Chapter 121: Inferno

2022-05-20

Captain Zhou nodded and smiled. “Wu Meng, you really do understand what I mean.”

I saw Old Xia walking ahead pause—just for a moment—then he kept moving as if nothing had happened. I couldn’t tell if he heard our conversation, or how he might feel if he did.

It didn’t matter what Old Xia thought, because Captain Zhou was already continuing his story.

It happened on the anniversary of Old Xia’s father’s death. That night, the whole family returned to the old house to honor the memory of their father. Local tradition called for a few glasses of white liquor on this day. The family sat around a table—five pairs of chopsticks.

The extra pair was set out for their departed father.

Old Xia was thirty that year, and his own daughter was three.

His mother had spent the afternoon preparing a feast, waiting eagerly for her son and grandchild to arrive.

After a few sips of liquor, his mother grew talkative. “Back when I married your father, I was drawn to his honesty and drive. Maybe you still remember—so many people worked at that factory back then, but how many actually did their jobs?”

“I knew it even then,” she went on. “Marrying a man like him, I knew I wasn’t making a mistake. After the factory collapsed, plenty of folks cursed their luck, but your dad was different. He rolled up his sleeves and started over. Didn’t take long before he was making money again. When it comes to marriage, it’s not fortune that matters most—it’s character.”

Every year at this time, Old Xia’s mother would get sentimental and share stories from those hard days.

As they talked and drank, the liquor started to hit. Everyone felt drowsy.

Nobody bothered clearing the table. The family just went to bed as they were.

If only they’d known—that night’s sleep would become the most terrifying of Old Xia’s life. If he had the chance to do it all over again, he never would have come home that night.

This happened two years after Old Xia refused Old An’s request for money.

From the moment Old Xia turned him down, Old An gained his first true enemy: Old Xia. It’s funny, in a sad way—Old An was also thirty, a man whose life had gotten nowhere. Around others, he was so timid it was almost pathetic, hardly daring to speak. Yet, whenever he faced Old Xia, he turned into some kind of spiteful demon, bent on stirring up chaos.

Sometimes, being honest and good doesn’t bring you any luck at all.

Old Xia’s quiet, reserved nature would end up dooming his family.

That night, as Old Xia and his family drank and ate, Old An listened from across the hall. Every cheerful sound twisted the knife. He hated Old Xia with a passion, wished he could tear Old Xia’s family apart with his bare hands.

They’d come from the same background—so why did Old Xia get to thrive in this little city while Old An struggled to survive? They had the same education—so why did Old Xia soar while Old An languished like a tiger stuck in a dry river? Tonight, Old An couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted payback.

Standing outside below, watching as Old Xia’s lights went out, Old An smiled to himself in the dark.

These were apartments the meat processing factory had once distributed, back when a bit of money could buy you a place you could finally call your own. For Old An’s family, the apartment was their only real asset. But for revenge, Old An was ready to sacrifice everything.

It was an old building. The windows, door frames, even beams—a lot of it was wood. If flames caught, the house would burn through fast. Both families lived on the first floor, and to stop thieves, every ground-floor window had iron bars. Old An tugged those bars—they were solid, cemented deep into brick. Without some heavy tools, no one would get through. He was satisfied. Then he walked to the Xia family’s front door. They’d locked it tight. Old An rattled the knob, then slunk back home.

When he came out again, Old An was carrying a bucket. Inside was a liquid—something highly flammable, everyone called it spirit alcohol. Old An slowly unscrewed the lid and poured some through the window.

The window was old wood, worn enough to have deep gaps. The alcohol seeped through every crack—silent and clean. Old An planned all this. That room was where the couple and their child slept. Once the fire started, flames would swallow them up within minutes.

But he held back from lighting up right away, forcing down the urge to strike a match. For this to work perfectly, he had one more step in mind. He poured more alcohol at the base of the door, then dragged his own sofa over, wedging it against Old Xia’s security door.

This was where Old An’s wit showed—twisted as it was.

If the couple didn’t burn to death in the bedroom, they’d grab the child and try to escape out the door. The iron bars on the window were spaced just far enough for a hand, but way too close together for a person. So the doorway was their only hope. And now, Old An planned to block that hope for good.

