Most of the memories showed Giang Ý Như being filial toward them: giving them gold and red envelopes, buying them things they liked; massaging the feet of Lan’s father, who had trouble walking; giving jade Buddha amulets to Giang’s mother because she believed in Buddha.
They had been poor their entire lives, but thanks to Giang Ý Như, they had finally come to enjoy a life of wealth and luxury.
Finally, I looked toward Tần Tuyên…
When I spoke with him, I could tell his emotions were genuine. He wasn’t pretending or hiding anything.
But no matter what, he was still the one who had benefited most from Giang Ý Như’s death.
Besides, his memory of that night seemed to differ from what everyone else had told me.
Never mind. I decided to look directly…
I found myself in the courtyard of a nursing home in winter, with icicles hanging from the eaves.
A group of volunteers shivered with cold as they helped one another wash things.
A young Tần Tuyên looked toward Giang Ý Như.
Sunlight glinted off the icicles, casting shimmering reflections across her face. She was breathtaking.
He walked up to her. “Hello, my name is Tần Tuyên.”
Giang Ý Như looked up at him, her eyes shining brightly. Tần Tuyên was stunned.
She said, “Hello. I’m Giang Ý Như.”
There was no sound, but I could make out what they were saying from the movements of their lips.
I understood. This was the first time they’d met.
When I turned around, I suddenly saw Lan Linh.
She was standing beside Giang Ý Như, so unremarkable that I hadn’t noticed her at first.
Tần Tuyên must have been the same; he paid her no attention. Lan Linh stared at him, her face slightly flushed.
Just then, a young woman ran over with paper and a pen in her hand. Her face was full of admiration as she said something to Giang Ý Như.
She smiled and readily signed her name.
I was about to leave the memory when I suddenly froze…
A slow voice spoke to Giang Ý Như as she bent her head to sign. “So, this is where you are.”
Giang Ý Như’s hand stopped. She slowly raised her head and looked at me.
Tần Tuyên had once told me that when he first got to know Giang Ý Như, she always kept her identity hidden.
So how could someone in that memory have come up to ask for her autograph?
Most likely, she had experienced so many moments like that in life that, after taking up residence in Tần Tuyên’s mind, she had unconsciously connected this memory to them.
Giang Ý Như stared at me, her lips moving as if she were saying something, but no sound came out.
The scene changed.
I was facing her in a restaurant, where everyone could see her.
She stood two yards away from me, beside a brilliant bouquet of lilies.
Crying and screaming filled my ears. “My daughter!”
“Little sister!”
“Ý Như!”
Tần Tuyên was the first to rush toward her, but he passed straight through her and fell to the floor.
He looked at her with an infatuated expression. “Ý Như, you’ve finally come back… I knew you couldn’t bear to leave me… I finally get to see you again…”
Giang Ý Như simply stood there in silence.
A spirit was an illusion. It couldn’t make the air vibrate to produce sound, so it couldn’t speak.
Amid the chaos, I spoke gently. “Giang Ý Như, you have to stop. If you keep going, Heaven will punish you, and your soul will be scattered. I swear on the bloodline of the Chúc family that I’ll get justice for you. Let me help you, all right?”
Giang Ý Như slowly raised her hand and gave a slight wave, beckoning me over.
I tilted my head, pondered for two seconds, then asked, “You want… me to see your memories?”
Giang Ý Như lowered her hand and silently looked at me.
This was a little tricky.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see them. It was that she was a spirit, and I could no longer enter her mind.
But… there were always more ways than obstacles.
If I couldn’t get in, I’d pull the memories out!
If I was going to watch, everyone could watch!
We’d confront them in public!
I took the small jade pendant from around my neck, snapped its cord, and tossed it into the air.
In an instant, a full-color holographic projection slowly appeared before everyone’s eyes.
A few seconds later, the image gradually came into focus. Giang Ý Như’s memories began.
The first scene:
The living room of a villa. It was the night Giang Ý Như died.
The living room was decked out in festive decorations, and everyone had gathered around to celebrate her birthday.
On the table was a cake with four words written on it: “Ý Như’s Bliss.”
Everyone’s face was a mix of emotions: happiness, grief, and reluctance to part.
According to the plan, Giang Ý Như would go to Switzerland the next day to undergo euthanasia.
The second scene:
One by one, everyone hugged her goodbye, eyes red, then went upstairs.
Giang Ý Như smiled brightly, calmly and resolutely.
In the end, only Tần Tuyên remained.
His face was flushed, and he seemed drunk. He asked her a question. Judging from his lips, it was: “Are you sure… you want to be alone in the study tonight?”
