Shattered

Yin Suzhi guarded the spirit tablet with her life, her knuckles white, her entire being like a mother beast protecting her young, exhausting the very last of her strength.

"I will not move."

Her voice was hoarse and resolute.

"He was a piece of my own flesh. He was the child I carried for ten months and brought into this world."

"I couldn't protect him while he was alive."

"Now that he is dead, do I not even have the right to burn a stick of incense for him?!"

Listening to these words, Ning Jing was not moved in the slightest. Instead, his chest heaved violently, his bloodshot eyes fixed intently on Yin Suzhi's desperate, protective stance.

He suddenly laughed.

The sound was squeezed from the depths of his throat, hoarse, dry, and carrying a bone-chilling, sinister coldness.

"You won't move?"

His voice was pressed extremely low, like a wild beast issuing its final warning.

"Fine."

The word "fine" popped out from between his teeth, syllable by syllable, each one carrying an uncontrollable, vicious malice.

"If you won't move—then I will smash it myself!"

Before the words had even faded, Ning Jing lunged forward, reaching out to grab the palm-sized clay figurine. His hand, covered in bulging veins, splayed its fingers like an eagle's claw, heading straight for the small statue with the round face and topknot on the spirit tablet.

"No—!"

Yin Suzhi screamed and lunged forward.

She was like a startled cat, recklessly climbing onto Ning Jing's arm, her ten fingers locking onto his wrist as she tried to drag him back.

She used every ounce of strength in her body.

Every fiber, every strand, held nothing back.

It was as if she were protecting the last thing in this world that belonged to her.

"Don't smash it! I beg you! Please, don't smash it!!"

Ning Jing shook his arm, but he couldn't shake her off.

This woman, usually so gentle and soft-spoken, had erupted with a strength far beyond his expectations. She hung onto his arm as if her life depended on it, trembling all over, yet refusing to let go.

"Get lost!"

"You cannot smash it! You cannot!!"

"That is Zha'er! That is Zha'er!! You cannot—"

Yin Suzhi's voice was completely raspy, her mouth filled with desperate pleas.

Ning Jing was stalled by her iron grip.

He lowered his head to look at the woman hanging from his arm, her face streaked with tears, looking like a madwoman.

In those bloodshot eyes, there was not a shred of pity.

There was not even anything left that belonged to a "father" or a "husband."

Fear, anxiety, resentment—these emotions had burned away his remaining reason, leaving behind only pure, unadulterated violence.

"Get away from me!"

"You useless, foolish woman!!"

Ning Jing's roar nearly tore the roof off. His face was twisted to the extreme, his features unrecognizable from his blind rage.

"You birthed a monstrosity! You've brought me no peace! And now you dare to stop me—!"

His free hand shoved violently against Yin Suzhi's shoulder, sending her staggering backward. But Yin Suzhi still wouldn't let go; after being pushed back two steps, she lunged back in, like a mother beast cornered, letting out a desperate and shrill howl.

"I won't let you smash it! I would rather die than let you smash it!!"

Ning Jing's patience snapped completely at that moment.

He widened his eyes and suddenly raised his foot—

He kicked her hard in the abdomen.

"Bang—!"

The kick landed with full force, striking her squarely.

Yin Suzhi was sent flying like a discarded ragdoll, her body tracing a short arc through the air before crashing heavily to the ground.

The back of her head—

"Thud—!"

It struck the hard, solid brick wall.

The dull sound was heavy and terrifying.

It sounded as if something had shattered.

Yin Suzhi's body convulsed.

A stream of warm liquid slowly seeped from the back of her head, winding down her neck and blooming into a dark red stain on the blue brick floor.

Everything before her eyes blurred.

The ceiling was spinning.

The walls were spinning.

The entire world was spinning.

Everything in her field of vision became distorted and fractured, like a reflection cast into water—wavering, unstable, and falling apart.

Yet, even in this blur where she could barely see a thing—

She saw him.

The figure of Ning Jing.

He strode toward the small ancestral shrine.

With one grab—he snatched the clay figurine into his hand.

The clay figurine she had carved herself, stroke by stroke, blade by blade.

The round face. The two topknots. The indescribable spirit and stubbornness in the eyes.

She remembered every detail of making this figurine.

She remembered how her trembling hands had outlined the child's silhouette, bit by bit.

She remembered how she had stared at her hazy memories, repeatedly adjusting the curve of those eyes—they needed to be a little more upturned, a little brighter, just like when he was alive, always carrying that unyielding spirit.

She had wanted that little face to be forever fresh, forever vivid—

Not like that final moment she saw in the crowd: pale, cold, and never to open its eyes again.

She remembered holding it in her palms for a long, long time after finishing it, finally pressing it against her cheek and whispering—

"My good child, from now on, Mother will be with you every day."

And now.

Ning Jing raised the clay figurine high.

Yin Suzhi's lips trembled as they parted.

She wanted to shout. She wanted to scream. She wanted to crawl over. She wanted to shield it with her own body.

But her limbs had no strength left. Dizziness swallowed her like a tide, and her vision grew darker and blurrier.

She could only watch.

Watch as Ning Jing raised the figurine above his head.

Watch as his twisted, ferocious face was filled with frantic hatred.

"You evil spawn! It's all you! You're the reason for all this!"

And then—

Watch as he smashed the figurine in his hand violently against the ground.

He slammed it down with all his might.

"Bang—!"

A crisp sound of shattering.

It was as if something inside her heart had shattered along with it.

The moment the figurine hit the ground, it broke into countless pieces.

The round little face shattered. The topknots shattered. Those smiling eyes shattered. Tiny shards of clay scattered across the cold blue bricks, never to be pieced back together again.

"No..."

Yin Suzhi's lips moved, emitting a syllable that was barely audible.

The sound was as faint as the last wisp of smoke in the wind, about to dissipate.

Her eyes remained open.

Her pupils reflected those broken shards—the fragments of her child.

Tears slid silently from the corners of her eyes.

And then—

Everything went completely dark.

Yin Suzhi's head fell limply, lolling onto the cold floor. The blood from the back of her head slowly spread beneath her, soaking the stray locks of her dark hair.

She lost consciousness.

The room returned to silence.

Ning Jing stood amidst the scattered shards of clay, his chest still heaving violently. He looked down at the fragments at his feet, then at the woman lying unconscious in a pool of blood—

His hand was still trembling.

His blood was still boiling.

Yet for some reason, an indescribable, icy sensation began to rise from the base of his spine, crawling up his back and climbing toward the nape of his neck.

The room was very quiet.

It was so quiet that only the sound of his own heavy gasping remained.

Along with those three sticks of incense that had yet to burn out, drifting with their final, dissipating wisp of smoke before the spirit tablet that no one was left to tend.