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Chapter 1696 Final Chapter: Shore Crossing [40] "So this was wrong."

Chapter 1696 Final Chapter - The Shore Crossing [40] - "So this was wrong."

Hang Xin didn't stop; eager to escape the flames, she instinctively spoke:

"Anyway, my mother's love is definitely love! As for your love, think about it yourself! True love doesn't really leave people feeling too confused. You should have the answer in your heart."

She rushed forward and spotted a window that offered her a chance to escape!

Flames roared, thick smoke stung the eyes, and the mother on his back breathed weakly, on the verge of perishing in the fire.

She didn't know how others defined "love".

But for her, love is not a reason to hurt, much less a license to inflict pain.

Love is a mother's willingness to risk her life to jump down and save her, regardless of whether she will be shattered to pieces; love is a mother's efforts to teach her even when she plays countless wrong notes, pointing to the correct keys; love is a mother's efforts to prevent her from feeling pain even when forced by rules; love is a mother's never feeling ashamed of her even when she is destined to die young, but instead feeling immense pride in every step of her growth; love is a mother's willingness to cut off her own hand rather than let her suffer another lash.

Therefore, if a kind of "love" brings only fear, pain, and self-doubt... if it never tries to understand, only to deny; never to guide, only to punish...

That might not be love.

It's just harm.

Love runs deep, so does discipline; strictness is meant to forge resilience in children through temporary pain. Children may not understand immediately, but they will appreciate its deeper meaning when they look back later in life. This expectation may indeed be called love... However, forcibly linking achievement and harm as cause and effect, replacing hardship with hardship itself, is not love.

The diversity of love should not include abuse.

Any act that, in the name of love, actually causes lasting harm cannot be called love. It is merely... the venting of power.

The foundation of love is respect and protection.

The boy looked down at his battered hands, covered in bruises and welts, making it hard to believe they belonged to a child. Compared to his peers, they had endured untold suffering.

In those lifeless eyes, ripples seemed to tremble.

“…I think,” he murmured, “I think I understand a little.”

"So, doing it for my own good means not having to feel pain."

"So, red bean paste can be just sweet without the taste of blood."

Sharp rebukes, chilling belittling, burning pain...

A gentle caress, tolerant guidance, a light touch...

The two perspectives can coexist without conflict.

One of them helped him understand what harm is.

Another way was to show him what love is.

It turns out, he really could acknowledge both simultaneously. Acknowledge the cruelty of the hurt, and the possibility of love.

It turns out that this is not actually contradictory. What is contradictory is that someone once mistakenly packaged the former as the latter.

"Splash—!"

The scorching heat licked Hang Xin's back as she finally rushed to the window, the only escape route.

A blast of scalding heat from the explosion hit her from behind, forcing her to leap out. Then, she looked down and saw—below the window, another sea of ​​flames raging.

She gave a bitter laugh. So this is what it means to survive a near-death experience?

A shockwave from the explosion rushed in.

"Shh!"

Suddenly, a blood-stained, swollen, and deformed hand gripped the bottom of the red-hot windowsill at the last moment. The instant flesh touched, a hissing, burning smell filled the air. The other hand gripped Talia's left arm tightly.

Two people were hanging outside the burning window, with a bottomless abyss of fire below.

"Ah—!" Hang Xin let out a scream of extreme pain. Her right hand, gripping the windowsill, bore the weight of the two of them. The scorching metal instantly burned through the broken flesh of her palm, and the excruciating pain mixed with the smell of burning flesh shot straight to her brain. All the wounds on her body were reopening.

Talia hung below her, held together only by her daughter's trembling hand. Excessive blood loss made her delirious, but she saw her daughter's contorted face contorted in agony.

Flames burst forth from the inside of the window, spreading along the wall. The heat rose sharply, turning the windowsill dark red, and white smoke mixed with the stench of burning protein rose up.

Her fingers spasmed involuntarily, and Hang Xin didn't know how long she could hold on; every second was an ordeal that could crush her spirit.

Suddenly, she heard Talia speaking below, in a very soft voice:

“I’m so glad I followed you here, otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have been able to… get here alone. You are my best… most precious. No, you are not mine. I love you.”

The mother, who had lost her limb, was incoherent:

"I love you, not because you are a continuation of my bloodline. I love you simply because... you are my daughter."

All the grievances, fears, resentment, and injustices about the brevity of life were washed away at this moment.

