Chapter Seven: Despair

The death sentence was handed down so absurdly and simply, as if it were a joke. Was his life really going to end like this? It was too humiliating.

“I’m going to die…” Mu You muttered mechanically, his head being forced down onto the iron chair, yet there wasn’t even a trace of resistance left in his heart.

You people… this is outrageous…

“All of you, get the hell away from me!!”

Suddenly, Mu You erupted with a crazed roar, his whole body trembling violently. The hospital clothes split at the seams as the crowd staggered back in fear. Seeing the terrifying ferocity that burst forth from the bones of this frail-looking boy, they snapped from their hatred into a semblance of reason, no longer daring to approach.

“Are you all pigs? It was a headless, bloody man who killed them, and yet you believe those animals above? They don’t dare provoke the Death Row Paradise—how many of you here have been bribed by it? Tell me! Unwilling to bear the consequences, you throw everything onto an orphan. Are you even human? I curse you all, I won’t let you go even as a vengeful spirit!”

Mu You screamed hysterically, spittle flying, and with a burst of strength, he wrenched the reinforced chair from the ground. Staggering around the hall with the chair strapped to his back, he crashed into the officers who tried to restrain him, spilling every secret he knew for all to hear. Yet in the eyes of the crowd, he was nothing but a madman—a brainwashed, lonely, and pitiful madman.

A madman’s words cannot be trusted; that was the true intent of those on the platform.

More and more people could no longer stand by; they leapt over the barriers to help the guards force Mu You to the ground, pressing him beneath their combined weight. No matter how strong his body had become after being transformed by the Meridian Soul Parasite, he could not withstand this endless tide of bodies.

He felt as though his legs would snap, the air being squeezed from his chest until he could no longer breathe, his mind growing dizzy from lack of oxygen. Helpless tears poured forth, finally breaking through all resistance.

Through a blur, he saw a familiar figure from the past—standing just half a meter away, watching him coldly.

Jiang Man’s father.

“Uncle Jiang, you know me best. I’m not that kind of person. I was Jiang Man’s best friend! These people are all insane—please, help me say something!”

Mu You desperately reached out, clutching at Jiang Man’s father’s pant leg, begging him, but the man kicked him away without hesitation.

Jiang Zhi yanked Mu You up by the collar, eyes blazing with anger, grief-laden words grinding out between clenched teeth.

“I always treated you like my own son. Jiang Man liked you, too. Do you know how happy she was to receive the ribbon you gave her? My daughter waited and hoped for the day she could give you a gift openly. She spent all her savings to buy you the skateboard shoes you liked, and you called them ugly. And then, not satisfied, you killed her for a thrill. You… you… damn it!”

The more Jiang Zhi spoke, the angrier he became, finally punching Mu You to the ground. This time, Mu You did not get up.

Yes, he remembered now. After he gave her the ribbon, Jiang Man never wore any other hair clips. She had given him a pair of double-rider skateboard shoes, but he hadn’t understood her meaning and had even called her silly.

In truth, he had always liked Jiang Man. But Mu You had always harbored a sense of inferiority, just enough to make him hide himself away, even willingly giving her up to his best friend. After all, Pang Sa could give Jiang Man the warm, complete family that Mu You never could. She would be happy, and if she was well, so would he be.

Wasn’t that also a kind, humble love? What wrong had he committed? He had always known his boundaries, yet ended up in a hopeless, powerless fate.

What had become of this world? What had he done wrong, for fate to torture him so? What was he supposed to do?

Wait—Senior Mo Han! He must have a way; he believed in Mu You and wouldn’t stand by as he was sent to his death.

Grasping at the last straw, Mu You frantically searched the crowd for Mr. Mo Han, only to see that, at some point, he had come to stand by Jiang Zhi’s side.

“Young Mo Han, I’m sorry, Uncle Mo has done his best. But the video of you begging me to exonerate you was accidentally leaked. So now, though my heart is willing, my hands are tied. But don’t worry, I take responsibility too, so I’ve applied to have you sent to Death Row Paradise. This will give you a slim chance at survival, and perhaps help you atone for your crimes.”

