Chapter Two Hundred and Eighteen: Hard to Say (III)
There are no ifs in history.
No fairy tale can last forever.
She sat on the swing in the middle of the garden, humming a common nursery rhyme.
The cool breeze brushing through the flowers added a rich accompaniment.
She stopped humming when she saw her little prince approaching her with a bouquet of white flowers.
See, this was her own little prince.
He was exceptional. She assumed heād brought back another medal from school.
Where was the medal? Did he want her to guess?
It had to be in his bulging pocket.
āCome, let Mother see it.ā She extended a hand happily.
The little prince hesitated to approach. He glanced at the housekeeper standing by as if to signal for help.
She couldnāt understand the meaning of that glance, so she repeated herself as gently as she could. āCome, let Mother see it.ā
No one answered the little princeās plea, so he could only take the object out from his pocket.
It was a white cockatiel.
She was a little surprised.
Because of her severe allergies, she very rarely came into contact with animals. Her gardener made sure that no nests or burrows appeared in the garden year round.
The cockatiel rested obediently in the little princeās palm. Its beady eyes stared at her as if to express goodwill.
Her curiosity got the better of her so she beckoned for her little prince to come closer.
The little prince hesitated, but ultimately chose to hand the cockatiel to his mother.
He was too young; both his sense of danger and ability to pinpoint its source were underdeveloped. His knowledge from books didnāt quite translate well to this real-world situation. They didnāt tell him how to distinguish people who had already lost their humanity.
This would be the last time he believed in those childrenās fairy tales.
From that day onwards, he would never again don his princely robes and jewelry chains. He would be set firmly in reality, never to return to the fairy tale.
She took the cockatiel and for the first time felt the magical sensations of live, warm feathers against her hand.
A warm smile as gentle as a spring breeze appeared.
The little prince began to tell his story of how heād found the cockatiel.
How heād almost been discovered hiding the cockatiel in his art class.
How heād spent the entire lunch break finding an empty place and feeding the cockatiel. Time had flown by so fast!
How the cockatiel had presented him with a large caterpillar as thanks.
The little princeās story-telling was very lifelike, and she listened keenly with great pleasure.
Although her little prince had broken many school rules, she didnāt immediately raise the issue. She understood that this wasnāt a good time to do that. After this was all over, she planned to go over which rules he had to abide by and which boundaries he shouldnāt cross.
However, she currently was a doting mother hanging onto her childās every word. Every accomplishment by her little prince gave her further vicarious pleasure.
Suddenly, a strange noise broke through the picturesque scene.
It was a servant screaming, āMadam!ā with a hand over her mouth.
She saw the servant quickly being escorted away by others. She saw her housekeeper wanted to say something but didnāt dare approach.
She suddenly felt something was off.
She slowly began to feel a stinging and itching sensation. Her gaze fell on the bird in her hand.
Red hives began spreading quickly across her now-pale arm like ants. Her veins swelled and became clearly visible on the surface of the skin, and her wrist bloated up like a balloon.
However much love sheād felt for the child sheād worked so hard to conceive, she now felt that same amount of hatred towards the monstrous freak.
And towards that lie of a marriage.
She lifted the ball of feathers up high.
The little princeās heart also leapt up into the air.
The little prince seemed to have abandoned all hope. His sorrow was at its peak, but he didnāt shed a tear.
He opened his eyes wide to remember the cockatiel before the final moment came.
A splatter of blood hit his face. Its droplets rolled down his cheeks.
His despair was reflected in his eyes. He never had the ability to forget this memory.
He heard a lamentation like birdsong at dawn.
āIn the end, the entire Gene Project was declared a failure. The He Family knows the reason, but I canāt get involved there. Thereās a problematic set of twins guarding this knowledge. The Nan Family was indeed responsible for Du Yirouās surgery. Unfortunately, in spite of all their hard work to take down the Du Family, they raised an even more fearsome enemy.ā
Liu Ye had finally arrived at the end of the Gene Project after over an hour of talking. When he finally paused, he realized how parched his throat was. However, he continued, āThat explains the issue of the blood type mismatch. When Du Yirou learned of the Gene Project, she experienced all kinds of hallucinations and finally succumbed to mental illness. To protect their own reputation, the Yan Family declared she had passed away from illness, andāā
āāIf it was for the Yan Familyās reputation, they would have actually killed her. Leaving her alive only poses dangers for them,ā Nan Qi interrupted with his head low and his fingers clasped tightly together.
āā¦ Thatās because of Yan Jin.ā Liu Ye took a deep breath, and then continued as if he hadnāt been interrupted. āIāve already found Du Yirouās patient admission record. Youāre the doctor, so you should understand better than me what the record means. Make sure this information stays here; thereāll be a lot of trouble if this is leaked. Anything related to yourself you can manage, but itās still probably safer that you delete it after youāre done reading it.ā
Liu Ye began heading out of the room. At the door, he added softly, āLeave the laptop there after youāre done with it. Iām going to sleep; I still need to see Yan Jin in the morning.ā
Nan Qiās faint assent went unheard.
Only Nan Qi now remained in the enormous room.
He skimmed over the screen a few times, then slammed the laptop shut.
There was a muted thud as the display snapped shut onto the keyboard.
Liu Ye would have been outraged if he were still there.
Fortunately, heād left the emotionally charged room muddled in his disorganized thoughts, dying for sleep. Nan Qi was left to his own devices to brood and vent.
The Gene Project was the Nan Familyās last chip to play.
Nan Xu had been certain Yan Jin wouldnāt tell him about this. Heād predicted that Yan Jin would rather admit to desiring the Du Familyās wealth.
Clearly, they themselves were the ones that wanted the Du Familyās wealth.
That was why they had ruined the Du Familyās youngest daughter without a qualm. They didnāt care that she was their young masterās Aunty.
In their eyes, life was fleeting while riches were forever.
Nan Qi finally understood how he and Yan Jin had become friends so quickly in spite of both of their prideful arrogance in youth.
It was neither coincidence nor fate. It had all been planned.
The Yan Family had struck a ādealā with Yan Jin. They agreed to spare Du Yirouās life.
In exchange, the son they had abandoned would help them establish good relations with the Nan Familyās outstanding successor.
Could this even be considered a trade?
Sometimes childhood friendships were even more reliable than business marriages.
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The young prince had no other cards he could bargain with. He could only comply with his familyās arrangements.
The only thing the young prince had been able to get in return was that run-down asylum.
That yearā¦ Yan Jin had only been eight years old.
Clutching his head, Nan Qi closed his eyes and let out a low howl.
It was the howl of a beast at the end of its rope.