Chapter 3 — The Eldest Sister from the Underworld

Back when I was just a child, I participated in a competition and managed to win a model airplane with great difficulty. Yet, my parents simply turned around and handed it away to my younger sister. When I flew into a rage and ran forward to snatch it back, my parents struck me across the face so hard that I slammed into the corner of the cabinet, leaving the very scar I carry to this day. At that moment, my eyes were swimming with blood, but not an ounce of pity touched their hearts.

Who told you to fight with your sister? Consider this a lesson you will never forget!

The girl looked at me, her eyes brimming with malice.

It seems my older sister still hasn't learned her lesson properly. Shall I help her remember?

She raised her hand, feigning clumsiness as she drove a sharp blade viciously toward my face. Terror gripped me. Desperately, I summoned every ounce of my remaining spiritual strength, finally shattering the heavy shackles of my mortal bloodline to spend a fleeting half-second manifesting into an ethereal, formless state. The blade instantly sliced right through my body, plunging deep into the palm of the girl herself.

Ah!

No one in the crowd had seen how it happened; they only knew that I had somehow harmed her. Countless furious curses erupted across the auditorium. The adoptive parents flew into an absolute rage, dragging me right before the injured girl and slamming my head violently against the hard floor.

Hang, why are you such a vicious creature?

Ever since she was little, your sister has been much more sensible and obedient than you. What is wrong with us favoring her?

You unfilial wretch! If your sister’s hand never recovers its full function, I will chop off both of your hands!

Blow after blow, accompanied by a torrent of vicious curses, rained down upon my battered body. My soul felt utterly numb from the sheer intensity of the pain. In my hazy, fading consciousness, I almost thought I had broken some heavenly law. I lifted my head with immense difficulty. Only five minutes remained of my permitted time in the mortal realm. Why on earth were the big guy and the others taking so long? The adoptive mother’s eyes were red with anguish as she pointed a trembling finger right at my nose, screaming in fury:

I truly regret ever giving birth to you! The exquisite, beautiful hands of my precious daughter have been utterly ruined just like this!

Three minutes left. A fan rushed up onto the stage, shoving a knife into the adoptive father’s hand while shrieking demands for him to exact vengeance.

We absolutely cannot spare this wretched bitch! Even the stepsister in Cinderella got her eyes pecked out by birds!

The eight great patrons are about to arrive. They are going to be heartbroken to death!

Two minutes left. The sharp blade edged perilously close to my wrists. Suddenly, the massive doors of the auditorium were flung violently open. One minute left. Eight tall, imposing figures strode hurriedly into the hall. The girl tearfully raised her wounded palm, crying out for justice.

Older brothers, it hurts so much. Am I going to end up crippled for the rest of my life?

No one paid her the slightest heed. Eight gazes—a mixture of agonizing heartbreak and sheer disbelief—fell upon me in unison. At that moment, I looked wretchedly pitiful, my hair tangled in disarray and my face covered in bruised handprints. Around my neck were ugly crimson welts left by a tight necklace. Sprawled helplessly on the floor, I forced a cold, bitter smile.

You eight brats...

It was hard enough for me to finally come up here to see you all just this once.

Looking at it now, it would have been far better never to have met at all.

The moment the words left my lips, the clock hands struck the exact hour. The young man suddenly reached out his hand, desperate to grab hold of me. His fingertips brushed lightly against my wrist, catching nothing but empty air. I vanished entirely into thin air.

The atmosphere inside the auditorium seemed instantly drained of all oxygen. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the crowd, leaving everyone speechless. The young man’s fingers remained frozen in the grasping posture, his palm entirely empty. He lowered his head, staring in a daze at his own hand. Then, he slowly raised his gaze to look toward the girl. Clueless, she assumed her older brothers were finally showing her the concern she craved. Tearfully, she held up her pierced palm and wailed:

Eldest brother, my hand hurts so much!

You all know I never liked to fight with anyone, and I hate causing trouble. But this time, she went way too far!

The adoptive mother immediately chimed in to support her:

That's right. The way all eight of you care for her has always been clear to see.

My eldest daughter has had a rotten heart since she was small. This time she is even more outrageous. Who knows what kind of blinding trick she just used to vanish into thin air!

It breaks my heart to see her hand injured like this... I don't care what it takes, you must hunt that wretched bitch down and get justice for her! If you don't, none of you are ever to call me your adoptive mother again!

The adoptive father also put on the stern, dignified air of an elder. In the past, the young men had always held them in high regard, bringing them the finest luxuries first. Whatever they commanded, the young men would memorize and diligently execute by the next day. The adoptive parents smugly assumed their words would carry the same absolute weight. But to everyone's astonishment, a profound silence hung over the hall. None of the eight men spoke a single word; instead, they simply stared unblinkingly at the older couple. The coldness in their eyes was unlike anything the parents had ever witnessed—it was the look one gives to three corpses. A prickle of genuine panic began to stir in the girl's chest.

Brothers, what is wrong with you...?

After a very long silence, the young man finally muttered in a hollow voice:

She cannot be brought back anymore.

She is dead...

At that very same moment, I was squatting quietly beside the River of Forgetfulness, lowering my head to inspect the various wounds scattered across my spiritual form. The injuries inflicted upon a soul hurt a hundred times worse than physical flesh wounds. I bared my teeth and winced, muttering under my breath that those adoptive parents were truly no better than beasts. They certainly hadn't held back an ounce of mercy when dealing with me.