“Yingying!”
The shrill, agonizing voice cut through the frozen air like a blade.
Zhang Chunhua abandoned her daughter and lunged toward the photograph. Her hands trembled violently as she grabbed the torn pieces, trying desperately to press them back together. But how could something so utterly shattered be made whole again?
“Mom!”
The daughter’s face distorted with rage. Grabbing her mother’s arms, she savagely forced the older woman to look at her. “Where are you looking?! I am Yingying! I am Yingying!”
The mask she had defended with her life moments ago was now brutally ripped away by her own hands. The face beneath it was largely identical to the one featured in the videos and photos on her social media homepage—yet it bore only a seventy percent resemblance to the torn photograph.
No, perhaps not even seventy percent.
It was impossible to imagine that the face in the photograph could ever belong to this countenance, twisted so hideously by fury.
“You are not her!” At this moment, Zhang Chunhua’s eyes cleared with startling brightness. It was as if she had suddenly woken up, or perhaps fallen into an even deeper state of frenzy. “You are not! You are a thief! A liar! A robber! You stole her face, you lied to everyone and called yourself Yingying, and you snatched her away from me!”
“But none of it matters! You will never be her!”
“There is only one she in this world! Only Huo Qiying is Huo Qiying!”
The nameless tombstone, Old Hu’s riddle, the whispers of bystanders, ‘Yingying’s’ face, and now, Zhang Chunhua’s hysterical cries—all of it finally pieced together the young girl hidden behind the mists of time.
Huo Qiying. Qiying, as in the bioluminescent sea sparkles.
The “blue tears” that Hu Kun had loved with his entire soul.
The farce concluded with the arrival of the police, summoned by the assistant.
Ji Xun flashed his credentials, briefly explained the situation, and said to the responding officers, “I want to speak with Zhang Chunhua alone to clarify a few things.”
The local police granted this small request without a second thought, directing them to a studio room in the back.
However, Zhang Chunhua was entirely unwilling to acknowledge Ji Xun. She sat rigid in her chair, her gaze glued entirely to the photograph clutched tightly in her hands.
Ji Xun pulled up a photo of Huo Ranyin on his phone and placed it directly in front of her.
A flicker of confusion crossed Zhang Chunhua’s face.
“This is Huo Ranyin,” Ji Xun explained. “He is Huo Qiyu’s child. By family hierarchy, he would be Huo Qiying’s nephew.”
Zhang Chunhua finally reacted. She gave a stiff nod, mechanical as an ungreased machine. “So… it’s the Second Miss’s child.”
But communication was possible. Ji Xun hadn’t misjudged; right now was one of Zhang Chunhua’s rare windows of lucidity.
“He wants to know something about his family’s past,” Ji Xun said. “About Huo Qiying.”
“What does he know so far?” Zhang Chunhua asked.
“He knows nothing. The name Huo Qiying was never spoken by anyone in the Huo family.”
These words struck a chord. A more defined expression surfaced on Zhang Chunhua’s face—a look of knowing disdain, as if to say, Of course, just as I thought.
“Then let us begin from back then,” she murmured. “From why Qiying ran away from home…”
Ji Xun listened with absolute patience.
Qiying was beautiful. You have seen the photograph, so you know how beautiful she was. But you have never seen her in person, so you cannot truly understand the kind of magical, hypnotic power that beauty held.
Perhaps due to Zhang Chunhua’s illness, as she spoke of the past, a unique and bizarre atmosphere washed over the room. Ji Xun felt himself being pulled into a weightless vortex.
Boss Huo owned two ocean-going vessels. Back then, he was a renowned big shot around these parts.
In those days, people loved visiting the homes of prominent figures. Every single day, Boss Huo’s house was filled with different guests. For the sake of these guests, Boss Huo constrained himself in every possible way.
He was wonderful to his employees, their families, and even complete strangers. But behind closed doors, when only family was present, he wasn’t quite so wonderful.
When I say ‘not so wonderful,’ I don’t mean he beat or verbally abused them, nor do I mean he had a poor relationship with his wife. I simply mean he could never escape the gaze of outsiders. He lived every waking moment in the eyes of the world.
He was terrified of his own daughter.
Those weren’t Zhang Chunhua’s words; they were Huo Qiying’s.
“Sister Hua, I think Papa is afraid of me.”
It was a spring night years ago. The stars hung low, the moon was setting, and a warm red lamp illuminated the room. Huo Qiying sat on her bed, swinging her bare feet.
“Don’t talk nonsense, Qiying. Why would Boss Huo be afraid of you?” Zhang Chunhua wasn’t much older than Qiying back then. The girl with two braided pigtails finished tidying the wardrobe, walked over to pull up the blanket, and draped it over Huo Qiying.
The plain-colored quilt covered Huo Qiying entirely, but with a slight wiggle, her head and calves popped right back out from the edges. Her porcelain-white feet kept moving, resting against the bedside, swaying gently like a small boat drifting on nighttime waters.
Huo Qiying’s hair was naturally curly—fine, soft tendrils that framed her cheeks tenderly, looking exactly like those modern cover girls on magazines.
