ASHES CH9: Relic

Ren Chenbai smoked two cigarettes on the rooftop.

Leaving the phone behind like that was because Ren Chenbai understood this girl who had been spoiled rotten by the Luo family very well.

Luo Cheng couldn’t possibly have the courage to admit it.

…If she admitted it, what would that mean?

It would mean that when Luo Cheng left, knowing full well that Luo Zhi’s condition was wrong, she didn’t contact the doctors or nurses, and didn’t tell anyone.

It would mean that the Luo family’s well-behaved and sensible apple of their eye could actually do something so chilling, and everyone would have to re-evaluate her, knowing she actually had such a side to her.

It would mean that Miss Luo, who was about to debut and become a big star, actually had this kind of fatal dark history that could completely destroy her if exposed.

And the Luo family’s selfish and cold-blooded nature, perhaps genetic or due to their upbringing, naturally showed itself to the fullest at a time like this.

On Luo Cheng’s scale, there had never been even the most insignificant half a spot belonging to Luo Zhi.

Hearing Ren Chenbai ask about this, Luo Cheng would be scared to death, feeling uneasy, terrified, and having countless concerns.

Afraid of her shameful thoughts leaking out, afraid of being pointed at, afraid of her image being completely ruined in an instant…

The only thing she wouldn’t think about was whether dragging the time out longer would cause Luo Zhi’s physical condition to worsen, whether it would put Luo Zhi in danger.

If Ren Chenbai really believed her like he said on the phone, and came back a bit later.

Would Luo Zhi die.

…

It was truly too ridiculous.

Ren Chenbai returned to the ward from the rooftop. The phone still lay quietly by Luo Zhi’s pillow.

There were no missed calls, nor a single message.

However, the on-duty doctor who came for ward rounds mentioned with some confusion that two minutes ago, a hidden number called the triage desk, hurriedly asked about the situation in Ward 1503, and hung up without explaining anything clearly.

Ren Chenbai glanced at Luo Zhi’s ward number.

He suddenly felt a bit of interest and turned on his phone’s recording function: “If the checkup were only done now, could the person still be saved?”

The on-duty doctor had just finished the examination. He froze for a moment and looked hesitantly at Luo Zhi.

He wasn’t sure why Mr. Ren would suddenly ask this, and struggled to weigh his words: “That would be hard to say…”

Ren Chenbai said it for him: “Eighty percent chance it would be too late.”

The on-duty doctor had never been so blunt. He choked for a good while before having to admit truthfully: “Yes.”

Ren Chenbai nodded, putting his phone away in satisfaction.

After the doctor left, the ward quieted down again, leaving only the steady beeping of the normally operating machines.

Luo Zhi lay quietly on the hospital bed.

It was as if he hadn’t moved since Ren Chenbai left the room, or perhaps he had been lying quietly and motionless like this since Ren Chenbai was on the phone with Luo Cheng.

Ren Chenbai was in no rush to speak either. He looked down and operated his phone, saving the recording he just made, changing the file name to “387”, and saving it into a dedicated folder.

The over three hundred materials saved in the folder were all data agreed to be provided to Director Gong Hanrou.

Luo Cheng’s understanding wasn’t comprehensive enough. The reason this documentary was popular before even broadcasting was that it didn’t just reproduce the experiences of those trafficked victims during that time.

For victims willing to face the camera directly, the production team would delve into every detail, continuing to track their lives after being rescued, unearthing those buried truths.

The preparation time for the documentary was very early. The source of inspiration was a story Ren Chenbai’s mother once told Director Gong.

The protagonist of the story was a boy named “Little Spark”, who returned after being lost for three years, only to find there was no longer a place for him in his home.

“Spark” was originally supposed to be the first unit of the documentary. Because Mother Ren passed away unexpectedly, Director Gong was never able to step out of the sorrow brought by her friend’s early death, which was why it had been shelved until now.

Now Luo Cheng actually wanted to fight for the role in the scene reproduction part of “Spark”.

Ren Chenbai found it incredibly interesting just thinking about it.

If this unit was truly filmed in its entirety, for the Luo family, it wouldn’t be as simple as just losing face.

