Chapter 8 — On the Snowy Night of Bereavement, I Used the Golden Token of Immunity to Overturn the Whole Family

In my eyes, there is not a trace of temperature.

“Tell him, as long as he lives one day…”

"I will destroy the things he treasures most, one by one... all of them."

“Until he became a… nothing, a true widow.”

Phuc Bo's movements were very fast. Not long after, a pot of burning charcoal was lit in the yard. Co Canh Minh was dragged by two soldiers like a dead dog, dragged out of the study room, and forced to kneel in front of a fire basin. After a few days of not seeing him, he completely lost his human form. Messy hair, shaggy beard, empty eyes, like a crazy person who has lost his soul. When he saw me, his eyes immediately flared up with sky-high hatred.

"Hua Tri Y! You are an independent woman!"

He screamed, struggled, wanted to rush towards me. But with that little strength of his, how could he resist two veteran soldiers who had fought hundreds of battles? He was pressed firmly to the ground, unable to move. He could only glare at me fiercely with his bloody eyes. I don't pay attention to him. I walked to the fire basin and took a scroll of paintings from Phuc Bo's hand. I slowly opened it. It is the painting "Autumn Mountain Travel" of the previous dynasty's painting. I remember, in the past, Co Canh Minh asked for help from countless relationships and spent a large amount of money to get it. Normally, he is as precious as a treasure, but even when I look at it one more time, he still thinks he is defiling it.

“Co Canh Minh, do you still recognize this painting?”

I held the picture and shook it gently in front of his eyes. His pupils suddenly shrank.

“No… no!”

His voice became panicked.

"Hua Tri Y! You dare! You dare to destroy it! I will kill you!"

"You see if I dare or not."

I smiled softly and let go. That priceless scroll of famous artists just so gently... fell into the fire basin. The flames immediately licked the paper. The painting, at a speed visible to the naked eye, began to shrink, burn black, and finally... turned into a handful of flying ash. Co Canh Minh let out a pitiful scream, like a wild beast. In that scream, it was filled with despair and pain. As if burned down… not a picture. It's his heart, it's his soul. I looked at his collapsed appearance, there was no wavering in my heart, I even felt a little bored. This is the man... I once loved. A painting... is more important than your own child.

“Don't rush.”

I received the second scroll from Phuc Bo's hand, then the third scroll...

“The things you cherish… are still many.”

“We have a lot of time… night by night… slowly burning.”

The fire flickered, illuminating my cold face. The firelight also shone on Co Canh Minh's face. His face was twisted and deformed due to extreme pain. He no longer screamed, no longer cursed. He just knelt there, bewilderedly looking at the fire pot. Tears, mixed with snot, streamed down his face. His entire being, as if in an instant, was drained of all spirit. After burning the paintings, I ordered people to carry out each chest of ancient relics and good copies that he kept. Right in front of him, one by one... were thrown into the fire. He finally completely collapsed. He no longer looked at the fire pot, but turned to look at me, constantly kowtowing.

“I was wrong… Tri Y… I was really wrong…”

“Please…forgive them…forgive me…”

“I gave everything to you… I don't need anything anymore…”

“As long as you forgive me… tell me whatever you do…”

He cried like a child. Humble, pitiful. But I look at him... I just feel disgusted. If only, when my son knelt in the snow and begged, he had half the regret he had now... Perhaps, everything... was still in time. But… there are no “what ifs” anymore. I'm tired of this solo performance.

“Pull him back.”

I waved my hand, turned around and prepared to leave. At that moment, from an overturned ancient chest, a small, locked purple wooden box fell out. The box fell onto the snowy ground, making a soft "pop" sound. Co Canh Minh saw that box, as if he was intensely stimulated, suddenly raised his head, and cried out loudly:

“Don't touch it!”

His reaction... was even more intense than when I burned those famous paintings and ancient books. I became interested. I told Uncle Phuc to pick up that box. The lock is very simple.