“Sister Hua, Papa really is afraid of me,” Huo Qiying sighed with an air of mature melancholy. “He thinks I’m too beautiful, that people like me too much. He’s terrified that something will happen. That’s why he only wants me to use dull, gray things. Gray clothes, gray blankets, a gray room, a gray house…”
“The house is perfectly fine, it’s not gray,” Zhang Chunhua had argued. Yet, she couldn’t help but notice the truth in Qiying’s words. Bright colors were systematically vanishing from the household. More and more clothes were restricted to black, gray, and deep blue. At first, she was merely forbidden from wearing beautiful clothes outside; later, Boss Huo refused to let her wear anything vibrant even at home, enforcing old-fashioned styles that even Zhang Chunhua wouldn’t want to wear.
Was it because of those daily guests who praised Qiying every time they visited?
But this forced modesty was utterly futile. Some people need clothes to adorn them; others adorn the clothes they wear. The adolescent girl, looking as pure as if she were molded from milk, only found her unblemished innocence further emphasized by the bleakest of colors.
“The moon outside is missing a piece,” Huo Qiying rolled over on the bed.
Her slightly curly long hair broke free from the blanket, spilling lazily across the fabric. It shimmered with faint, dark glints under the moonlight—glints that looked like the residual glow of the moon, though a casual glance might make one think of the silver sheen of a spider’s silk.
Huo Qiying propped up her upper body, resting her chin in her hands. “Sister Hua, what is it like outside our hometown? The guests always say the scenery out there is vast and open. And it’s not just them; the books say so too. ‘The stars hang low over the vast wild plain; the moon surges as the great river flows.’ I want so badly to go out and see scenery like that…”
Zhang Chunhua hadn’t answered. She simply closed the balcony door for Huo Qiying, shutting out the view.
But she thought to herself that Qiying was probably right. The house could be stifling, while the outside world held infinite landscapes.
Qiying was always right.
About half a month after that night, Huo Qiying suddenly bypassed everyone else in the house and beckoned to her with an air of profound mystery. Though puzzled, Zhang Chunhua didn’t alert anyone. Taking advantage of the moment when everyone had gone out, she quietly slipped into Qiying’s room.
She didn’t see anyone at first. Only the bed curtains had been pulled shut in broad daylight.
Is Qiying hiding inside? Zhang Chunhua thought. She stepped forward, called out softly, and lifted the curtain.
No one was inside. Only a neatly made quilt lay lonely on the mattress.
Right then, a voice rang out from behind her: “Sister Hua!”
Startled, Zhang Chunhua spun around and gasped—
It was a vision of heavenly azure and cloud-like fluff, outlined by the sunlight into a soft, golden halo.
Huo Qiying stood before her, having stepped in from the balcony wearing a gown unlike anything seen even on television or in magazines. The dress was a cascade of intricate layers, trailing a long tulle train adorned with pristine white pearls. The hem swelled like rolling waves, and the beautiful sleeves cradled her porcelain arms like clustering petals. Her arms weren’t harshly thin; they possessed a supple, youthful fullness that looked incredibly soft to the touch.
“Is it pretty?”
Huo Qiying leaped in from the balcony. Holding the hem of her skirt with both hands, she spun around like a swan right in front of Zhang Chunhua. The skirt blossomed outward like a swan’s wings taking flight.
“It’s beautiful… so beautiful, so gorgeous…” Zhang Chunhua stammered, wanting to touch it but terrified her rough fingers might snag the fabric.
Yet Huo Qiying bluntly gathered up the skirt and stuffed it into Zhang Chunhua’s hands.
“It looked beautiful at first glance, but after a while, it’s just alright.” The gown was long, but having its train held by Zhang Chunhua didn’t hinder Qiying’s movements. She curled up in a nearby chair. “Though it must have been very expensive.”
It wasn’t just likely expensive; it was undeniably a fortune.
Zhang Chunhua carefully gazed at the pearls on the train. Pearls weren’t even the main attraction; the gown’s waistband was embroidered with flowers fashioned entirely out of sapphires.
It was breathtaking.
She stroked it lovingly. “Qiying, where did this come from?”
“Charles sent it,” Huo Qiying replied, gesturing with her hands. “The man with black hair and gray eyes who came to our house last time. He has foreign blood. His English name is Charles, and his Chinese name is Lin-something… oh, I forgot.”
“Isn’t this… too valuable?” Zhang Chunhua hesitated.
“It’s not valuable at all. The clothes aren’t precious; I am what’s precious,” Huo Qiying giggled. “It’s just hard to ship things between domestic and international lines. Otherwise, I could have as many as I want. Oh, right, he also sent a letter saying he’s going to send ship tickets so our whole family can travel abroad.”
She was beautiful. And a beautiful person is intimately well-versed in their own beauty. All fine garments and precious jewels were nothing more than trivial ornaments to decorate her.
