To say that this world holds no good people might be a slight exaggeration. Good and evil are the angel and the demon buried deep within the human heart; they exist simultaneously, restraining one another, sometimes even intertwined so thoroughly—"you within me, I within you"—that they forge that volatile, ever-shifting quality of human nature. If, from childhood, someone had told you that you were born with extraordinary power, a power you could wield to achieve your every desire, then you would never feel sorrow or guilt for the pain inflicted upon others through the use of that power, because such sacrifices would seem entirely justified, unquestionable. If Heaven granted you the talent for slaughter, then those who died by your blade were destined souls meant to perish anyway. This was the character of Li Xiaohao; compassion for mankind was merely an unfamiliar idiom in his dictionary.

However, for Xiao Shu, separating himself from his twin brother was a reality cemented many years ago. From the moment he witnessed Xiaohao kill the first person, he had resolved never to be associated with his brother's actions again. Thus, seeing Hua Gu suffer such humiliation, Xiao Shu was initially heartbroken and filled with pity, but he soon fell silent, meeting Hua Gu’s heart, heavy with injustice, with a cold response. His own heart was calm; he had done all he could, and beyond that, he was powerless. This was another way of condoning violence—through indifference.

The narrator wished to state that Hua Gu’s weeping was solitary; she had endured an immense wrong, yet no one stepped forward to champion justice for her. But as these thoughts formed in the writer's mind, Ali and Xiaoyu quietly materialized at the doorway. They had been standing in the hallway, and upon seeing Xiao Shu enter the room and linger for so long, they had supported each other, moving soundlessly to stand at the entrance, observing the scene unfolding within.

The young child’s eyes were already brimming with tears. Xiaoyu placed the black cat on his shoulder, crouched down gently, and whispered to Ali, “In a moment, go talk to Hua Gu. Whatever you do, don’t cry. Just act like everything is normal. We will take her home.” Ali covered her mouth, nodding frantically, yet scorching teardrops, like beads from a broken string, continued to fall, one after another.

“Hua Gu…” Despite her own tears, Ali bravely took a step forward, tightly grasping Hua Gu’s cold, blood-stained hand with her own warm little ones.

“Ali, Ali… you’re back?” Hua Gu could not see Ali, nor did she know how much taller the child had grown during her absence. She instinctively tilted her head upward, as if Ali were descending from the heavens, requiring her to hold her chin high and look up with effort. Then, extending her other hand, guided by instinct, she found the small hands. The four hands intertwined, and the little girl’s hot tears dripped down profusely. Though she stifled the sound of her crying, it did not escape Hua Gu’s sensitive touch.

Hua Gu fumbled, tracing along Ali’s arm until she found her cheek. She gently brushed away the tear stains with her fingers and managed a weak smile. “Silly child, your Auntie is just fine. I just can’t see anymore, but I can still comb your hair and take care of you every day.”

At those words alone, Ali could hold back no longer. She lunged into Hua Gu’s embrace and began to wail, a sound so piercing and utterly heartbroken that it seemed as if her own eyes had been gouged out rather than her aunt’s. They say this is the essence of childhood innocence; if one day we witness our own kin suffer and remain unmoved, that is when true numbness has set in.