“Jiang Ren, Jiang Ren.”
He was named “Ren” (meaning “endure”) because when he was born, he cried so hard, his cries weak and hoarse, almost running out of breath.
He cried because he was born with an illness. Later, as he grew up, perhaps because of this name, he never cried again.
Jiang Ren had once thought that if he ever had children, he would never give them such a cruel name.
A blade on the heart, constantly cutting and hurting.
But in this life, he probably wouldn’t have children anymore.
The doctor said that if she didn’t wake up in a week, Meng Ting would have no hope of ever waking up again in this life.
He turned his head, leaning against the doorway to look at her.
The winter sun of December fell, and she was quiet and peaceful.
Her face was pale, overshadowing her originally fair skin, fragile and delicate like glass. Today was the last day of the seven days, and she slept, still not waking up.
The van had slid down the hillside and was stopped by trees. Both Wen Rui and she had been thrown from the car.
Wen Rui had been rescued, but she still hadn’t woken up.
Jiang Ren coldly tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew that this world had always been unfair.
Wen Rui was under supervision, waiting to be sent to court once he recovered.
She lay there quietly, unable to cry or make a fuss, nor could she call out to Jiang Ren in her sweet voice anymore.
Jiang Ren limped over. He climbed onto the bed and gently held her in his arms.
“Meng Ting, you’re twenty years old now,” he said. Her cheek bore a faint scar, already scabbed over, not at all affecting her exquisite beauty. “I was going to celebrate your birthday when you came back.”
The girl in his arms had frost-like lips, her long eyelashes drooping lifelessly.
His fingertips touched Meng Ting’s brows and eyes, with a hint of strange gentleness: “It’s alright, we’ll still celebrate your birthday. Wait for me to come back tonight.”
Jiang Ren chuckled softly: “I heard you say okay.”
But she closed her eyes and said nothing.
In the cold winter, the last leaf outside the window was crushed by the accumulated snow.
Jiang Ren tucked her in and prepared to leave with a large bag.
Grandmother Jiang had been crying all day, the old woman tearfully saying she felt anxious and wanted to find Little Ren.
As Jiang Ren stepped out of the room, he saw the old woman crying miserably.
Her hair could barely show traces of black anymore.
The frail old woman wasn’t as tall as his chest.
The two siblings supporting Grandmother Jiang timidly looked at the silent Jiang Ren and the old woman clinging to Jiang Ren’s arm, unsure of what to do.
The young boy, Xiao Kang, said: “Mr. Jiang, Great-grandmother insists on finding you, I’m sorry.”
His sister, Xiao Li, nodded.
“My little Ren has been out of school for so long, why hasn’t he come home?” The old woman raised her tearful eyes, choking, “Are you going to leave me like your grandfather did?”
Jiang Ren lowered his gaze to look at the old woman.
The snow outside was white, and at this moment, his eyes were black.
As quiet as the night, and without any emotion.
Xiao Li trembled slightly, boldly looking towards the hospital bed behind the young man. The girl was holding a freshly picked rose. She lay there without any sign of life.
Jiang Ren pushed the old woman away, saying coldly: “Take her back to my father’s place.”
Xiao Kang was afraid of Jiang Ren and nodded repeatedly.
“Great-grandmother, let’s go.”
Grandmother Jiang finally broke down: “Little Ren, don’t leave, Little Ren, don’t make mistakes.”
Xiao Li and Xiao Kang were stunned, secretly looking at Jiang Ren.
Jiang Ren was very calm. He continued walking out, almost without any emotion. Grandmother Jiang frantically tried to grab the things in his hand. He finally got angry: “I told you to take her away, can’t you hear? Are you deaf?”
This was shouted out, the man’s cold features, the veins on his neck slightly bulging.
Xiao Kang was so scared that he hurriedly pulled Grandmother Jiang. Grandmother Jiang held onto the very large bag, not letting go. In the gap when Grandmother Jiang was pulling, Xiao Kang saw what was inside and was almost weak in the knees with fright.
Jiang Ren stepped into the wind and snow.
