Chapter 83: Eighteen Candles of Hope

2022-05-20

No matter who you are, you have the right to love, the right to like someone. Even Chen Lin—he had that right too.

Chen Lin fell for that woman, a woman he’d seen only once. It was the first and last time he’d ever lay eyes on her.

Once was enough, wasn’t it?

After that day, Chen Lin refused to go on stage. He wouldn’t put himself on display for others anymore.

At first, nobody in the troupe said anything. But when a whole week went by without him performing, grumbles started to grow. Why did everyone else have to work while Chen Lin lounged around every day? It wasn’t fair.

There’s a rule in the circus: no freeloaders allowed.

The first to speak up was the armless and legless man—the others called him Bugman. He confronted Chen Lin, shouting, “Chen Lin, you need to get back on stage. Why do we all have to perform while you get to rest? That’s just not fair.”

Jar Man, who had lived his whole life inside a jar and seemed fused with it, jumped in, “He’s right! Why do we have to support you? Do you know how hard it is to make money these days? The Toad Boss has kept you around all these years, but how much have you really done for the circus? How long have you even been working here before acting all high and mighty?”

They had a point, and they always reasoned things out. After all, even if they wanted to do otherwise, none of them could hope to overpower someone with all four limbs like Chen Lin.

Chen Lin stayed silent. He knew they were right. If not for the circus taking care of him, he would have died eighteen years ago.

But even so, he still refused to get back on stage. Those months turned him into a philosopher. For the first time, Chen Lin started wondering what life was really about. Were they born just to endure the stares and judgment of others?

Was he destined to spend his whole life like everyone else in the circus—just another freak, living under the fearful or disgusted eyes of strangers?

It all felt pointless. Chen Lin decided he didn’t want to live that way.

That young woman who came just to see a bizarre performance would probably never know how her appearance drastically changed someone else’s life. That’s just how strange the world is—life rarely makes sense.

Eighteen candles for eighteen years, even though Chen Lin hadn’t performed in months.

Aside from a few complaints, the others didn’t do anything to him. They were kind people, really. Their looks just made them frightening to others.

On Chen Lin’s eighteenth birthday, they made sure to buy him a birthday cake.

Toad Boss bought the cake. He was shy, nervous about people’s stares. In the end, it was Bugman, clinging to Toad Boss’s back, who spoke up, “Excuse me, miss, we’d like a big birthday cake.”

Bugman always said that was the bravest day of his life.

Jar Man and Bugman sang happy birthday, Old Dwarf bounced around, the Conjoined Twin placed a party hat on Chen Lin, and two others sat at the table drumming on it. Toad Boss proclaimed, “Our little Chen Lin is finally grown up.”

Eighteen years—sometimes it feels endless, sometimes it’s barely a moment.

All at once, a heaviness settled over everyone. The big tent, usually filled with crowds watching their performances, was empty today. They’d all taken the day off, and now the silence weighed on them just as much as the empty seats.

“Make a wish,” the Conjoined Twin said gently, looking at Chen Lin.

Chen Lin wished that the circus members would never have to live under the weight of other people’s scorn again.

Because after death, there’d be no more discrimination or laughter at their expense. That was Chen Lin’s belief.

“Why did you do it? Why?” Jar Man shouted through tears.

His wailing echoed through the vast, empty tent, filled with nothing but despair.

“Were we ever cruel to you?” Jar Man finally stopped crying. The circus had lasted for decades, but today, everyone else was dead. Strangely, death no longer scared him.

Jar Man had often wondered what dying would feel like. Would it hurt? But now, none of it mattered anymore. The fear he once had wasn’t about dying itself—it was about dying while there was still hope. His friends were all gone. Despair left no room for fear.

Chen Lin said, “You treated me well. I just didn’t want you all to live this way forever.”

So Chen Lin killed everyone in the circus. But when it came to his own life, he couldn’t go through with it.

His wish had been for everyone, himself included, to die. But when it came time to end his own life, Chen Lin hesitated. He still had hope left. After three hours of indecision and growing hunger, he ended up eating his birthday cake instead.

He took all the circus’s savings and left. Before he went, he set the big tent on fire.

When the authorities investigated, the coroner quickly determined that everyone was burned after death, not burned alive. Every single body had been fatally stabbed with the same knife. It was clear one person was responsible, and identifying them was easy.

Their skeletons were noticeably different from regular people’s. A quick comparison to witness statements and other records pinned down who each victim was: bones with four legs, others without any limbs at all. And soon enough, investigators realized one person was missing—Chen Lin.

Chen Lin was quickly identified. The case was straightforward: no tampering with the crime scene, no fake alibis.

But surveillance ten years ago was sparse, and Chen Lin had vanished without a trace. All anyone could do was wait for him to turn up.

A year later, by sheer chance, Chen Lin was finally caught.

It happened in another city after a car accident. A small sedan veered off course—drowsy driving landed the car right in a river.

Luckily, the windows were open. Otherwise, the pressure would have trapped them inside. Still, it was dangerous; none of the family could swim. People on the roadside stared in shock until a woman suddenly jumped into the river.

She saved the child first, then the wife, and finally—with help from another good Samaritan—the husband. That family owed her their lives. They knelt before her, overwhelmed with gratitude, but the woman was too exhausted to speak.

Saving someone who can’t swim takes unimaginable strength—that’s why so many drown each year trying to rescue others. By the time help arrived, the woman was already being taken away in an ambulance.

“Doesn’t she look kind of familiar?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing.”

Then it hit them at the same time: “Wait, isn’t that the one from the news?”

That’s how Chen Lin was arrested.

The family who’d been rescued never could have guessed that their savior was also a killer. They had no idea that a year earlier, this woman had murdered seven circus members and vanished. They certainly never expected that “she” wasn’t even a real woman.

So, was Chen Lin a good person or a bad one?

If Chen Lin hadn’t tried to save that family, would he have ever been caught?

No one knows.

Chen Lin was sentenced to death with reprieve. Most likely, he’d have to spend the rest of his days like that. But Chen Lin never did things by the book. Six years later, he escaped.

For three years, there wasn’t a trace of him—until he resurfaced again.

This time, Chen Lin was hiding in a room, waiting for his chance to take Liu Feier.

“But how did he manage to escape?” Xiao Liu wondered out loud.

Mary continued, “Actually, during those six years, Chen Lin planned his escape the whole time. He used an ear pick, digging for six years straight. He tunneled through the bathroom, crawled through the cesspit, and just disappeared.”

“No one noticed?” I shook my head. “That’s some lax management. Where I grew up, that would never happen. What about his cellmates? Did none of them turn him in?”

Mary shrugged. “That’s the thing about Chen Lin. Do you think he should have been put in the men’s wing or the women’s?”

I could only shake my head helplessly.

“So, to avoid the obvious hassle, they gave Chen Lin his own room,” Mary explained. “Because of that, he spent six years digging and finally pulled off the escape.”

Six years of digging.

At eighteen, Chen Lin was ready to die. But by twenty-eight, he still hadn’t let go of hope.