Chapter 76

Yang Yi’s smile grew even brighter, widening until her lips stretched upward in a grotesque manner.

“Cousin, my beloved cousin, my foolish cousin, do you know how much I’ve wanted to kill you? In countless dreams, I held a knife and carved you piece by piece, dismembering you—I’ve even found where to get industrial-strength acid anonymously; it won’t just melt your flesh, but your bones too, turning them to sludge, so you vanish completely from this world, as if you never existed… What? Are you scared? Look, your face has gone pale…”

Everything in the room trembled slightly, and the temperature began to drop; frost coated the glass door, and the smooth surface of the coffee table slowly crystallized with ice flowers.

Yang Ze was clearly frozen in midair, immobile—but had anyone seen him, they would have noticed his entire body trembling uncontrollably. His dark skin had turned as white as a corpse’s.

Yang Yi continued laughing, her laughter strange and manic: “This is nothing. This is the simplest way I’ve imagined killing you. I’ve thought of other ways too—I even read ‘A Comprehensive Encyclopedia of Global Tortures’—you’re so lucky, I bought that book just for you—how about lingchi? First, wrap you tightly in a fishnet, then use a sharp little knife—better yet, a dull one, it hurts more—to slowly slice off the protruding flesh. How would you like to handle your own meat? Feed it to dogs? Rats? Or eat it yourself? I’ve only imagined this method three or four times…”

“By the way, speaking of rats,” she suddenly remembered something amusing, her tone growing more excited, her eyes gleaming, “there’s a rat punishment perfect for you! First, put rats inside a box open at one end, then press that open end against your body—where? The belly, say, or the face, but the lower half would be even better! Then light a fire under the box to heat it up. The rats, desperate to escape, will frantically burrow into your flesh, drilling deep, deeper still, straight into your belly…”

Suddenly, a drop of water hit the floor—“drip—drip”—then more drops followed, faster and faster, and the stench of urine filled the air.

Yang Yi widened her eyes slightly as she stared at Yang Ze. “Ah, look—you think this rat punishment is fun too?”

“There’s another, longer-lasting game. I’ll secure you, inject you with a neural stimulant—so no matter how much I torture you, no matter how much pain you endure, you won’t pass out. You’ll stay perfectly conscious. Where to start? How about cutting off that thing of yours first…”

Her facial muscles twitched suddenly; the excessive smile on her face looked grotesque. “…And yet now, you dare come to me? Dare make demands of me? Dare try to ride my coattails for fame and fortune? Are you insane? Or am I?”

She leaned close to that revolting face, studying him meticulously, as if gazing at some strange, unfamiliar creature.

But the stench of urine was utterly ruinous. Yang Yi slowly straightened up, her grotesque smile fading into cold indifference.

Amid the faint trembling of everything, the atmosphere in the room solidified—cold, thick, like a river choked with countless layers of ice, struggling to flow.

“Do you know why I haven’t killed you?”

She slowly sat down on the sofa, propping her head with her right hand, as if utterly exhausted. Her gaze was hazy, murmuring to herself—not as if speaking to anyone, but as if speaking only to herself.

“Because you’re not worth it. I won’t dirty my hands for a thing like this… for a pile… of shit… crossing that line… not worth it, not worth it at all…” she whispered.

Yang Ze suddenly felt the force restraining him vanish. Trembling, terrified, he stared at the monstrous figure before him, cautiously shifting his body, leaving a trail of urine on the floor. When he realized she made no move to stop him, he bolted away in a frantic scramble, fleeing with the fastest speed of his life.

The trembling in the room slowed from frantic to sluggish, then gradually ceased—the sofa, the coffee table, the hanging painting, the walls, the floor—all stilled. Even the dust particles in the air settled back to the ground.

Yang Yi sat motionless for a long time, as if frozen into a statue.

She could punish him at will, by any means, in any way—send him to prison, or worse, kill him, dismember him, grind him into paste—it would be effortless for her. But then what?

Precisely because all this was effortless for her, she must not do it—she must restrain herself all the more.

Power breeds rights, rights breed boundless desire, and unchecked desire is evil.

She did not want to cross that line—precisely because crossing it was so easy for her, she must not cross it.

Pouring a bucket of sewage into a clear pond won’t change much—but once you believe it won’t change anything, you’ll let more sewage pour in.

I am a person, she thought. A normal person.

And I must be seen by others as normal—someone with boundaries, with principles—so they won’t fear me, won’t see me as an unpredictable madwoman, a mindless lunatic, a psychologically broken victim of past torment.

She would be normal—a trustworthy person, someone predictable by reason and logic, morally moderate, someone with weaknesses, someone who could be threatened—a human weapon that could be controlled.

Enough. This is enough. Just knowing she has this power, this ability, the ability to act at any moment—it is sufficient.

Like the wealthy man she told Chen Huanyue about—he didn’t mind wearing tattered clothes, being shoved around, looked down upon, scolded, driven away. Not only did he not mind—he found pleasure in it, because he knew his fortune was immense, and if he wished, he could make all those people regret it endlessly.

What she wanted was not to watch her enemy suffer, not revenge itself—but a sense of control, an awareness of power, an absolute freedom of mind.

She didn’t need status, power, or even great strength; what she needed was something only great strength could grant, something impossible without it: the proud, tranquil awareness of power! This is the most complete definition of freedom!

Merely knowing she could control others’ fates, knowing she was strong, free—this was already enough to satisfy her.

No, no, this was not enough.

She needed not only to control others’ fates, but to control herself—to master her own boundlessly expanding desires and instincts—only then could she suppress the growing, violent unrest within her heart.