Grandmother Jiang was still crying. Xiao Li was helplessly wiping the old woman’s nose and tears. Xiao Kang’s lips trembled: “Sister, I saw what was in Mr. Jiang’s bag.”
“What?”
“Boning knives, ropes, axes… and many other scary things.”
Xiao Li froze too.
She turned to look at the beautiful girl in the hospital room. There were still several bodyguards guarding outside the door. Just as she was about to walk in, a bodyguard stopped her.
Xiao Li ran to the window. In the heavy snow, Jiang Ren had already disappeared.
Jiang Ren carried the things into the hospital where Wen Rui was.
The winter wind was biting cold. He didn’t turn on the lights, looking down at the sleeping Wen Rui.
When he came in under the name of Wen Rui’s relative, it was very easy. They were relatives after all.
In this world, there are few madmen, but many fools.
So when Wen Rui woke up, he shuddered violently.
He was tied up with ropes, his mouth taped over several times. Already severely injured, now looking at the expressionless man in the night, Wen Rui stared at him intently.
“You’re not afraid of death,” Jiang Ren curved his lips. “I know.”
Wen Rui looked at him mockingly.
When he knew Meng Ting wouldn’t wake up, Wen Rui felt that whatever happened was fine, anyway, Jiang Ren had lost.
Jiang Ren’s voice was low and gentle in the night: “I’ll hurry, Ting Ting is still waiting for me.”
He couldn’t go back after midnight, she would worry.
The hospital clock ticked, sounding particularly cold in the quiet deep night at eleven o’clock.
Wen Rui watched Jiang Ren take out tools from the bag one by one, and finally turned pale, struggling violently.
Jiang Ren had gone mad!
He had provoked Jiang Ren many times before, just to get this sickly child sent to a mental hospital. But each time, Jiang Ren had endured it. It didn’t matter if this world didn’t like him because he wouldn’t love this world either.
But this time, Jiang Ren had truly gone mad.
He didn’t want Grandmother Jiang anymore, didn’t pursue Jiang Jixian anymore, stepped through the wind and snow, and walked through the night alone, completely out of control.
The rose that had been blooming in the hospital room, its outer petals gradually lost their vitality.
Heavy snow beat against the transparent glass.
Her pale fingertips held the flower as if encountering Jiang Ren from a distant memory.
She looked up at him from under the tombstone.
The man was in handcuffs, his cold, hard features distinct. He had lost a lot of weight but looked particularly mature. Jiang Ren gently brushed away the snow from her tombstone. Behind him were two solemnly dressed police officers.
The man lowered his head, his cold lips falling on the tombstone. As if through this lifeless stone, he was kissing her forehead. She felt her forehead was a bit cold.
He pressed his forehead against the tombstone. She held her breath lightly, and the world was very quiet. She heard him speak.
“The pomegranate tree at Seventh Middle School bloomed this year.”
“Your friend Zhao Nuancheng met a not-so-good man.”
“The bus stop where you often waited has been demolished and rebuilt. The roads we walked countless days and nights have changed their appearance.”
“Everything has changed. It’s embarrassing to say, but I’m still the same as I was back then.”
She choked up.
The man said gently: “Ting Ting, I’ve never called you that before. You always hated me. I’ve called you that thousands and millions of times in my heart, but when I saw your look of disgust, I felt I couldn’t say it out loud.”
No, it’s not like that, Jiang Ren.
“That summer when you were walking your stepsister home from school, Hé Junming and I rode our bikes past the alley. You told her that Jiang Ren wasn’t good, not to like him. But Ting Ting,” he said softly, “Jiang Ren can be very good. He’s always been trying to be better for you.”
“I can’t do more for you,” he said. “It’s my fault, but I’ve done my best in this life.”
He stood up, gently brushing away the snow from her tombstone.
The snow was raging, and he was dressed thinly.
He never looked back again.
She lay in eternal rest under the tombstone, watching the young entrepreneur walk away step by step.
Jiang Ren!
Meng Ting suddenly opened her eyes. The heavy snow outside had lessened by nightfall. The flower in her hand was nearly withered. Meng Ting’s whole body ached.