At that moment, a strange resentment took root in Zhang Chunhua’s heart. Why was Boss Huo so unwilling to let Qiying wear beautiful clothes when he clearly had the means to do so? He could have let his daughter’s beauty radiate fully. Was Boss Huo truly living in fear of his increasingly breathtaking daughter? Did he honestly think that by using drab, somber colors, he could blot out Qiying’s light?
What sin was there in being beautiful?
“What happened next?” Ji Xun couldn’t help but ask. “Did Huo Qiying board the ship?”
“Next…” Zhang Chunhua said. “The dress was discovered by Boss Huo. He flew into a terrifying rage. Right in front of Qiying, he tore and hacked the dress to shreds, then threw the entire thing into the fire.”
Instinct told Ji Xun that this wasn’t the whole story.
And indeed, Zhang Chunhua wasn’t finished. She continued to describe the memory:
It made no sense. She had hidden the dress so carefully. How did Boss Huo find it?
She watched as Boss Huo pointed at Huo Qiying’s face, screaming savagely that his daughter didn’t understand his painstaking intentions. Huo Qiying simply curled up in the corner of the sofa, pulling her legs tight, staring coldly at the floor tiles without uttering a single word. In front of them, the magnificent gown twisted and wailed in the flames, turning to ash.
Meanwhile, Zhang Chunhua’s eyes scanned the room, searching every corner of the house.
Finally, she spotted it—a tiny, colorful fragment of a skirt hem peeking out from the edge of the second-floor corridor.
Madam Huo was standing at the turn of the stairs, watching the entire scene.
Enlightenment struck her like a physical blow.
Aside from herself, the only other person who ever entered Qiying’s room was Qiying’s mother. The dress had been discovered by Madam Huo, who then went straight to Boss Huo.
She understood everything then. In that house, it wasn’t just the father who feared his daughter’s beauty; even the mother secretly envied it. Otherwise, why would a mother deny her daughter the right to wear beautiful clothes?
The father feared her beauty. The mother envied it.
Beauty is a magic mirror; it reflects the innermost evils of the human heart.
Behind them, the extravagant gown twisted and shrieked within the fire as it turned to ash—sounding so much like the unvoiced screams of Qiying herself.
In the dead of night, Zhang Chunhua had crept back into the parlor. Sifting through the thick pile of ash, she retrieved the surviving pearls and sapphires before entering Qiying’s room. The black soot stained her hands and clothes, but she only felt sorrow for the deformed pearls.
Huo Qiying hadn’t been asleep. She picked up a sapphire, blew the ash from its surface, and placed it back into Zhang Chunhua’s palm to comfort her. “It’s alright, Sister Hua, don’t cry. Look, the sapphire is still so bright. It isn’t afraid of the fire.”
“I wasn’t the one who told Boss Huo,” Zhang Chunhua had explained frantically.
“I know,” Huo Qiying replied. “Papa is always monitoring me. He’s paranoid. Finding this dress probably made him feel like all his past suspicions finally came true.”
“Qiying—”
“Shh.” Huo Qiying pressed a single finger to her lips. Then, she pulled another envelope from beneath her pillow and handed it over. “Look at this.”
Another letter. Inside, alongside the Chinese script, were words written in an incomprehensible but undoubtedly elegant English.
Zhang Chunhua held her breath as a crisp ship ticket, along with a check, slid out from the open envelope. Under the moonlight, they looked like two fluttering butterflies landing squarely in Huo Qiying’s palm.
“So…”
“Yes,” Zhang Chunhua said with a cynical twist of her lips. “There was truly nothing left to love about that home. I helped Qiying board the ship. I expect that once his daughter vanished, Boss Huo breathed a sigh of relief from the absolute bottom of his heart.”
Ji Xun fell into a long silence.
Was the attitude of the Huo parents truly as Zhang Chunhua described? Judging by what happened to Huo Qiyu later on, probably not. This past was merely filtered through Zhang Chunhua’s highly subjective lens.
However, one objective fact stood out.
According to Zhang Chunhua’s account, the vessel Huo Qiying boarded was absolutely not one of the Huo family’s ships. Yet, in Old Hu’s account, Huo Qiying had been hidden inside a cargo hold belonging to the Huo family.
Why?
Did the runaway Huo Qiying board the wrong ship?
“It’s for the best anyway,” Zhang Chunhua muttered to herself. “This way, Boss Huo got his peace of mind, and Qiying got her freedom. Charles would take care of Qiying. Even if something happened to Charles, others would take wonderful care of her.”
She was entirely certain, filled with unwavering faith. Because that was Huo Qiying.
Some feared her, some envied her, some wanted to become her—but far, far more people loved her. They loved her deeply.
Ji Xun walked out of the room.
“Thanks,” he said, nodding to the officer who had granted him access.
“Don’t mention it, just standard cooperation. I don’t know what young people are thinking these days—throwing away their own faces just to use someone else’s. Though that photo really was stunning. Truly beautiful.” The officer sighed, then shook his head. “But being too beautiful isn’t a good thing either.”
Ji Xun paused right at the threshold.
“You’re right,” he said, looking back with a faint smile. “Beauty is a gorgeous flower blooming right at the barrel of a gun.”
A flower laced with blood and venom.