Hang Xin burst into tears, like a child who had truly been lost and finally found. She really didn't care anymore; what did it matter that she was a short-lived species, what did it matter that she was discriminated against? All she wanted now was for her mother to live.

Talia's voice grew weaker and weaker, and light flickered in her pupils:

"So, promise me two things."

The flames almost licked the back of Hang Xin's hand.

"First, forget the words 'short-lived species.' Your depth has long surpassed the length of time."

"second……"

Suddenly, the palm of the hand released itself.

come down.

There was no struggle, no shouting.

It was as if they were simply turning around to embark on a long journey that had been agreed upon long ago.

Her long hair was tossed about by the firelight, like dancing willow leaves. The woman's eyes were filled with blood, like a fallen, withered leaf butterfly, disappearing into the distance in Hang Xin's eyes, as if falling into a crimson sea.

Like a feather finally shedding all its weight, returning to the earth and the stars—

With a serene smile, covered in blood, Talia leaned back and plunged into the churning, dazzling, cruel sea of ​​fire below, a fire that seemed capable of purifying all pain and obsession.

The mother's voice faded into the roar of the flames:

"...No mother doesn't love her child, I firmly believe that..."

……

"Mommy, Mommy!" The boy searched for a long time in the snow and finally found a small branch with four leaves.

It is said that finding such small branches on New Year's Day will bring good luck to the family.

He carefully cradled it, running all the way. The snow was up to his calves, and he was panting, but his heart was warm—his mother would surely smile when she saw this. Perhaps she would pat his head, perhaps… he could eat hot glutinous rice balls tonight.

He knocked on the door forcefully.

"Mom, I'm home!"

The voice, filled with the child's barely suppressed excitement, pierced through the cold air.

It was very quiet inside.

The boy waited at the door for a long time until his hands and feet went numb, and the four-leaf clover gradually slipped from his stiff fingers and fell into the snow.

He pressed his ear against the door and listened again.

There was no sound.

Maybe... Mom is just asleep. He reached for the lock he had secretly hidden in the flowerpot and opened the door.

"Click".

The door opened.

A sweet, fishy, ​​and burnt smell wafted through the air. The living room was dimly lit, with the curtains drawn, and only a little light shone from the direction of the kitchen.

The boy walked barefoot on the cold floor, silently heading towards the kitchen. The kitchen light was on, and on the stove sat a small pot containing a layer of dark red paste, which had cooled and formed a wrinkled film on its surface.

Red bean paste.

He walked over and carefully took a sip.

It tastes good as always, but it has a strange smell, like rust.

He put down the pot and prepared to go to his mother's room to see if she was really asleep. As he passed by his mother's tightly closed door, the strange smell seemed to grow stronger.

He stopped and listened intently.

Dead silence.

I couldn't even hear breathing; the door was locked from the inside.

He took a step back, then suddenly used all his strength to slam his head against the wooden door!

"boom!!"

The door trembled, groaning under the strain.

"Bang! Bang!!"

The boy, drawing strength from who-knows-where, pounded away like a trapped wild animal, again and again. A sharp, bone-cracking pain shot through his shoulder, but he ignored it.

"Crack—!"

The lock finally snapped open, and the door swung open violently inward!

The pungent smell overwhelmed him like a tidal wave. The room was dark, the curtains were drawn, and only a dark red charcoal brazier stood in the corner, piled with a few pieces of charcoal that hadn't completely burned out. The doors and windows were shut, and the air was so stuffy that it was almost impossible to breathe.

The mother was curled up on the bed not far from the charcoal brazier, covered with a quilt, her face turned towards the wall, motionless.

The boy calmly walked to the window and drew back the curtains.

The woman's body was warm, almost burning. She slowly turned her head. Her face showed no pain, no surprise, only an unfathomable calm.

"Wow—"

The tightly closed window was opened a crack.

A rush of cold, fresh air clashed with the sweltering, foul air inside the room, blowing up some of the grayish-white ash from the charcoal brazier, which then fell onto the blankets, the floor, and the boy's face.

The boy drew back the curtains and extinguished the charcoal brazier; the whole process was quiet, practiced, and eerily calm.

It was as if he hadn't discovered the scene of the attempted suicide, but simply felt stuffy and casually opened a window.

Because the boy was already used to it.

This isn't the first time.

She was waiting for him to discover it.

She was waiting to be "stopped".

She was testing whether he would come, whether he could "save" her. What was she craving? Perhaps attention, perhaps a plea to stay, perhaps proof that she was still loved, or perhaps simply dying. She was so powerless, so powerless that she resorted to this self-destructive method.

