CHAPTER 145: CHAPTER 25: DECADES OF BAD HABITS

The man was already dead drunk, having vomited filth all over the ground. The neighbors all kept their distance, and on this snowy day, nobody cared whether he would freeze to death on the street corner.

The street in the Sixth District was called Dwarf Street, lined with buildings no more than two stories tall, dangerous structures. The old drunkard sprawled on the ground was rarely sober, and familiar neighbors had initially tried to help him up, but when he sobered up, he would always make trouble, claiming something in his house had gone missing and trying to pin the blame on others. Over time, no one dared to meddle in this messy business anymore.

His daughter had just visited today, bringing him several bottles of good alcohol, and the old drunkard was high again. After everyone had left, a figure emerged from behind the curtain of snow. The old drunkard’s breath was still heavy with alcohol, and his body swung wildly, making it incredibly difficult for Su Ziceng who was trying to help him, the situation akin to adding two "living dangerous buildings" in the snow, shaking precariously.

Su Ziceng nearly bit through her teeth in frustration; a drunk’s body is especially heavy, compounded with the stench of the old drunkard who hadn’t bathed in years, it was nearly enough to faint her.

The moment the door was pushed open, Su Ziceng could no longer hold him up, and the old drunkard fell to the ground, the fall snapping his drunken eyes open.

The figure in front of him was leaning against the wall, panting hard from exhaustion. As his vision cleared, several drips of alcohol-infused drool hung from the old drunkard’s mouth, "You..." Saliva dripped onto the ground, "Qiao Chu! You are Qiao Chu!" His voice was like a cracked gong, humming along.

Su Ziceng touched her face, realizing she was looking more and more like her mother. But... how could Chang Chi’s father recognize Qiao Chu? She wanted to step closer and ask about it.

But the old drunkard wouldn’t allow her near, crawling and dragging himself under the broken table in the room, shivering as if panning rice bran. He clung to the table leg, continuously shouting, "Don’t come looking for me, it was Chang Mei who killed you, not me, not me."

The already wobbly table collided with the corner of the wall.

A chill crept into one corner of the room. The door was suddenly burst open, and snow blew in, landing on the undershirt of Su Ziceng, causing an inexplicable pain across her chest.

"Chang Mei killed my mother? What’s this all about," her lips turned purplish-blue from the biting wind. By the time she wanted to ask more, the person under the table had slumped beside it, snoring. She looked around the room. The Chang’s mother and daughter had lived there. At this moment, Su Ziceng felt an impulse to set fire to the house and burn it completely to the ground. Outside, the Ferrari buried in the snow once again caught her eye.

"Mother, if it was Chang Mei who killed you, please remind me," There was nothing unusual about the "Red Love" other than her body heat.

After waiting for a while, Su Ziceng hurried out of the dilapidated house. She glanced back at the Ferrari and, without a second thought, picked up a brick and smashed it against the hood and the windows. She bashed with all her strength, feeling each hit as if she was striking the Chang family mother and daughter. Snowflakes splattered all over her coat, stained with snow, the rage melting the snow, water seeping into her clothes, the sharp and piercing alarm of the car tearing through the snowy silence.

By the time the neighbors came out in response to the noise, the Ferrari was barely distinguishable as a vehicle anymore. A smashed brick lay on the driver’s seat.

At home, Yan Wuxu heard a knocking sound. As soon as he opened the door, a person barged in. Su Ziceng’s face was ashen, her hands shaking uncontrollably, seeming extremely cold or as if she had just crawled out of the water. Her forehead hair had turned white, and her eyebrows were crusted with snow.

From when Yan Wuxu knew Su Ziceng till now, whether she was angry or happy, she was always vigorous. Only today was such a Su Ziceng one Yan Wuxu had never seen before.

In Su Ziceng’s pitch-black eyes, there was a layer of despair. Mrs. Yan, hearing the noise from upstairs, also got startled when she came down. She ordered Wuxu to find some clean clothes right away.

The Yan family’s bathroom, to put it plainly, was just a simple washroom. Mrs. Yan brought Su Ziceng into the washroom, then fetched several bottles of hot water, filled the bathtub, and began scrubbing her clean.

Su Ziceng’s face, turned bluish-purple from the cold, regained its rosiness amidst the steam of the hot water. Her hands were scratched from smashing the car and winced when accidentally exposed to the hot water. Mrs. Yan, drying Su Ziceng’s hair with a towel, carefully avoided her wounds while chiding, "On such a snowy day, how could you not be careful, you’re a grown person, you should take better care of yourself." Mrs. Yan wanted to say, "Your mother would be heartbroken if she saw this," but swallowed the words. She didn’t mention Su Ziceng’s mother as Wuxu had mentioned that Su Ziceng’s mother had died when she was born. In a way, she was a pitiful child.