Evil People Have Their Own Evil Mothers [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 31: Can I Really Do Anything?

Chapter 31: Can I Really Do Anything?

A cold wind blew from behind Xu Jiu—this time it was truly the wind, making him shiver all over.

Hidden within the cold wind was a warning, urging Xu Jiu to flee at this very moment.

But to his horror, Xu Jiu discovered his legs had gone weak. The deep corner he stood in seemed to have transformed into a murky, bottomless swamp, and his useless legs sank deeper and deeper.

Xu Jiu wanted to struggle, but his legs felt as if they no longer belonged to him, rooted firmly in the mire, forcing him to confront Cao Weidong’s malice.

…………

Xu Jiu dared not make a sound, covering his mouth tightly with both hands while consciously controlling his breathing.

Yet Cao Weidong remained motionless. The space behind Xu Jiu was eerily quiet, as if everything was merely an illusion born from his extreme terror.

It wasn’t impossible.

Holding onto this thought, Xu Jiu slowly turned his head to look.

In that very instant of turning, his eyes clearly caught sight of an immensely thick, cold steel rebar hanging before him. The surface of the rebar was rusted, yet a faint cold gleam was still visible—like the glint of a blade, an ominous sign before a murder.

It was deliberate again.

The next second.

Before Xu Jiu could react, Cao Weidong was always one step ahead, always able to anticipate his every move. In that moment, he severed all of Xu Jiu’s thoughts and actions, pinning him down in the darkness where Cao Weidong resided, forbidding any attempt to escape.

A chilling sensation struck down straight, and the Sword of Damocles hanging over Xu Jiu’s head finally collapsed and fell, just as he had feared.

Xu Jiu closed his eyes, his eyelids trembling violently with unease, unable to conceal the fierce collision of fear buried deep within his eye sockets.

Xu Jiu wasn’t afraid of death—only of pain.

He was terribly, terribly afraid. He feared that Cao Weidong’s hatred wouldn’t stop at that precise boundary.

That line—

A step forward would be insufficiently cruel, unable to bring himself to kill him.

A step backward would be excessively cruel, unwilling to let him die so easily.

The surroundings remained deathly silent, as if nothing had happened.

Xu Jiu opened his eyes to complete darkness.

Cao Weidong. Xu Jiu had grown accustomed to calling out Cao Weidong’s name in the darkness, as if doing so could grant him a sliver of security.

Hmm. Cao Weidong’s voice whispered softly by Xu Jiu’s ear.

You scared me again.

Xu Jiu thought it was over.

But the very next second after he spoke, an excruciating pain that tore at his nerves shot up from his ankle, spreading wildly throughout his body.

The pain was perfectly measured—Xu Jiu couldn’t faint, nor could he die. The intense agony, wave after wave, felt like knives slicing through his skin, flesh, bones, nerves, and finally… what little rationality he had left.

Xu Jiu’s eyes widened, his eyeballs trembling uncontrollably in their sockets, hurting so badly that they seemed ready to burst out, unwilling to endure this terrifying agony alongside his body.

How could it hurt this much?!

Was this the pain before death?

Xu Jiu’s gaze drifted downward—his ankle had been brutally broken.

Only his ankle was broken, with no other injuries.

Xu Jiu slowly turned his head to look at Cao Weidong, his expression a mix of pleading, ingratiation, accusation, and fury.

There were too many emotions in his eyes, so many that they became blurred and indistinct, leaving only pain circling in place, forever seeking a release that never came.

Only one thought began to dominate Xu Jiu’s mind:

It hurts. It hurts so much.

The pain was so intense it stole his breath, as if every bone in his body was being systematically broken and shattered alongside this one.

Then came a violent chill flooding his veins—the blood stagnation from his body stiffening after surpassing the threshold of agony.

It felt like dying from pain, yet his consciousness remained unnervingly clear. Like someone willingly leaping into water, the instinctive surge of survival instinct at the moment of impact magnified the physical suffering infinitely.

It hurts.

Xu Jiu began gasping, then turned to breathless sobs, and finally to choked weeping as tears fell helplessly.