What would the head of the Luo family’s reaction be?

He would probably flay Luo Zhi alive.

After all, not everyone has the ability to face guilt. There are always people who use resistance, indifference, self-deception, or even hatred to distort it.

Who can bear to face those truths that pierce people until they drip with blood?

…Just like how Luo Zhi clearly caused the death of his mother, yet always acted like nothing happened, even daring to make pastries to give to him.

Ren Chenbai put down his phone, his gaze landing on Luo Zhi.

Before he had time to restrain the coldness in his eyes, Luo Zhi seemed to sense something and suddenly opened his eyes.

Because he truly had no strength, his thick eyelashes fluttered slightly twice before finally opening slowly.

Those eyes seemed covered by a layer of mist, the pupils somewhat scattered with no focal point, a clean pure black as if washed by water.

Ren Chenbai unconsciously frowned.

Luo Zhi deciphered for a moment before speaking softly: “Brother Chenbai?”

He hadn’t spoken in a long time, and inserting the breathing tube might have injured his throat. His voice was a bit hoarse when he spoke.

It reminded one of seawater boiled for too long, no longer possessing its original clear transparency. After the swirling steam dissipated, only salty, coarse, dull crystals remained.

“Why exactly do you hate me so much.” Luo Zhi seemed to be asking him, and also seemed to be asking himself, “Did I do something particularly excessive?”

Ren Chenbai laughed sarcastically.

The sound of his laugh was very low and very cold: “You’re asking me? Luo Zhi, you’re coming to ask me?”

Luo Zhi wasn’t too surprised by this answer, actually.

After the few of them left, he was alone in the ward, watching his vision darken bit by bit.

The sound of his heartbeat gradually swallowed everything, and finally even those rapid and irregular heartbeats weakened. When everything returned to silence, the experience of time was stretched infinitely long.

In those seemingly infinitely long few seconds, Luo Zhi was thinking about two things.

The first question was what kind of feelings Xiao Cheng actually still had for him.

The second question was exactly why Ren Chenbai hated him.

Ren Chenbai helped him answer the first question, very clearly and in detail. The purpose was perhaps to make him feel sad, desperate, or in agony from the blow of the truth.

Luo Zhi had to admit that during the time Ren Chenbai put down the phone and left the ward, that phone, which never made any movement, was indeed like a cold iron hammer.

Smashing his bones unhurriedly, blow after blow. After smashing, it was replaced by an ice pick piercing with cold air, stabbing into his bone marrow.

It didn’t hurt, or perhaps he could no longer really remember the feeling of “pain”.

It was more of an almost paralyzing, bone-deep, chilling coldness. Cold to the extreme, the ghastly white frost could cut a person’s skin open.

…As for the second question, in the instant his vision completely darkened, the Ren Chenbai in his hallucination answered exactly like this.

Being able to guess so accurately was probably because Luo Zhi truly understood Ren Chenbai too well.

He grew up following Ren Chenbai, spending a considerable part of that rare, warm experience watching Ren Chenbai. He used his memories related to the Ren family to build a sturdy armor for himself bit by bit.

It wasn’t the first day the Luo family didn’t want him.

Luo Zhi had beaten up Jian Huaiyi because of this, and had talked back to his eldest brother, his father, and even Madam Luo because of this. But he had never felt much fear or despair over this matter.

Because he had always had confidence.

He always knew that even if the Luo family didn’t want him, it didn’t matter.

Because he also had—

“Right.” Ren Chenbai suddenly spoke. “When we came in earlier, what were you looking at?”

Luo Zhi stopped his thoughts and lifted his eyes.

Ren Chenbai had already returned to his usual appearance. That bit of gloomy coldness was gone, yet it seemed like it was lying dormant beneath a gentle facade, ready to devour someone at any moment.

Ren Chenbai seemed very interested in torturing him like this… just like in the summers of their childhood. Luo Zhi would sit under the big locust tree, holding a bowl of brown sugar ice jelly so cold that condensation formed on the bowl, watching Ren Chenbai play chess with challengers.

