Host, the villain's corruption level has exploded!

Chapter 748: That Unromantic Student Council President (Bonus Chapter)

Why can't people hide themselves?

Ideally, no one should be able to find it, neither the heavens nor the earth. Ideally, even I myself shouldn't be able to find it.

Let all my dirty, sordid, gorgeous, and beautiful thoughts rot in the void.

Why are people able to be so happy?

what is his name?

Shen Zhong'er, yes, I remember correctly, because it's a name with a beautiful meaning.

Oh, he's my dad's child, but he's definitely not my mom's child. ...Where's my mom? Where did my mom go?

I've been looking for you for so long, Mom. The last place I found you was in my textbook. There was a word on it: death. Were you...?

How strange, you're all so strange.

Such beautiful spring sunshine and such lush summer grass have given rise to such a complex and filthy existence as human society.

me too.

Death... It sounds so far away. I don't want to go. I want to become clean and pure, at least outwardly, right? Then I'll walk the path my mother walked, kill a few people, and then die openly in the spring sunshine.

Zhao Eyun, good, that's a nice name. And that appearance is nice too. What kind of personality does he have? Okay, that's good.

I put on my clothes and set off.

It was so tough, Mom. The journey was so tough.

Should I cling to something? Like an unknown wildflower that cannot bloom alone in spring, should I cling to something?

They're so annoying.

I do not like.

But I like Xu Chu; she's like a mother. Not just a mother, but like a flower—so beautiful, so pure, completely different from me. My roots are buried in the mud; I'll rot completely, but it's best to do so before I bloom, before the poison dissipates.

Miss Song, is that alright?

Someone I really hate.

She is not pretty at all. My roots are made of mud, while hers are bound together by cold, jagged rocks.

She runs around recklessly, and every time she bumps into me, it hurts a lot. She doesn't understand what I'm saying and is very disobedient.

I don't like her.

I hate flowers that I don't like but that I have to rely on.

So you can't escape for now? Oh, then let's make some changes before we flee, as a way of repaying your kindness.

Have I ever repaid a debt of gratitude? I've forgotten. Have I ever received kindness? In that greasy, rotten neighborhood? Or during my 18 years of growth, surrounded by disgusting schemes and calculations? I've forgotten.

Let's start counting from today.

Miss Song woke up 5 minutes earlier today.

Miss Song woke up 3 minutes earlier today.

Miss Song is determined to go against me today and isn't getting out of bed, but her breakfast smells so good, I want to eat it.

I ate it, after all, I told her.

Why did she go crazy and try to bite me to death?

She's really strange, but she's different from the people outside.

Her roots don't seem to be made of ice; they should be made of dew.

Do I get a fever too? Wildflowers never get sick, otherwise they would have died in the wind and rain long ago. Only delicate flowers do, like Shen Zhong'er, who was already eaten away by termites.

Did Miss Song say anything? I've forgotten.

Was it the sun-drenched quilt she used to cover me? I've forgotten. Because I haven't been in the sun for so long, and I've been hunched over in the corner for so long, does it also crave sunlight?

Miss Song's hands are so warm; her roots aren't made of dew, they must be made of cotton.

Miss Song's dog looks just like her. Oh, right, I meant its appetite.

Miss Song, do you think my instant noodles are delicious?

Why did Miss Song ask me what I wanted to embroider? The silk I spin is not sincere at all, but it is sharp enough to kill, not to be given away.

Her flowers seem beautiful too, even more so in spring when they wear red petals. Not her waist, her legs, her face, but her, her flowers, swaying in the wind, so exquisitely beautiful that the world pales in comparison.

I'm a little thirsty.

That's not right, the wildflowers in the corner won't be thirsty.

Since it has never been favored by the sun, nor has it grown from the ground, it should not be thirsty.

Or perhaps it was other sunlight coming in? I can't remember.

Will Ashu be angry? Because I once treated her like some other disgusting thing, she'll be angry, won't she?

How to coax?

Are those pretty, delicate flowers with stems made of butterfly wings?

It's so hard, but I'm so happy.

I could even feel a little bit of the tenderness of the spring breeze.

Can I...be the waterer?

I want Ashu to bloom like this, as beautiful and dazzling as crystal, so bright that the world pales in comparison.

Let's wait a bit longer and go a little further into the shadows.

To create more open space, to give flowers more room to spread their branches, and to make the wind and dust submit to her petals.

I'm squeezed into a small space again.

I'm going to be traveling around again, stopping and starting.

I'll have to feign politeness and engage in hypocrisy with people again.

But my heart feels so full, so light.

I witnessed her blossoming from a place she was unaware of.

I have seen every bud that matures, every resilient leaf that unfolds, and every distinct thorn that stands tall.

I really want to see you.

I dragged my muddy body to see you.

Winter is fine, imperfection is fine, all I want is to see you. That would be enough, enough to make me throw myself back into the darkness and the flames, braving all obstacles.

It's alright, Ah-Shu, I was born there.

It's just that I've come to like spring by chance.

I don't need to defile you, I don't need to seize you, I don't need to kill you. I just need to leave a tiny space for me to breathe when the spring is in full bloom.

Let me embrace you, forever and ever.

In that case

Enough for me to break through every iron shield

Slice through every piece of silver armor

Crush every wriggling worm's body

As long as your soft yet resilient roots live on, may I always be with you.

I will dedicate every inch of my land with utmost devotion.

I walked so far, so slowly, so painfully, so bitterly. Just like that, I watched you...

It was so tiring to watch, yet so enjoyable, so... I almost cried.

I brought twilight, struck down the sun-kissed mountains, and rushed to your side with my sharp thorns.

I bid farewell to the setting sun, shoveled away the filthy soil that nourished my roots, and with only my solitary courage and unwavering love, rushed to your side.

Will you be happy? Will you be as happy as I am?

Will you also stretch out your soft petals and bring in the sunlight?

I sat upright before the towering mountain.

Is my heartbeat the sound of your footsteps?

I heard it: the lock clanging, followed by a not-so-proud greeting.

What welled up in my throat and the corner of my eye at the same time?

I forgot.

I looked up; the hair in front of me had grown a bit longer, but that was understandable because I remembered.

Yeah

My sunlight has come in.

—Zhao Eyun, "Seeing in Spring"