He couldn’t cry out—his throat was filled with a dry, searing pain, scorched as if by fire, leaving no healthy tissue, his lungs clenched dry and shriveled.

Under Cao Weidong’s gaze, Xu Jiu fell silent, stripped even of the right to weep aloud.

Tears fell in heavy drops. Cao Weidong’s hand, unusually warm in the cold night, wiped them away firmly.

He lifted his right hand, trembling, to brush the tears aside. That hand was a map of old wounds—cigarette burns, scars from broken glass, bones once fractured but left untreated and ruined.

Cao Weidong smeared the excess tears from Xu Jiu’s face beneath his own eyes, pretending they were his—compensating for the long-barren landscape of his own emotions.

Through Xu Jiu’s wounds and pain, he glimpsed his own.

Using Xu Jiu’s tears, he wept for himself.

“It’s good that it hurts,” Cao Weidong said to Xu Jiu, and to himself.

His eyes were utterly still, as dull and dark as the nights in the urban village—devoid of even the faintest trace of laughter.

Not even a single lamp remained lit.

“I know you want to die by my hand. Impossible.”

Cao Weidong’s cheek was damp with Xu Jiu’s tears; a drop slid into his lips—cold and salty.

So this is what tears taste like, Cao Weidong thought.

Xu Jiu collapsed into Cao Weidong’s embrace, curling tightly, his body rigid.

Under extreme pain, it turned out a person couldn’t move—only grow stiff all over, as if already dead.

A loud ringing filled his ears, yet Cao Weidong’s words came through with perfect clarity.

Just then, a beam of light abruptly rose outside the square doorframe, crashing like a stone into the building’s ruins, illuminating the two of them completely, leaving nowhere to hide.

Then came the sound of fireworks exploding, dyeing the sky red before swiftly fading.

Xu Jiu turned his head and stared wide-eyed at Cao Weidong, only to see him once again borrowing tears—yet his eyes held a bottomless emptiness.

Like a blank paper doll forcibly painted with eyes, then adorned with two teardrops.

The pupils were solid black, the expression utterly blank—yet the tears spoke of sorrow.

Such stark contradiction frightened Xu Jiu.

As the fireworks faded, the sky swiftly cooled back into pitch black.

He wanted to escape.

He’d rather fail the mission and return to being a young master than stay any longer beside this madman.

Instinctively, Xu Jiu pushed Cao Weidong away. Cao Weidong didn’t resist, instead stepping aside to make way.

But Xu Jiu couldn’t stand. He lay on the ground, able to do nothing but fix Cao Weidong with eyes brimming with terror and pain.

Even the intense negativity in Xu Jiu’s gaze became nourishment for Cao Weidong’s decaying soul.

Cao Weidong looked at him, realizing this was what pain and sorrow truly felt like.

Xu Jiu’s tears slid down Cao Weidong’s cheek, gathered at his chin, then formed a new teardrop.

Plip—

The tear fell to the ground, vanishing the darkness.
into
Cao Weidong lifted Xu Jiu into his arms.

At that moment, Xu Jiu’s tears began falling uncontrollably.

Cao Weidong said, It’s time. We should watch the fireworks.

With that, he carried Xu Jiu outward—but not completely outside—instead climbing up the spiral staircase until they reached the exposed high platform open to the air.

The rooftop was unsealed, windows and railings removed, leaving only an empty concrete expanse.

Cao Weidong took off his coat and spread it on the ground before settling Xu Jiu onto it.

Simultaneously, dawn broke. Following piercing explosions, dazzling fireworks tore brilliant gashes through the deep black sky.

Cao Weidong faced away from the sky, watching the fireworks reflected in the tears overflowing from Xu Jiu’s eyes.

Beautiful. Multicolored.

Looking closer, he could also see Xu Jiu’s fear of him—enhanced by the vibrant fireworks, even more captivating. Like mud flooding and submerging a bouquet, thick, filthy, rotting sludge filling every crevice of the flowers, forcing them to tremble violently.

