“Hmm.”

She asked him, “Could it be that I committed a very big mistake?”

She was only a child back then; how big of a mistake could she make. Jiang Zhi shook his head and told her, “It’s their crime, they are unforgivable.”

Bad people who do bad things are at fault for their actions.

Jiang Zhi said, “A criminal is a criminal. Don’t try to rationalize their cruelty with any justification; no matter what the excuse, it cannot be a reason to commit a crime.”

Zhou Xufang nodded.

“The doctor in the ambulance, do you know who he was?”

“Still just a guess,” Jiang Zhi said, “It might be Luo Qinghe’s uncle, a doctor of biomedical science. He probably took you to the Genetic Laboratory. As for his purpose, it’s still unclear.”

Outside, the rain continued to fall.

The winter rain was bone-chillingly cold.

Fang Lixiang’s office was on the eighth floor of Luo Group. The internal line rang, and she picked up the phone.

“Mr. Tang,” the secretary from the general management office said, “there’s a gentleman who would like to see you.” The secretary added, “This gentleman doesn’t have an appointment.”

Fang Lixiang put the signed documents aside: “What is his last name?”

The secretary replied: “He says his last name is Zhou.”

Suddenly, Fang Lixiang remembered that Zhou Xufang also happened to have the last name Zhou; she knew who this Mr. Zhou was: “Reserve a spot for me in the nearby cafe.”

“Of course, Mr. Tang.”

The cafe was close to Luo Group, and Fang Lixiang arrived there in ten minutes.

The other party was already waiting, sitting in a wheelchair.

Fang Lixiang approached: “Hello, Mr. Zhou.”

Zhou Qingrang lifted his head, his eyes clear and sharp, with not a hint of worldliness nor murkiness within them. He said: “Hello.”

Like someone from a painting, beautiful yet lacking the vivacity of life, as if he didn’t quite fit into this world.

He was so different from the person in her fuzzy memory. Fang Lixiang pulled out a chair to sit down: “It’s busy in the office and many eyes are watching, so I asked to meet you here. Please forgive me.”

Zhou Qingrang spoke in a light tone: “It’s alright.”

Fang Lixiang ordered a cup of warm water while looking at the man across from her, so clean and refined: “You wanted to see me, is there something you need?”

He was sitting in a wheelchair, slightly higher than the cafe’s chairs, and from Fang Lixiang’s angle, she could perfectly see his face, his skin very pale, probably due to prolonged illness.

Having been bedridden in the hospital for fifteen years, his health was poor. On such a rainy day, his legs must be in pain.

Fang Lixiang’s gaze inadvertently fell on his legs, where it seemed he was not wearing prosthetics, with one end of the blanket hanging limply.

He placed the hospital’s payment certification on the table and said: “During my hospital stay, it was your father who helped me with the hospitalization fees.”

For fifteen years, it had always been him.

Fang Lixiang’s eyes turned red as she took a sip of water, her voice low: “He’s no longer with us.”

Her father was an honest man, albeit a little timid, and treated the Luo Family with the utmost respect.

Zhou Qingrang took out a card, pushing it toward her: “Thank you,” he said formally, “Thank you.”

He had been hospitalized when he was just fourteen years old, alone in the world.

If it had not been for her father, he surely would not have been alive today. The ‘thank you’ was late, but it still had to be said, and it had to be said to the family.

A simple thanks brought tears to Fang Lixiang’s eyes. She looked up, smiled wiping away the tears, and looked at Zhou Qingrang: “Uncle Zhou, do you still remember me? When you were at the Luo Family,” she gestured with her hands, “I was this tall.”

Zhou Qingrang had sought refuge with the Luo Family that year, he was fourteen, and Fang Lixiang was only five.

The Luo Family kids were just a little older, and they would call him names, only Fang Lixiang would chase after him, calling him Uncle Zhou.

Zhou Qingrang nodded slightly, a faint smile on his lips: “I remember, you were bad at math.”

Fang Lixiang had started school early, and at that time, being young, she struggled, particularly with math. She knew one plus two was three, but two plus one, she couldn’t tell what it equaled.

She would take her book, larger than her face, to find Uncle Zhou on the second floor, her voice soft and sweet: “Uncle Zhou, Uncle Zhou.” The little girl, marching on her short legs, climbed onto the bed in the room, placed her book on top and asked with her milky voice, “How do I do this problem?”

The boy, then, with his rosy lips and white teeth and a love for laughter, eyes turning to crescents: “We covered this problem yesterday.”

The little girl, frustrated, would hit her head: “I forgot again.”

She felt so stupid, not knowing what two plus one equaled.

The boy, patient as ever, took her hand, teaching her to count on her fingers.

Downstairs, a girl’s voice called out: “Qing Rang, Qing Rang.”

The soft and tender voice belonged to a girl from the Jiangnan Water Town.

The little girl no longer wanted to count, she clambered down from the bed, tugging at the boy’s school uniform: “Aunt Qing Meng is calling you.”

The gentle girl called out again downstairs: “Dinner’s ready.”

Upstairs, the boy replied: “Coming.”

That year, Zhou Qingmeng had just come to the Luo Family, not even seventeen yet, at the prime of girlhood. She came with her brother to seek refuge, and the Luo Family arranged for them to stay in a small flat where the servants lived: The first floor was occupied by Fang Lixiang’s family of three, and the second floor by Zhou siblings.

Fang Lixiang stood up: “Uncle Zhou.”

Zhou Qingrang’s hand, which was pushing the wheelchair, paused, and he looked back.

Fang Lixiang, with tears in her eyes, said: “The accident.” Her voice choked up, “My father said, it was no accident.”

That once vibrant and spirited young man had lost a leg, living his life fragile and alone.

He didn’t say anything and pushed his wheelchair, leaving, his slender back straight and tall.

The day his sister had the accident, the weather was just like today, bitterly cold, with rain. It was a Monday, and he was staying on campus.

At ten o’clock at night, he received a phone call from his sister.

“Sis.”

In the call, there was hurried breathing, but no one spoke.

He called out again: “Sis?”

His sister cried out on the phone: “Qing Rang.”

He was terrified, rising from his bed in the dormitory, grabbing a coat, and running outside: “What’s wrong?”

“Qing Rang,” she continued to cry out calling for him, “Qing Rang, save me…”

Her voice trembled, filled with fear, helplessness, and despair.

He panicked, didn’t bother with an umbrella as he ran into the rain: “Where are you?”

His sister didn’t respond, her voice growing fainter.

“Sis!”

“Sis!”

There was no more sound from the other end.

He ran crazily towards the Luo Family, but before he could see his sister, he fell, collapsed at the doorstep of the Luo House, a car rolling over his legs…

He lay there for fifteen years, a vegetative state for fifteen years before waking up to a world where everything had changed, his sister gone.

He sat in the wheelchair, clutching his chest where his heart was spasming. He gasped for air like a fish out of water, his neck outstretched, his breaths heavy and deep. His pale face slowly turned red, veins in his neck bulging.

He couldn’t breathe…

He gripped the armrests of the wheelchair tightly, his nails scraping marks into it.

“Sir!”

“Sir!”

The young girl bent down, holding his hand: “What’s wrong with you?”

Zhou Qingrang clutched tightly to that hand, his throat as if obstructed: “Medicine.” His body shook uncontrollably, his face turning blue; he was holding onto the hand before him as if it was his last lifeline, “Medicine…”