He poured more alcohol along the threshold, then shoved his battered old sofa in front of their door. If the fire spread, his own place might go up too—he didn’t care. As long as he could wipe out Old Xia’s family, nothing else mattered.

He struck two matches—one tossed at the door, the other onto the window.

Flames raced along the pooled alcohol, exploding into a blazing inferno.

Old An watched the burning house and laughed—laughed until he was breathless.

It wasn’t even two minutes before he heard screams from inside. That night was black as ink. Only the fire lit the Xia family’s house, as bright as midday. The screaming tore through the night. Old An heard it for what it was—a little girl’s cries. Then another—a woman’s. It chilled him, reminded him of those ghost wails you hear on TV.

But the more they screamed, the happier Old An felt.

So you thought money made you safe. So you thought you could live happy, ignore me, deny me help. Well, now you’re all doomed. All your money, all your smiles—what good are they now? This is what you get for turning your back on me. This is punishment for the rich who have no conscience.

Inside, fire climbed higher. Screams, shouts, and wailing flooded the air.

But there was nowhere to run. The windows were barred tight. The doorway, blocked and burning. It was like being trapped in a giant steamer—doomed to burn alive with no way out.

Their cries and the crackling fire finally roused the neighbors. People rushed over to help, joining the fight to put out the flames. What they saw was horrifying—a man standing before a burning home, laughing as if he’d never known greater joy.

But what no one realized was that when alcohol meets water, the fire spreads with it. The more water they threw, the faster and wider the fire grew.

The screaming inside gradually faded, until it was almost silent.

Onlookers stared at the blazing fire, which had now spread into Old An’s place. They’d never seen a fire so fierce, nothing like it in their lives. Someone called 119, but anyone could see there was no saving them now. No one dared brave the inferno to try to rescue anyone—doing so meant certain death.

Suddenly, a sharp cry rang out. “Take my grandson and run! Go!”

And then came more howls of pain.

That voice belonged to Old Xia’s mother.

Later, people pieced together what happened. With the door blocked by fire, there was no way out. But staying inside meant certain death. In a moment of desperate courage, Old Xia’s mother threw herself through the flames. Enduring unimaginable pain, she managed to force open the wood door and the security door, carving a path for her son and granddaughter to escape.

Old Xia, clutching his daughter, ran through the fire.

Latest novels posted first at 69 Book Bar!

When everyone saw Old Xia, he was completely engulfed in flames—a man turned into a human torch.

The crowd rushed forward, smothering the fire that burned him.

“Please save my daughter, save my daughter…” Even as Old Xia passed out, he kept repeating those words.

Afterward, people would only call what happened to this family: hell. When firefighters finally got the blaze under control, they found two charred bodies inside—unrecognizable, both women. One was Old Xia’s mother. The other, his wife.

They were burned black—no features left to recognize.

Piecing together what happened, Old Xia’s wife had fallen asleep by the window, their daughter was in the middle, and Old Xia was on the outer side of the bed. When flames erupted, his wife was instantly set ablaze, with their daughter next to her. Old Xia tried desperately to beat out the flames on both his wife and child.

But nothing worked. Everything burned too fast.

Within seconds, the whole room was a raging fire. Old Xia’s wife couldn’t be saved.

Trying to escape with his daughter, he found the flames at the door blazing even harder than at the window.

Neighbors hurried to help, but in their confusion, the water they threw only made the fire explode hotter. It seemed like everyone would die right there in the house—but then, Old Xia’s mother did something extraordinary.

Old Xia was badly burned, spending three days and nights in intensive care.

But his daughter’s injuries were too severe. She died while Old Xia was still unconscious.

Relatives lent a hand. After Old Xia’s savings were gone and the new house was sold for medical bills, they managed to save his life.

But Old Xia became a different person after that. Children started calling him a monster.

He had nothing left. Three generations of savings, a once-happy family—everything burned away in that one merciless fire.

Unable to face it all, one night Old Xia left the far southern region and arrived here, in this northern city. After drifting from place to place, he finally settled in Tougouzi Village—this so-called village for the disabled.

And that’s how he’s been for over a decade.

Now, from up ahead, Old Xia suddenly stood up straight. His back was still turned to us.

His shoulders shook, as if he were crying. But no sound came.

When a person’s eyes fail, their ears become sharp.

He’d heard it all.

He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

He cried.