Xu Jiu reached out and clutched Cao Weidong’s collar. After a long silence, he finally choked out a painful wail: I’m in pain!

I know. Cao Weidong deliberately used his right hand to grip Xu Jiu’s face, making him fully feel the uncontrollable trembling of that hand.

By now, Xu Jiu should understand what that strike to his ankle represented.

It was Cao Weidong’s blatant, undisguised revenge.

An eye for an eye—you slap me, I return the favor equally.

Xu Jiu took a deep, forceful breath, holding it in his chest for a long time. Silent tears streamed down, but no second I’m in pain emerged.

Xu Jiu had no more misery left to cry over. That strike was what he deserved.

A punishment brought upon himself.

Xu Jiu calmed down, crying silently over his own pain but no longer sharing that suffering with Cao Weidong, enduring the agony in silence.

Cao Weidong also sat down, a fist’s distance between them. Neither touched the other; both were enduring pain.

Before them, fireworks burst one after another—extremely brilliant colors, as if an oil painting palette had been overturned, creating a chaotic kaleidoscope.

Naturally joyful, carrying the firework viewers’ hopes for the coming year.

They should be watching with smiles, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.

But neither was in the mood. One was as calm as a corpse, the other infected by that lifelessness, filled with despair.

The dawn was terrifyingly bright, rendering both their complexions bloodless, as if the colors in the sky had nothing to do with the two people on the ground.

Xu Jiu, tired from sitting, naturally leaned toward Cao Weidong, seeking a place of refuge.

I have nothing left. Only you.

Cao Weidong suddenly broke the silence, his voice neither loud nor soft, just enough for Xu Jiu to hear clearly.

Xu Jiu’s body stiffened. He let out a short, sharp laugh, then clenched his teeth and retorted fiercely: None of my fucking business.

Another firework rose.

Cao Weidong spoke again: You have nothing left either.

This time, Xu Jiu couldn’t muster a retort.

Seeing Xu Jiu had quieted down, Cao Weidong continued, Your family, your friends—no one noticed you were gone, not even Pan Yu.

When mentioning Pan Yu, Cao Weidong instinctively glanced at Xu Jiu from the corner of his eye, only straightening his gaze after confirming Xu Jiu had been deceived.

The usually talkative Xu Jiu grew increasingly silent, his heavy breaths fading into nothingness alongside his voice.

The fireworks display had mostly subsided, leaving only a few duds sputtering without light. The sky was pitch black, stretching endlessly into the void.

Xu Jiu’s brow was tightly furrowed, both hands pressed against his right ankle as cold sweat dripped from the pain.

I know.

By the time their conversation reached this point, the fireworks had completely died down, plunging everything into darkness.

Cao Weidong had no intention of staying longer. He stood up first, brushing past Xu Jiu.

Just as he passed by, Xu Jiu grabbed Cao Weidong’s right hand, gritting his teeth through the pain to whisper accusingly, Are you just going to leave me here alone?

Cao Weidong lowered his gaze. Walk on your own.

Xu Jiu knew Cao Weidong was angry, so he smoothly let out an effortless plea: I’m sorry, it really hurts. Please.

…………

Cao Weidong picked Xu Jiu up. Within seconds, he learned what pain felt like.

Xu Jiu was biting his neck, leaving a bloody ring of teeth marks around his Adam’s apple. The sharp canine teeth sinking into his flesh were especially agonizing.

It felt like being bitten by a dog.

Cao Weidong let out a soft sigh but said nothing.

Xu Jiu caught that sigh and bit down even harder around the Adam’s apple, but he let go with a disgusted spit after tasting the strong metallic blood.

I’m in pain, so you shouldn’t feel good either.

Xu Jiu wiped the blood from his mouth onto Cao Weidong’s clothes, forcing a pained grin filled with malice.

Mm, Cao Weidong responded.

On the way back, Xu Jiu glanced at his ankle under the dim light.

It was indeed broken. When lifted into the air, it dangled at an unnatural angle no normal bone could achieve.

Xu Jiu buried his face in the crook of Cao Weidong’s neck, clenching his jaw to muffle the words, It hurts so much…

Cao Weidong’s throat vibrated. I know.

