Without realizing it, Fang Yuan takes his third step. His body moves mechanically, like a marionette controlled by invisible strings. The same thing happens again—after completing the third step, he loses all control over his limbs so abruptly that he doesn't even register it. It's as if time itself skips a beat.
And then, in an instant, his vision blurs, and suddenly, he sees them—his daughters. Their laughter fills the air, pure and innocent, echoing like the sweetest melody in his ears. Their joyous faces radiate warmth so intense that it could burn through the darkest abyss of despair. They're playing, giggling as they smear their mother's cosmetics across his face while he pretends to sleep. Their tiny hands tap his cheeks gently, their voices calling out, "Papa! Papa!" Each word strikes him like a thunderbolt, filling him with an overwhelming love so fierce that he feels invincible. He would tear apart the heavens themselves just to hear those words again—to feel their warmth one more time.
But then, without warning, the scene shatters like glass. Their laughter fades, replaced by cold, silent screams for help. Their bright, lively faces turn pale and lifeless, frozen in terror before death. Their wide-open eyes scream desperation, their small hands—once warm and full of life—now cold and still, twisted in a final, futile struggle. Broken bones jut out grotesquely, evidence of their desperate resistance.
The sight rips through him like a serrated blade. His heart pounds violently in his chest, but no tears come—not because he doesn't want to cry, but because the despair is so suffocating, so absolute, that even his tears have abandoned him. He's drowning in it, choking on the weight of what he sees. Every fiber of his being screams in agony, yet he can do nothing but watch.
With the same mechanical motion, he takes his fourth step. His body moves forward on its own, unyielding, unstoppable, as if driven by some unseen force. Again, he loses control, too numb to comprehend what's happening.
But the very next moment, another vision crashes into him, more brutal than the last. He sees them—their bodies. His wife and daughters, lying there, lifeless. Their wide-open eyes and gaping mouths choke him, as if they're screaming directly into his soul: "Why did we have to suffer like this? Why didn't you save us? Are you repaying our love like this? WHY? WHY? WHY?" Each word cuts deeper than any blade, slicing through his heart until he's bleeding out from the inside. He can't breathe. He can't think. The guilt is a vice around his throat, tightening with every second, crushing him under its unbearable weight.
He takes his fifth step in the same way, stumbling now, losing control once more. This time, he sees himself working tirelessly for an organization dedicated to preventing others from suffering the same fate as his family. He vows to protect every innocent soul, promising to ensure no one endures the pain his loved ones did. But the harder he fights, the more horrors pile up in front of him. Girls younger than his daughters—too young to even understand the cruelty of the world—are torn apart. Women like his wife endure violations so monstrous they make his stomach churn. He screams until his voice is raw, collapsing under the weight of it all. He vows. He fails. He vows again. And he fails again. Over and over, the cycle repeats, each failure driving him further into the abyss. For every monster he stops, ten more rise to take its place, their evil spreading like wildfire. Despair claws at him, relentless, unrelenting, dragging him down into the darkest pit of hell.
He takes his sixth step, his legs buckling beneath him, his body collapsing toward the ground. He loses control again, and this time, he's surrounded by the laughter of monsters. Rapists. Murderers. They grin at him, mocking him, describing in sickening detail how they tortured their victims for days—how they raped them, mutilated them, denied them even the mercy of a quick death. The process of dying itself was slow, agonizing, designed to break every ounce of hope and dignity. Every word they say feels like a knife twisting in his gut, pulling him deeper into the void. His chest tightens, his breath comes in ragged gasps, but the pain never stops—it only grows sharper, heavier, more unbearable.
He takes his seventh step, falling even lower. Now, he's barely standing. His knees hit the ground, his body crumpling under the weight of everything he's seen. He loses control one last time, and when he looks up, he sees himself—no, not himself. A shell. A hollowed-out wreck of a man. He's gone insane, consumed by the crushing realization of what humanity is truly capable of. Evil isn't rare. It isn't isolated. It's everywhere. It festers in every corner of society, hiding in plain sight, lurking behind closed doors, thriving in the shadows. And the worst part? There's nothing he can do to stop it. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many battles he fights, the tide keeps rising, swallowing everything in its path. He feels like he's drowning in a sea of blood, the weight of the world pressing down on him until he can't take another breath.
He takes his eighth step, collapsing further to the ground. Again, he loses control, and now he sees Gu Xianer. She's being bullied, mocked by everyone—even the servants—despite her young age. They ridicule her for her immaturity and big appetite. She's shaking, trembling, tears streaming down her face. The scene shifts, and suddenly, he sees his aunt pressing Gu Xianer's neck tightly, as if she's about to break it. The reason is simple: Gu Xianer had eaten from the plate his aunt had prepared specially for herself. He watches in horror as his uncle stands by, watching and enjoying Gu Xianer's suffering. Even Fang Zheng does nothing, standing silently without protest. He can clearly see her trembling, her suffocation, her desperate struggle to free herself—but she can't. Her small hands claw at her aunt's grip, her wide eyes filled with terror and betrayal. This memory pierces Fang Yuan's heart like a dagger. In this life, he loves Gu Xianer more than his own life, and seeing her suffer like this fills him with a pain so raw, so visceral, that it feels like his soul is being ripped apart.
Finally, he takes his ninth step, and again, he loses control. What he sees next shatters him completely. He sees himself—not as a protector, but as an emotionless, indifferent monster. His hands are around Gu Xianer's throat, lifting her off the ground. She struggles, her body jerking as she slowly dies in his grasp. But what breaks him utterly is her expression. Even as she suffocates, there's no hate in her gaze. Her eyes are filled with unconditional love, as if she's saying, "Brother, if you want to take my life, take it. It has always been yours. I will never hate you. I will always love you, no matter what you become. My love will always be with you. Please live a happy life without me."
Her acceptance, her love—even in the moment he's killing her—shatters him into a million pieces. When he finally comes back to himself, he realizes something even worse: after killing Gu Xianer, he feels nothing. Absolutely nothing. As if he's just crushed a mosquito. The emptiness inside him is deafening, a yawning chasm that swallows everything whole. The weight of it all becomes too much. He collapses onto the ground, his mind unraveling, his soul breaking beyond repair. His chest heaves, his body convulses, but no sound escapes his lips. He's beyond crying, beyond screaming. All that's left is the unbearable, suffocating silence of despair—a silence so heavy that it threatens to crush him into dust.