“Video of exoneration? What video?” Mu You blurted out, stunned.

“Still playing dumb!” Jiang Zhi sneered at his confusion, tossing a phone at Mu You’s feet.

The lock screen was a photo of Mu You at Jiang Man’s house—a sharp pang pierced his heart.

He opened the video. The scene was completely unfamiliar; Mr. Mo Han’s back faced the camera, and seated at the table, facing the lens, was Mu You himself.

Mu You had never been to such a place, nor had he met Mr. Mo Han before. The video had nothing to do with him!

Yet the person in the video looked exactly like him, the voice was identical as well.

“Please help me, Uncle Mo—you watched me grow up, you wouldn’t let me rot in jail, right? I just wanted a thrill, a hundred-man bombing, something so sensational it’d make the headlines. I’d hide among the chaos to avoid suspicion, and I’d be the sole survivor. All the eyewitness accounts would be mine to dictate. Who’d believe a middle schooler could pull off something so wild? The school would compensate me and help me get a good future… To think the criminal and the witness are one and the same—just the thought is thrilling, isn’t it, Uncle Mo? Hahaha…”

The “Mu You” in the video laughed with a twisted, wicked grin, uttering such horrifying words as if they were nothing. The image blurred amid shrill laughter, and Mu You’s eyes went utterly lifeless, all color draining away.

So this was all a setup, a trap awaiting his every step. The childish one had always been himself.

Mr. Mo Han gently patted Mu You’s motionless shoulder, smiled, and turned to leave. The director tried to say something, but seeing Mo Han’s unhesitating steps, chased after him resolutely…

Mu You didn’t know how he walked out of the courtroom; his mind was in chaos, letting himself be led away, drifting into the interrogation room where his limbs were again fastened to the tiger bench.

As soon as he entered, the officials’ expressions changed, the previous ferocity now laced with venom and cruel amusement.

The interrogation room was nothing like those on TV—no dark corners, but rather white-tiled walls gleaming under rows of fluorescent lights. On the wall were eight large characters: “Confess for leniency, resist for severity.” The whole room was sealed, with only one door and no windows, a huge one-way mirror in front of him.

Mu You stared blankly at his reflection, knowing cold eyes watched him from behind, weighing what more crimes could be pinned on him. He knew, too, that whatever he did was meaningless—the outcome was already decided.

The air conditioner was set low. No one came in, no one spoke. It was as if the world had abandoned this room.

Psychological warfare, was it? Did such things matter to him anymore?

Mu You stared at his mud-caked fingernails, curled up, and shouted at those behind the mirror:

“Enough of this nonsense. Do what you want—just send me to Death Row Paradise already. Wouldn’t that save you all a lot of trouble?”

Silence lasted only a second before the door opened. In walked the fat officer, two thugs, and a notetaker.

“Name, home address, occupation,” the interrogator demanded.

Mu You sat in the chair, grinning as if oblivious to his situation, bantering with the four men before him.

“What are you laughing at? Don’t you understand your position? Won’t cooperate? We have plenty of ways to make you talk!” the interrogator snapped coldly.

“Heh, I’ve already been sentenced to death. You can fake a video, surely you can do this much.”

“Chatter all you want. It’s more fun to have you ‘confess’ to your own crimes.”

All of them eyed Mu You with malice. The recent events had nearly driven them mad, and now, with such a perfect target for their frustrations, how could they resist?

The interrogator handed Mu You a sheet of paper, listing a fabricated account of his crimes, and forced him to read it aloud. The fat officer lounged on the table, enjoying the show.

Mu You clenched his teeth and said nothing.

In this society, the only thing worth cherishing was himself. Now, even his dignity was to be trampled. Once he yielded, what meaning would his existence have?

“You little punk, read! I told you to read!”

The interrogator slapped him hard, blood welling from Mu You’s left cheek, spattering from the corner of his mouth.

Spitting out a broken tooth, Mu You glared menacingly at the interrogator, refusing to utter a word.

“Not talking? All right, we’ll make you scream soon enough!”

The fat officer said nothing more, only nodded at the thugs nearby.