Chapter 107: The Woman Covered in Scars

Zhang Xiumei’s words rang out with power and passion.

Like a lighthouse in the dark night, she instantly restored faith and hope to those who had long since fallen into despair.

The people in the building listened, their blood surging, hearts pounding.

As soon as she finished speaking, thunderous applause erupted.

For many, a light returned to their eyes.

Some were even moved to tears.

This was probably the most stirring moment since the heat wave began.

On the cruise ship, several soldiers were already helping the staff lower the gangway.

The staff members who had been standing beside Zhang Xiumei split into groups and were the first to descend the gangway.

They would be stationed at the glass windows of each building’s corridor, answering questions and conducting preliminary checks of people’s IDs and special skills.

Each of them was guarded by an armed soldier, which was quite intimidating.

Soon, those who met the requirements began to board the ship one after another.

Because of the identity checks and the pouring rain, the process wasn’t very fast.

After half an hour, the soldiers retracted the gangway.

The first and second decks of the ship were packed with people, and even the third deck was now crowded.

Everyone was drenched like drowned rats, but their faces were filled with joy and excitement, as if they had won the lottery.

In stark contrast were those who had just missed the cut to board the ship, each one looking dejected.

Although Zhang Xiumei had said they would come back for more people later, many were still anxious at heart.

The ship’s horn blared—“Woooo!”—signaling its imminent departure.

Waves began to churn in the water as the cruise ship, carrying everyone’s hopes and dreams, slowly backed out of the community’s central garden.

Jiang Yan withdrew her gaze and thoughts, putting down her binoculars.

*

Soon, it was 11:30 a.m.

Jiang Yan had a simple lunch, put on her oldest clothes, grabbed a mask and a small bag, and left her apartment.

According to what Zhang Xiumei had said earlier, the second round of pickups would arrive around noon.

The people stationed at each stairwell entrance to check IDs and answer questions only had a regular loudspeaker—not very loud.

From the 32nd floor, Jiang Yan couldn’t hear anything, so she decided to go down to a lower floor to see if she could pick up any useful information.

The door to 3203, the apartment closest to the fire escape, had been tightly shut since someone moved in last night.

The corridor was much dimmer.

The fire door wasn’t locked.

Jiang Yan guessed someone had gone downstairs.

She took a flashlight from her bag and started down.

As she reached the landing on the 32nd floor, she saw a woman coming up from below, panting, carrying a plastic bag full of things in both arms.

The bag didn’t look heavy, but climbing the stairs was no easy feat.

When the woman saw her, she paused, both in her steps and her gaze.

Jiang Yan recognized her too.

It was the young pregnant woman who had moved into 3203 last night.

Her name was something like Wen Wanli.

Jiang Yan was a bit puzzled. The corridor was pitch dark—so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Even if your eyes adjusted, it would be easy to trip.

Especially since the woman was carrying a bag in front of her, blocking her view completely.

She was still in the early stages of pregnancy—the most dangerous time. One wrong step and she could lose the baby.

Jiang Yan wondered how that Wang Jin could be so at ease letting his wife do this.

Yesterday, when they moved in, she had been carrying a lot of things too.

Jiang Yan had heard stories from her own mother about working hard even when heavily pregnant, sorting packages and packing large items right up until labor.

But people nowadays clearly aren’t as tough as back then.

Thinking this, Jiang Yan instinctively shone her flashlight on the steps in front of the woman.

The beam swept across the woman’s arms, wrapped around the bag.

Jiang Yan couldn’t help but gasp.

Wen Wanli’s hands were covered in scars.

So many scars, shocking to behold.

They looked like the kind left by knife cuts.

Not the kind from suicide attempts—those are usually on the wrists.

Scars on the backs of the hands are more like marks of deep hatred or unforgettable pain.

Some were old, some new.

One had just formed a dark red scab—it looked painful just to see it.

There were also cigarette burns.

Again, some old, some new.

Jiang Yan stared at those hands, not knowing what this woman had been through, but her own nose stung with emotion.

Suddenly, she was reminded of her own painful experiences in the basement in her previous life.

Since her rebirth, she had tried to keep those memories buried.

But now, they were ripped open.

In her previous life, after Song Deming had cut off one of her hands, her other hand had ended up just like this.

Almost identical.

Not just knife cuts, but cigarette burns, and other injuries.

She remembered that just before she died, it was an extremely cold winter.

One day, Zhang Qiqi and Song Deming, who had been warming themselves by the fire, went mad and brought in a pair of tongs holding a piece of burning red-hot charcoal.

They blamed everything that had happened on Jiang Yan and her mother.

They said they were trapped in the mountain villa, surrounded by mud and snow, with no hope of rescue, all because of her.

They even said that if they ran out of food, they’d roast Jiang Yan and eat her.

But they didn’t know what she would taste like, so they’d try roasting a part of her first.

Jiang Yan knew the real reason: one day, Song Deming had tried to assault her when Zhang Qiqi wasn’t looking.

He had barely started when Zhang Qiqi caught him in the act.

Song Deming’s attempt failed, but the jealous and unstable Zhang Qiqi blamed everything on Jiang Yan.

She called her shameless, and kept that hatred burning.

Jiang Yan could still remember the sound of the burning charcoal sizzling against her skin, the acrid smell of scorched flesh and hair.

And the searing pain—she would never forget it.

That’s why she had kept those memories locked away, trying not to think of them.

She never expected that today, seeing something like this, would bring it all back.

In just those few seconds of memory, cold sweat broke out on Jiang Yan’s back.

She also noticed a certain indescribable bodily odor coming from Wen Wanli.

That smell could only come from a man.

Or, from the leaves of a plant called Photinia.

But in this case, it was clearly the former.

“Are you Jiang Yan from 3201?” Wen Wanli saw Jiang Yan staring at her scarred arms and awkwardly tugged her sleeves down to cover them.

Jiang Yan took a quiet breath, withdrew her gaze and thoughts, and nodded. “Yes.”

“We moved up from downstairs last night, into 3203. I hope you don’t mind?”

Wen Wanli’s eyes flickered as she looked at Jiang Yan, asking cautiously.

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