Giang Ý Như nodded and smiled. “I want to say goodbye to my books.”
Overcome with grief, Tần Tuyên staggered upstairs.
The third scene:
In the study, Giang Ý Như gently caressed each book and each piece of furniture.
Inside an old book, she found an aged letter.
After reading it, she seemed lost in memories, her eyes reddening.
Her lips whispered, “Tần Tuyên… Tần Tuyên…”
She stood up, left the study, and went upstairs. Reaching the second-floor hallway, she counted each room: one… two… When she reached the fifth room, she stopped.
She eyed the door suspiciously, walked closer, and leaned in to listen.
Her expression immediately became one of utter disbelief.
She hurried back to her bedroom… but no one was there.
Her hands began to tremble.
She opened a drawer, took out a ring of keys, and returned to the fifth room.
By the time she put the key in the lock, her hand was shaking uncontrollably.
The door slowly opened…
Her eyes widened at the sight before her.
On the large bed, her husband and her foster older sister were naked, wrapped around each other and moving frantically.
Giang Ý Như opened her mouth and screamed soundlessly.
The two people on the bed turned around, their faces flushed and their breathing ragged.
Tần Tuyên immediately tumbled off the bed, red marks all over his body. He ran over in panic and grabbed Giang Ý Như’s hand, but she wrenched it away.
Giang Ý Như trembled all over, screaming something, her expression furious, twisted, and despairing.
From the shapes of her lips, I could make out words like “I won’t die,” “Get them all out,” “Divorce,” and “Pay for this.”
Lan Linh sat naked on the bed, crying and begging.
Suddenly, she rushed to the table, grabbed a pair of scissors, and cut her wrist—once, then again.
Blood drippedBlood dripped onto the floor, drop by drop.
But Giang Ý Như remained unmoved, speaking each word with cold resolve. Lan Linh collapsed onto the floor, tears of despair streaming down her face.
Tần Tuyên’s face went deathly pale. He knelt at Giang Ý Như’s feet, his lips trembling as he said, “It’s a matter of life and death. We’re going to the hospital. I’ll explain when we get back!”
As he spoke, he hurriedly dressed and carried Lan Linh, who was nearly unconscious, downstairs.
Giang Ý Như walked to the staircase and looked down at the two of them descending the spiral steps, gritting her teeth as she said something.
Tần Tuyên’s face was full of anguish, but he kept going.
Suddenly, Giang Ý Như leaned sideways… and lost her balance…
The forceful shove sent her over the railing. As she fell, she managed to grab hold of it, her body dangling in midair.
She saw Chi Chi standing there in her pajamas, her face stricken with horror, still holding the pose of having shoved her. She muttered, “You can’t treat my brother like this. You can’t!”
Giang Ý Như was clearly exhausted. Her despairing gaze turned toward the four bedrooms near the stairs, where her birth parents and adoptive parents lived.
She hoped they weren’t asleep and would come out to save her. But then she noticed something, and her pupils slowly widened.
The old house had gaps between its doors and wooden floors. Light from inside the rooms spilled out, forming strips of brightness in the hallway.
From Giang Ý Như’s vantage point, she could just make out all four bedrooms. In each strip of light, a faint shadow shifted gently—meaning someone was standing behind every door.
Giang Ý Như let go and fell backward.
When she hit the ground with a dull thud, Tần Tuyên, who was carrying Lan Linh and about to leave, paused for a moment. Then, without looking back, he rushed out.
That was the day before she decided to leave and seek a peaceful death. Giang Ý Như lay on her back on the great hall’s floor, staring up at the ceiling, waiting to die alone.
No one came down from upstairs. Not a single person.
As her consciousness began to fade, a faint glimmer suddenly lit her eyes. Diệp Nhất Vũ entered through the doorway with a bunch of lilies in his hands. He knew she liked lilies and often went alone into the garden to pick some for her.
Giang Ý Như saw hope, and her will to live surged back.
Sure enough, Diệp Nhất Vũ recognized her, dropped the flowers, and hurried over in alarm.
With blood in her mouth, she whispered, one word at a time, “Take me to the hospital.”
Diệp Nhất Vũ anxiously lifted her and rushed out to the car. The car sped along the dark mountain road.
Giang Ý Như felt her consciousness growing hazy and feared she would pass out, but she forced herself to speak loudly, recounting what had just happened. Through clenched teeth, she vowed to make them pay, calling each of them by name: “Chi Chi! Tần Tuyên! Lan Linh!”