novelsite Chapter 115 I Will Offer You Flowers
Chapter 115 I Will Offer You Flowers
"How many people did you kill?"
Jiang Xingni had asked this question before, but Zhao Henshan had not given a specific answer.
The blood and tears fell in a flurry onto Jiang Xingni's shoulder, staining a large area with blood.
Jiang Xingni could smell a strong stench of blood and rust.
This time, Zhao Henshan gave a specific answer.
"More than four thousand eight hundred people, I suppose," Zhao Henshan said casually.
Besides her classmates and teachers, she also killed her parents. Initially, the information was not blocked in time, which led to everyone learning about Zhao Henshan's existence.
In each subsequent term, she would kill the children who were bullied at school, turning them into her own kind. She would then provide them with the power of revenge, enabling them to kill those people with their own hands.
"I was clearly thinking of them," Zhao Henshan said. "They had no chance of revenge while they were alive. Although I killed them, I gave them the opportunity to avenge themselves..."
She asked in a low voice.
Where did I go wrong?
Six years, more than 4,000 people.
"If you leave here, are you going to take action against the entire Tuhe City afterward? Because according to your thinking, the entire Tuhe City is ignoring you, so they deserve to die too?" Jiang Xingni's fingertips stroked Zhao Henshan's back.
"How many lives would it take to appease your hatred?" Jiang Xingni asked.
Zhao Henshan did not provide an answer.
She simply said, "I hate it so much."
She didn't know who she should hate; everything she hated had already been killed by her.
She didn't know who she should hate. Even if Zhao Henshan expanded his hatred to the entire Tuhe City, to the entire province, even if thousands or tens of thousands more lives were lost, it would not erase Zhao Henshan's hatred.
The flames of hatred continued to surge in Zhao Henshan's heart, burning him and not ceasing regardless of the number of lives lost.
It will continue to burn until the day Zhao Henshan is completely consumed by the flames.
"Am I not pitiful enough, not miserable enough?" Zhao Henshan returned to his initial point. "Why do you only sympathize with Ji Shanqing and her grandmother, but not with me?"
She lifted her head from Jiang Xingni's neck, her dark, dull eyes meeting his golden ones. The red bloodstains at the corners of her eyes were still flowing, not yet dried.
"Now you know, you should be looking at me."
"I'm worse off than her, I'm more pitiful than her," Zhao Henshan said hastily. "Shouldn't you love me?"
"That's not how it's calculated," Jiang Xingni said. "You've got it backwards."
"You can only receive love because you are pitiful and miserable."
That's never how it's calculated. Suffering isn't something to be compared, much less used as a bargaining chip to gain love.
"Only those who love you will feel sorry for you because of the suffering you endure; you should have known this long ago."
Otherwise, the love that Zhao Henshan longed for should have already come to her side while she was still alive.
But when Zhao Henshan was being bullied at school, no one loved her because of her misery; instead, some people emboldened her because of it.
"Suffering should not be compared," Jiang Xingni said to Zhao Henshan.
Her fingertips slipped through Zhao Henshan's hair, gently combing away the blood-stained, tangled strands.
Which is deeper, the pain of being forgotten or the pain of never being loved?
Since everyone is suffering, why must we distinguish between high and low, noble and base, and list them into four, five, or six classes?
Once a hierarchy is established, it means that some people's suffering will be disregarded, relegated to a lower level, and dismissed with contempt as nothing more than that.
But pain is pain.
Being judged is like rubbing salt into a wound.
"No one's suffering should be taken lightly, Zhao Henshan," Jiang Xingni said.
"And what you are doing now, isn't that exactly what your mother did to you?" Zhao Henshan was stunned after hearing this.
Have I become someone like my mother? Zhao Henshan wondered to himself in a daze.
Even after so many years, even though Zhao Henshan had almost forgotten what her mother's name was, there were still some things she remembered clearly.
For example, when she cried, she was criticized with "What's there to cry about with this little bit of suffering?"
For example, after she dragged herself home covered in injuries, Zhao Henshan's mother would only say one thing: "You really should experience what it's like to be a mother."
No one ever told Zhao Henshan that no one's suffering should be taken lightly.
Later, after she killed her mother, Zhao Henshan, for reasons unknown, went to examine her mother's memories.
Zhao Henshan wanted to know what kind of pain made his mother ignore what she had suffered and just keep crying about her past experiences.
Until Zhao Henshan actually saw that experience.
She asked herself silently—was that all? Was it just psychological emotional abuse? Was this really worth comparing to what she had suffered, or even suppressing her own pain?
This question plagued Zhao Henshan for six whole years.
Even when facing Ji Shanqing, she was still confused.
It's clear that what Ji Shanqing experienced was nothing special, and her pain was far less than what Zhao Henshan suffered. At most, she would just be forgotten by everyone. So why did everyone choose Ji Shanqing instead of her?
Hasn't she been forgotten by everyone?
Until today.
She sobbed, and cried even harder.
"I hate it so much," Zhao Henshan sobbed, repeating the words. "I hate it so much."
"I don't know what I hate, but I hate it so much," Zhao Henshan said.
The tip of the dagger had pierced through Zhao Henshan's clothes, and a black shadow swirled around Zhao Henshan's back, merging with the shadows that made up her body.
"I know," Jiang Xing said, pushing the dagger forward an inch.
Zhao Henshan did not run away.
"I will free you from endless hatred," Jiang Xingni said.
"No one will remember me anymore." Zhao Henshan was ruthless back then; she slaughtered everyone, whether they were her relatives or acquaintances.
Ji Shanqing's death will be witnessed by her grandmother offering flowers, and everyone else will have their own families, but Zhao Henshan is all alone.
"I will present you with flowers."
The implication is—you can go in peace.
Zhao Henshan didn't dodge; she simply looked at Jiang Xingni with her dark eyes.
She could feel the power that made up her body gradually dissipating; she could feel everything dissipating, including the ever-churning hatred.
Zhao Henshan actually had many more questions he wanted to ask her, such as, "Can you love me?" and "If it had been a little earlier, would you have been on my side?"
But in the end, all she said was...
"Why are your eyes golden?"
Why isn't it black?
—It would be better if it were black.