Since the moment she answered that call, Xia Fu’s world became unbearably noisy.

There were explanations from the firefighters among the ruins, sighing, “Too many additional floors were added, far beyond the load-bearing capacity of the walls. Plus, some residents did unauthorized renovations, making the rescue situation extremely complex. But we’ll do our best.”

Chen Xinhong, lost and crying out in despair, cursed, “How could they die? How could they just die in there? I warned them about how dangerous this building was and even offered money for them to move out!”

“I’m so unlucky. I never should have gotten involved with them. It was like I was possessed, insisting on building this place. Now it’s all over… it’s all over. Please, Mr. Fang, help me. I did what you told me; I tried persuading them.”

Then there was the cold pronouncement of the doctor, “Are the family members here? Could you sign here, please?”

And there were voices from the funeral home staff, reading out the cremation guidelines.

Amid it all, maybe there were some words of comfort from Teacher Li or Fang Jingcheng. But there was so much going on that Xia Fu couldn’t recall any of it clearly.

She watched the different mouths moving on various faces, opening and closing, like dragonflies dancing madly over a river at dusk. Their transparent wings stirred the moisture-laden air, creating a deep, incessant hum.

Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing—the sound was too loud, completely drowning out the voice inside Xia Fu’s heart. She obediently followed their arrangements, moving mechanically, but her mind felt blank.

As the funeral chants slowly faded in the distance, a staff member handed Xia Fu the tray holding the urns. The relentless noise finally quieted down.

She stared at the pitch-black porcelain urns in front of her, finding it hard to connect these three small objects with the family members they once represented.

It was unbelievable. When they were alive, they seemed like unshakable phantoms, insurmountable mountains. But now, in death, they were so small, so quiet.

She took the tray and subtly weighed the small urns in her hands, finding them shockingly light, as if all their sins had been burned away in the flames, leaving only the most basic fragments of what made them human.

All she had to do was sign her name on the funeral home’s form, and she could officially say goodbye to these troubles. Perhaps her life might even become a little “lighter” from now on.

It was a simple task.

She had already signed her name many times today—on the household registration form, on the death certificates, and maybe some other random papers. But at this moment, her pen halted over the funeral home’s form, unable to go down.

Why?

These people were horrible to her. Her lifelong wish had been to escape that home, to free herself from her parents’ control. Shouldn’t their deaths be a good thing?

In her hesitation, Xia Fu questioned her own heart. In the profound silence, she heard herself crying.

[It’s unfair. How could they die so easily?]

She couldn’t accept any comfort from those around her. She felt undeserving of sympathy because ever since she realized she was unloved by her parents, she had started to curse—

I hate my mom and dad.

They only cared about my brother because I’m a girl. No matter how hard I tried, they never noticed me. Because of them, I became this insecure, dark-hearted girl.

I have no warm family, no close friends—nothing, nothing at all. Jealous, aggrieved, and lonely… so all I could do was hate them.

Yes! I hated them!

I would do all the things they forbid. I would make them mad; I would irritate them. I would become someone extraordinary, stand out through my hard work, and make them regret it, make them ashamed.

I’d tear myself apart, peel away the weak, pitiful skin they left me with, bit by bit, to become a new, strong self so that I could live anew.

This childish, pathetic cry of hatred became the fuel that drove Xia Fu’s efforts for years, sustaining her through the bleakness of her youth.

And now that they were dead, she still hated them.

They deserved it. They should have grown old without ever seeing her again. They should have borne the neighbors’ disdain, suffered the bitterness of old age, illness, and death… not died like this, so suddenly, so easily, vanishing without a trace. Now, who was left for her to prove her hard-won success to? Where was she supposed to go?

Xia Fu tried to move her trembling fingers. She was well aware that she did not pity them. Even if this accident hadn’t happened, she would never have returned to them.

But it was just too quiet around her. The endless curse lost its target, making silence turn into emptiness, vast and unbearable, so her tears suddenly began to fall, slowly blurring the first name she had ever been given.

This was also the last tear she would shed for them.

In her hometown, the funeral homes were mostly built on the outskirts. From the courtyard exit, you could see the entrance to the highway encircling the town. Dark green asphalt stretched beneath deep blue road signs. Fang Jingcheng told her this road led straight to the station; he’d driven over here from that way.

The news about the collapse of the unauthorized building made it onto the local news. Even without an official announcement, quite a few relatives from her hometown showed up, claiming that her grandmother, who had come to stay with Xia Fu for the summer, was still alive and deserved a portion of the inheritance for her retirement. They had their eyes on the compensation money.

At first, these people argued that Xia Fu didn’t have a stable job, and they tried to take the whole amount for themselves. But when they heard that the normally sturdy old lady fainted upon hearing of her beloved granddaughter’s tragic death, they started second-guessing Xia Fu’s “runaway” reputation and her role in her parents’ deaths, suddenly wary of going too far.

Through Fang Jingcheng’s connections, Xia Fu converted her family’s snack shop and childhood home into cash. Part of this money went to pay for the funeral, while another portion was donated to her alma mater. Despite Boss Chen’s massive penalty fee, the remaining funds were still enough for Xia Fu to live comfortably in a nearby second-tier city after graduation.

Three days later, Xia Fu boarded a bus bound for S City’s station. The snack street, funeral home, cemetery, and everything else faded into the distance along the highway encircling the city. She saw that deep blue road sign again, a reminder that she was now outside the borders of her hometown.

She no longer had a home to return to. All that was left was where she was meant to go.