The boy didn't cry or throw a tantrum, nor did he rush to his mother and sob, crying, "Don't leave me!" as in TV dramas. He was simply used to it, a familiar habit.

He stood there and watched for a long time.

Then, in an unusually calm tone, with a touch of childishness, he said:

"Mom, please open the window wider next time. Otherwise, the smell of charcoal won't dissipate completely."

The woman on the bed nodded.

The boy seemed to have received a promise. He turned and left the room, gently closing the broken door behind him.

He didn't get the lock fixed. He knew there might be a "next time."

Next time, he will still pretend not to know that it is "suicide", and will only remember to remind his mother to "open the window wider".

Because his mother had promised him she wouldn't leave.

This was a promise he clung to tightly; he needed to live in a tacit pretense, pretending that his mother had simply fallen asleep and forgotten to open the window, pretending that the charcoal brazier was only for warmth, and pretending that every silence was just because his mother was tired.

He walked back to the kitchen, looked at the pot of cooled red bean paste, picked it up, and slowly drank it all, sip by sip.

so sweet.

It tastes so good...

……

"Parents' love for their children may be a result of hormonal control, but I know it with absolute certainty."

"Hang Xin, my love for you transcends everything, transcends the human instinct for life and death, transcends the essential nature of biological self-interest..."

……

"Oh!"

A figure fell down in front of the people.

It was Hang Xin, whose body was charred black, whose right hand was carbonized, and whose mind had collapsed.

She fell heavily into the black water, splashing up ripples, clutching something tightly in her arms—a piece of charred window frame wood, vaguely resembling a severed arm.

She lay on the cold water, her eyes wide open, tears mingling with blood.

Xiao Xiao rushed forward to treat him, even though he had already reached his limit and could only push himself to the limit.

"Why...it's me?" Hang Xin, already delirious, collapsed to the ground screaming, "Why...it's me!!!"

Why was she the one who survived?!

She rushed in to prove something, so why was it her mother who died?!

Mothers are always good at backing up their children's courage: if they hadn't impulsively joined the escort team and signed the life-or-death agreement, if they hadn't bravely rushed through the gates, or even if they hadn't angrily left their tribe in the first place...

Why, it has to be Mom?

It should be mine, it should have been mine...

Tears streamed down my face, but I felt no pain.

She curled up, burying her face deep in her knees, her shoulders heaving violently, but she couldn't make a sound.

Su Ming watched quietly, his eyes flickering.

So this is what a mother's love can be like. It's not about possession, control, harm, or binding.

It can become clear-headed and generous, decisive and courageous, transcending biological instincts and ethical constraints.

Talia racked her brains to break the cruel rules, while Hangxin endured the immense pain of her body being shattered, opening her eyes to recognize the piano keys. In the end, Hangxin held on tightly amidst the scorching flames, while Talia willingly plunged into the fire.

No need for further words, we'll stand together through thick and thin.

The bonds of kinship were once a luxury for him, later turned into discarded items, and finally became a desolate ruin in his heart. He had always known that the emotions in his memory were not the only template for parent-child relationships in the world. Today, he truly saw it. It was different from Bai Chun's impetuous love; it was purer, braver, and without impurities.

An emotion, a mixture of dull pain and enlightenment, that had arrived more than a decade late, slowly overwhelmed him.

The sharp, cold, and derogatory voices in my mind have long since faded into the distance.

...became wrong.

If it were Lin Wang'an, she would never give such love.

……

"I love you, and not just because you are my daughter."

"This love has severed the natural bond of blood ties and stripped away the ethical framework of society..."

"You are not 'mine.' I love you, that's all."

……

The boy who once harbored naive fantasies has grown up. He has long realized the distortion of that love, no longer holds any hope, no longer lingers, and no longer believes that so-called "repentance" means forgiveness.

He looked up and suddenly felt dizzy.

I closed my eyes and stood there for a long time.

"Mommy loves you... Come to Mommy..." A male-female auditory hallucination rang in his ears again. This wasn't the first time; ever since he woke up as Su Wenli, he had frequently heard such hallucinations.

He remembered finding the Radiant Mother Goddess's medal in Lin Wang'an's drawer. Could this hallucination be Lin Wang'an's doing? Had he joined forces with the Radiant Mother Goddess to brainwash him?

It's ridiculous.

He looked toward the door; a new path was opening up.

……