In games he could clearly win in a few moves, Ren Chenbai always liked to go in circles, letting the opponent grasp a glimmer of hope, before personally extinguishing that hope.

Little Luo Zhi would always forget to eat his ice jelly.

He would be mesmerized watching the teenage Ren Chenbai in front of the chessboard, his gaze calm and assured of victory, gently tapping those chess pieces one by one.

The chess pieces were placed on the board by Ren Chenbai, making crisp sounds.

Holding the power of life and death.

“…Pictures of that car of yours?”

Ren Chenbai said, “No need to look.”

Ren Chenbai said, “It was too severely damaged, it’s already been hauled away directly for destruction.”

Luo Zhi seemed unable to understand his words, frowning slightly.

Ren Chenbai picked up his jacket draped to the side, rummaged in the pocket, pulled out a crumpled destruction certificate, and placed it in front of Luo Zhi’s eyes.

Ren Chenbai had actually been investigating why Luo Zhi treasured that car of his so much.

Treasured it to the point of not allowing anyone to touch it even once. He even remodeled the inside of the car. If he didn’t want to go home and wasn’t working overtime, he would sleep alone in the car.

This matter was kept strictly hidden by Luo Zhi. Neither Ren Chenbai nor Jian Huaiyi managed to find out any information. Simply because Jian Huaiyi planned to tamper with Luo Zhi’s car—and hadn’t even had the time to execute it—he was found out by Luo Zhi through some unknown means. On the night of a birthday banquet, Luo Zhi cornered him in the car and beat him half to death.

Luo Zhi slowly sat up and reached out to take that vehicle destruction certificate.

He missed the direction on the first try. Shifting his fingertips, he finally reached the receipt, picked it up, and brought it close to his face to carefully decipher it word by word.

“…Brother Chenbai,” Luo Zhi said. “You called the police not to save me, but to destroy my car.”

Ren Chenbai originally wanted him to know this anyway and didn’t hide it, nodding: “I really didn’t expect you to play critically ill on me so easily.”

Ren Chenbai was actually like everyone else; he thought Luo Zhi had just occasionally caught a fever and passed out in the car, and he hadn’t paid much mind to it.

It wasn’t until Luo Zhi was dragged out and sent to the ambulance that he knew how dangerous the situation had been at the time.

Luo Zhi, not knowing whether he was listening or not, let out a soft “hmm” and looked at that receipt again.

An explosive ringing pierced his mind, like the exceptionally loud sound that gave him a huge fright the first time he excitedly climbed into that car and pressed the horn.

Everything before his eyes twisted, spinning erratically fast and slow, turning into blurred blocks of color.

“…Don’t be afraid.”

“Little Spark, don’t be afraid.”

“If the one surnamed Luo doesn’t like you, we don’t like him either!”

“Auntie will give you a car. When you grow up, you can drive it to travel the world, go wherever you want.”

“From now on, we’ll live in the car. This time, definitely no one will be able to kick our Little Spark out.”

“When you’re scared, sad, or homesick, just quickly hide in the car.”

“Alright, alright, the sturdiest car, it won’t break for a hundred years.”

…

Luo Zhi always knew that even if the Luo family didn’t want him, it didn’t matter.

Because he also had a home.

His home was that car. If there was no place in this world that could accommodate him, that was the last place he could escape to.

“Why,” Luo Zhi asked softly, “to make me feel more despair?”

Ren Chenbai didn’t deny it, so this was the correct answer.

Luo Zhi nodded.

He said a sentence he couldn’t even hear himself, and the block of color representing Ren Chenbai abruptly stood up, tightly grabbing his collar.

The ringing in his ears was intense, and he couldn’t hear what Ren Chenbai was saying, only sensing that Ren Chenbai had probably gone crazy.

Those hands were trembling violently, shaking him forcefully.

But it didn’t matter, everything before his eyes was already spinning out of control; he couldn’t get any dizzier anyway.

Luo Zhi’s face was so pale he looked like he might disappear at any moment. He curved his eyes, smiled obediently, and repeated what he had just said.

“Brother Chenbai, that was Auntie Ren’s relic.”