The next day came, and with it, the full moon.
I couldn't help but wish, with every ounce of hope I had left, that she would be asleep when I came back. Maybe, just maybe, I'd catch a break today.
I went to university with a strange sense of calm. For the first time in weeks, it didn't feel like the walls were closing in on me.
To my surprise, I got an A in all my subjects—all of them. It wasn't just the easy ones or the ones I was good at. I even got an A in math, a subject that always tripped me up before. I had always been content with B's, but today… today was different.
It felt unreal. As though the universe was giving me a little something back, something to hold onto.
The physical training period was canceled because the teacher was sick. Another stroke of luck, I guess. Maybe the full moon was bringing more than just my usual misfortune. Maybe today, it was offering me a reprieve.
I was sitting at my desk in the library, lost in thought, when I felt it. The sensation of being watched.
I glanced up, but when my eyes scanned the room, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. The other students were going about their business, absorbed in their own work. Yet, the feeling didn't go away.
It was like someone's gaze was burning into me.
Before I could pinpoint where it was coming from, or who it was, the feeling disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
I blinked, my heart racing, but the room was just as normal as it had been before.
I shook it off. Probably just my imagination, I thought.
The day went on so well, better than I could've ever hoped. I even tried, for once, to feel something—maybe... happy?
One of the teachers even complimented me on my work. "Good job, Zhen Wu," she said with a smile. Her words were small, but for some reason, they meant everything to me in that moment.
I felt lighter, like maybe—just maybe—I was starting to break free from the weight that had crushed me for so long.
But as the evening approached, that lightness started to fade, replaced by the familiar sense of dread that hung over me every time I went home.
I hoped, prayed, that she would be asleep when I returned. Maybe tonight, there would be peace. Maybe tonight, I could rest.
But when I opened the door, all of those hopes shattered.
What I saw inside took the very soul out of me.
She was there, standing in the center of the hall, laughing.
No… not laughing. Cackling. It was a sound that made my blood run cold. Her face twisted into something inhuman, and she looked at me with the eyes of a psychopath.
"Look at you, Zhen Wu," she sneered. "I told you I'd make you suffer."
My breath caught in my throat as my eyes darted to the center of the room.
My novels.
All of them.
The ones I'd worked on since I was twelve. The only things that had kept me going, the dreams that had been my escape.
They were piled up in the middle of the floor, flames licking at the pages, turning everything I'd poured my soul into into nothing but ash.
My entire future, burning in front of me.
I could only watch in horror, frozen to the spot.
"Do you see this, Zhen Wu?" She laughed again, that horrible, maddening laugh. "This is what you get for making my son suffer!"
I couldn't just stand there, not anymore. The sight of my novels, my entire future, burning before my eyes, was too much.
I shouted at her, my voice hoarse with rage and helplessness. "No! Stop it!"
I lunged forward, shoving past her to reach the pile of burning novels. The flames crackled, reaching for me as if they were alive, but I didn't care.
If I had to burn my hands, if I had to burn myself—so be it.
If these novels went up in smoke, then I would burn with them.
I reached for the nearest stack, my hands already blistering from the heat, but I kept going, pushing the pages away from the flames, desperate to save whatever I could.
"You bastard! Stop it!" she screamed, her voice dripping with madness.
I barely heard her. The only thing I cared about was those books. My life. My dreams.
But she didn't stop.
She just stood there, watching me with that deranged smile on her face. Her eyes gleamed with something sick and twisted.
"You took my son. You took his future," she spat. "Now everything about you is destroyed. Hahahahaha!"
Her laugh was more like a shriek. A maddening, insane sound that echoed through the room.
She was gone
All that was left was a psychopath, a crazed lunatic who found joy in destroying everything I ever cared about.
She hit me then. A sharp blow to the side of my face. But the pain barely registered. My vision was blurred by tears, my hands burned and blistered, but none of it mattered anymore.
Because everything was gone.
The flames began to slow, the last embers flickering out, leaving only a pile of ashes where my dreams once lived. I could barely move, the burns on my hands stinging as I tried to assess the damage. Every page, every book—gone.
The weight of it all crashed down on me. The pain, the helplessness, the rage—all of it mixing into a suffocating knot in my chest.
I was bleeding from my head. A wound I didn't even remember getting. But the pain was nothing compared to what I felt inside.
I looked at the ashes, my entire future reduced to dust.
Then, I stood. Slowly, painfully, but I stood.
And I looked at her.
The woman who had stolen everything from me.
There were tears in my eyes. Tears I had been too numb to shed before. The tears that had been locked inside for so long, finally pouring out. But even as I cried, I smiled—smiled at her.
"You were right," I said, my voice raw. "I should die. Just like you wanted. But you should know something…"
She didn't speak, just watched me, that twisted smile still on her face.
"My father died because of you. My brother… my brother suffocated because of you. You are responsible for my death, too. Do you hear me? Everything that happened—everything—it's because of you."
I took a step forward, my body trembling with fury.
Her expression faltered for a split second, but she quickly masked it with a sickening grin.
"Good job, stepmother," I spat, my voice low and bitter. "You've done a lot. You've destroyed me. You've murdered my dreams—and now, you've murdered yourself."
I took another step closer, the anger surging in my chest. "You're nothing but murderer."
I was shaking now, my voice rising, the weight of every ounce of hatred I'd been holding inside finally breaking free. "You're nothing but a murderer of my dreams. You ruined everything—and I hate you. I hate you more than anything."
You're listening? You're listening, aren't you?!"
I shouted, my voice trembling with rage, my chest heaving with every breath. "You're a fucking murderer!"
I pointed at her, the words coming faster, sharper. "You're responsible for everything bad in my life. For every bit of pain, every tear, every bruise! You should die... but you know what? You deserve more than that."
She stood there, watching me with that same twisted smile, as if she thought she had won. But I was done. Done with being silent, done with being afraid of her.
"You should suffer. Suffer for everything I went through because of you. You'll live every day with the anxiety and stress of what you've done. Every day, you'll be bowing under it, and no one will be there to relieve it. Your stress. Your depression. You'll live with it every single second."
he started taking steps back, his heart pounding in his chest. his body felt numb, but his voice—his words—were sharp, like a knife.
And then, he smiled. A dark, twisted smile that was my final defiance.
"You will die every day," he whispered. "Every day, but your soul will still be tethered to your half-dead body. You won't be able to escape. And you won't be able to die, not until you beg for it. And even then, you won't get the release you deserve."
he turned and took a few more steps back toward the balcony, his body moving almost mechanically.
"Congratulations," I said, my voice eerily calm. "You killed your only family. And now, you'll live with that every single day."
And then, he stepped off the edge.