Chapter 21: That Worthless Dream
Those dismissive words were far too ruthless. Jian An let go of him in despair, yet his chest continued to throb with uncontrollable waves of pain, surging like a tide.
That man repeatedly claimed Jian An had killed Lin Qiuwan out of a greedy pursuit of fame. But how could Ji Songting ever know that back then, Jian An had only given up the opportunity to study abroad because he couldn’t bear to leave Ji Songting? He couldn’t bear for thousands of miles to separate them.
But Ji Songting didn’t believe him.
To someone who doesn’t love you, even the truth is superfluous.
“Don’t you love painting? You love it so much you used my mother’s blood as your pigment. Fine, then Iâll personally destroy the thing you care about. Don’t even think about the art competition.”
Ji Songting looked down at Jian An’s eyesâeyes that bore a striking resemblance to his mother’s. The careless slant of his brows was filled with extreme paranoia and madness. He walked toward the door and commanded:
“Yang Rui, take him away.”
Yang Rui cried out inwardly but didn’t dare offend his boss. He walked over to Jian An’s side with a submissive air, helped him up, and muttered under his breath:
“Mr. Jian, I’m being forced. Please don’t hold a grudge against me. I don’t want to do this either, but who told us we both have such bitter lives?”
His head was buzzing. Jian An could no longer tell who was speaking. His legs were so numb he couldn’t walk, so he had to be dragged out by the bodyguards, each supporting an arm.
The pale moonlight instantly turned into bottomless darkness as the night grew deeper.
The usually bright streetlights in the villa’s backyard had dimmed several shades tonight, matching the gloom of the moon.
Jian An was forced onto his knees, his arms pinned tightly by the two bodyguards. Not far away, a high pile of his paintings sat stacked together.
They were the only reason he had to keep living in this lifetime.
Early winter in the North was only minus 5°C. The wind was biting, sharp enough to make one’s bones acheâlet alone for him, who was only wearing a thin sweatshirt.
He was forced to look forward. His hazy eyes stung intensely. A manâs sinister voice, sounding both near and far, rang in his ears:
“Open your eyes wide and look closely. That is the thing you love mostâyour worthless dream.”
Jian An’s entire body shuddered. Traces of blood seeped from his violently trembling lips as he stammered:
“What… what do you want to do?”
“Guess.”
A cold sneer escaped from deep within Ji Songting’s throat. He slowly and methodically poured alcohol over the portraits.
He didn’t stop until the countless paintings were soaked in alcohol and the bottle was empty.
No matter how muddled Jian An’s mind was, he knew exactly what the man intended to do. He struggled with all his might to rush forward and stop it, but it was in vain. He could only cry out in a hoarse voice:
“No! Don’t burn them! I’m the one who made the mistake, I’m the one you hate! If you want to burn something, burn me! Those paintings are innocent! Ji Songting, I beg you…”
Even he had lost count of how many times he had begged this man over the years. Yet, all he received in return was escalating torment and endless indifference.
“Innocent? Everything around you is guilty, including you. It won’t be that easy for you to die.”
Ji Songting held a smoldering cigarette between his slender fingers. He glanced sideways at Jian An, let out a cold snort, and then brought a lighter close to the paper. With a flick, a blue flame ignited.
In an instant, the alcohol-soaked paintings roared into a massive blaze. Like the tongues of a pack of greedy wolves, the flames licked greedily at the fragile paper, fanned by the wind. In the blink of an eye, the fire rose to half the height of a man.
“Let me go! Let me… you really can’t burn those paintings! Hurry, use water to put it out…”
Jian An twisted his body, desperately trying to get closer to the bonfire. His heart-wrenching cries echoed through the back garden for a long time.
His face was flushed red, tears streamed down his cheeks, and the veins on his snow-white neck bulged from the intensity of his emotions. He had never felt as powerless as he did at this moment.
Standing to the side, Yang Rui looked away, unable to bear the sight. He sighed in his heart like an old mother:
What a sin. Why do I feel so much guilt? This won’t do. When I get back, I have to eat vegetarian and pray to Buddha for three days. I’ll hit the wooden fish extra hard to gain some merit.
Watching that expression of agonizing pain, Ji Songtingâs narrow eyes flickered with a strange tremor. However, what showed on his face was mostly the pleasure of a satisfied revenge.
This lookâscreaming and trying to resist but only able to be trampled uponâwas his true face after the mask was torn away, wasn’t it?
Pitiful, filthy, lowly, shameless…
Ji Songting took a deep drag of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke carelessly into Jian An’s face, saying with disdain:
“What? Have you worn the mask so long you can’t take it off? All that ‘gentle and modest’ act… look at yourself now. You’re a piece of trash. You don’t have a shred of the authority a Young Master of the Jian family should have.”
The air was filled with the choking smell of burning and a heart-pounding heat, but the person on the ground was already cold with despair.
Gradually, Jian An stopped struggling. Extreme grief and his frantic resistance had exhausted all the strength in his body.
He became quietâterrifyingly quiet. His hands trembled slightly, and the scent of blood filled his throat.
In the soaring flames, frames of his past seemed to emerge from the burning paintings.
There was his first award-winning piece; the first time he went crazy for an inspiration; and the one Zhou Manxiang had torn apart, which he had stayed up all night to piece back together bit by bit…
Too many unforgettable memories vanished completely into ash along with the sparking embers.
He had always been someone who clung to the past, always hoping in his heart that his dying dreams could be reignited. He never imagined they would be reignited in this way.
After a long time, Jian An mournfully raised his wet eyes and gazed deeply at the tall, cold man before him. He said:
“Ji Songting, I love you. But you use this humble love to hurt me without restraint. Is there truly not a single corner for me in your heart?”
“There is.”
The man’s sudden answer stunned the despondent Jian An. His eyes, filled with an ethereal hope, looked toward him again in disbelief.
Ji Songting studied him with interest, his cold eyes narrowing with a hidden murderous intent:
“You’re the murderer who killed my mother. How could I ever forget you? Even if you die a thousand times, ten thousand times, or are cut into a thousand pieces, it wouldn’t be enough to quell the hatred in my heart.”
Hearing this, Jian An lowered his head in disappointment, his lips twitching slightly. It was as if all the people and things around him no longer existed, leaving only desolation and hopelessness.
He should have known. How could there be a place for him in Ji Songting’s heart?
But why was it that every time, he would rather risk being hurt just to believe the words the man spoke…?
Ji Songting gestured for the bodyguards to let go of him, and then he left the backyard without a moment’s hesitation.
Because of the alcohol, the flames flared up violently for a moment. Carried by the wind, a spark flew directly into Jian An’s eye. The intense stinging forced him to cover his eyes.
His already bloodshot eyes became even redder, and his constricted pupils began to lose focus.
He struggled to half-open his eyes, only to suddenly realize that his vision had become blurry, as if the surroundings were shrouded in thick fog.
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