The empty yet warm hospital room, a beautiful snow scene outside. But she didn’t see Jiang Ren.
She clutched her slowly, stickily beating heart, put down the rose, and slowly walked towards the door, supporting herself against the wall.
The door was opened with difficulty, facing the old woman who was covering her face and crying.
The young girl’s long hair was disheveled, and her face was pale due to excessive blood loss.
Xiao Li blocked a few steps away from the hospital room and stared wide-eyed at the beautiful young woman. Even in the countryside, Xiao Kang had never seen such a beautiful girl.
Meng Ting hadn’t spoken for a week, her voice was unrecognizably hoarse: “Grandmother Jiang.”
The bodyguards looked at each other, all stunned. One hurriedly said: “Quick, call the doctor, Miss Meng is awake.”
Meng Ting supported the old woman, slowly articulating: “Grandmother Jiang, don’t cry.”
Grandmother Jiang grabbed her arm: “My little Ren, my little Ren…”
Xiao Li finally woke up from the shock of seeing a fairy, and the fairy coming back to life. She hurriedly said: “Um, Mr. Jiang wasn’t right. He just left with a bag. My brother saw boning knives, ropes, and tape inside. He went outside.”
Meng Ting’s heart skipped a beat. She said to a bodyguard: “Can I borrow a phone?”
The bodyguard quickly gave her one.
Meng Ting got through, but it was immediately hung up on the other end.
Meng Ting’s heart sank: “Is my phone still here?”
The bodyguard was stunned for a moment, but it was.
When Meng Ting was abducted, Wen Rui had thrown her phone into a flowerbed. Later, when Jiang Ren was anxiously searching, someone picked it up.
Meng Ting quickly went into the hospital room to look.
She found her old phone next to the large crystal ball.
It was the one Shu’s father had bought for her when she went back to the countryside to save her grandfather.
Meng Ting dialed with her last hope.
At eleven oh eight in the deep night.
In the pitch-dark room, his ringtone sounded again.
It was an instrumental piece.
The Swan Lake she had danced on stage years ago.
He didn’t know what kind of mood he was in when he set this tune as the ringtone for just one person.
Jiang Ren’s hand slid across the screen, numbly answering.
“Jiang Ren.”
He looked up, at a pair of eyes without temperature, without any light. He knew his mental state was not good.
The girl’s voice was hoarse: “Where are you?”
Jiang Ren looked at the unconscious Wen Rui on the ground, slowly responding to her word by word: “Hospital.”
“Jiang Ren.”
“Mm.”
She said with difficulty: “Come home.”
The boning knife in his hand fell to the ground, tears suddenly flooding his eyes, he said: “Okay.”
The doctor’s report said that Jiang Ren was psychologically abnormal.
He had broken down and was also very dangerous.
Such a person needed treatment.
The police had seen the report and didn’t detain him.
Wen Rui’s injuries weren’t serious. Seven minutes of torture had made Wen Rui lose control of his bladder. However, if it had been a few minutes later, the consequences would have been unpredictable.
After recording the statement, Jiang Ren hadn’t spoken, his gaze always falling on her.
The young police officer said: “His state is unstable and needs a guardian. I heard this situation hasn’t occurred before. We’ve looked at his medical history, and it doesn’t seem like it should be this way.”
When he said this, everyone’s gaze toward Jiang Ren was the gaze of looking at a mentally ill person.
Even though Jiang Ren didn’t belong to that kind of illness, his tested levels of paranoia and pathology were not healthy.
Guardian, for an adult, is a term with negative connotations.
Jiang Ren didn’t say a word, his gaze gradually shattering, bearing a cold, sharp, and lonely pain. That word crushed him, yet he could only remain silent. His heart is heavy and cold, and Jiang Ren finally can’t bear it and stands up.
Meng Ting grabbed his hand.
He lowered his gaze, clearly not daring to look into her eyes, but slowly, he crashed into her gaze.
The young girl smiled at him. She tightened that hand, imitating his manner, interlocking their fingers.
December, the snow had stopped.
Jiang Ren heard her say—
“His guardian, Meng Ting.”