Did it hurt this much when I broke your hand?

Does it hurt like this every day? Even now?

Was it really as bad as this? But you never showed you were in pain.

Xu Jiu kept talking to distract himself from the pain, not caring whether Cao Weidong replied. He rambled on and on.

Perhaps the pain was so intense that Xu Jiu’s thoughts spiraled out of control—from hand pain and foot pain to how hungry he was, what they would eat tomorrow, and finally concluding with:

I’m in pain. I want McDonald’s Crispy Chicken.

For once, Cao Weidong nodded at Xu Jiu’s request for McDonald’s.

Two.

Fine.

Now. Xu Jiu pushed his luck again.

Cao Weidong fell silent.

Sorry, Xu Jiu quickly apologized and explained, I can wait until tomorrow.

Xu Jiu thought his punishment for escaping ended there. The thought of waking up in the warehouse tomorrow with two Crispy Chickens to eat made the pain in his ankle a little more bearable.

Only when he sat in the familiar corner, watching the torn and shredded pillows and blankets once again forming a nest around him, and the chain from the collar around his neck moved from the bedside to the wall, did he realize—Cao Weidong was still angry.

Cao Weidong was treating his wounds, but his technique was rough, clearly aiming to leave Xu Jiu scarred or even permanently disabled.

Xu Jiu had no issue with this. It was simply tit for tat—he had broken the other’s hand, so it was only fair that the other could break his leg. That wasn’t the problem.

But why did Cao Weidong get to sleep on the bed while he had to sleep on the floor?

That wasn’t fair.

I’m in pain, Xu Jiu emphasized again. But it seemed he had grown accustomed to the pain; it wasn’t as intense now, though it still felt like insects were gnawing at his bones.

Cao Weidong glanced at him and let out another Hmm.

I’m really in pain, Xu Jiu insisted once more.

At that moment, Cao Weidong was sitting on a chair not far away, tilting his head back as his slender yet powerful hand pressed a gauze against his Adam’s apple.

Blood mixed with disinfectant, and the bite was deep, almost isolating Cao Weidong’s Adam’s apple from his neck.

The tingling, stinging sensation made Cao Weidong unable to suppress a heavy, short breath through his nose. The arm of the hand pressing against his neck was already swollen with muscle, veins bulging—clearly, he was enduring the pain.

I should’ve bitten your ear instead, bit it right off so you’d go deaf. It’s not like you listen to anyone anyway, Xu Jiu muttered under his breath. Having genuinely suffered, he didn’t dare voice this complaint loudly, keeping it to himself.

But the warehouse was so small and so quiet that Cao Weidong could hear every breath Xu Jiu took.

Cao Weidong approached, using the method Xu Jiu feared—grabbing his chin and forcing his mouth open. As his thumb moved to enter Xu Jiu’s mouth,

Xu Jiu immediately sealed his lips into a tight line, blinking obediently at Cao Weidong to signal he wouldn’t say another word.

Cao Weidong went to tidy up the bottles and jars, noticing the McDonald’s paper bag Xu Jiu had thrown on the floor before he left. He looked down at it, then reached out and felt it through the greasy paper.

The contents inside had gone cold.

Just then, he sensed an intense gaze from the side.

Xu Jiu, having just been warned, didn’t dare speak but glared with his eyes.

Cao Weidong turned and looked up at Xu Jiu, finding him watching with an expectant expression.

Those bright eyes weren’t so much looking at Cao Weidong as they were staring past him at the McDonald’s bag.

Although Cao Weidong had come into some money recently and could afford better food, he always used Xu Jiu’s weak stomach as an excuse to serve bland meals every day.

Claiming it was to nourish the stomach, he’d nearly made Xu Jiu impotent from the diet.

Before being confined here by Cao Weidong, Xu Jiu had smoked ten packs a day, never missed a drink with his meals, and abused his stomach, heart, and lungs to the brink.

Cao Weidong put the paper bag away and said, You can’t eat this.

Xu Jiu, as if he’d expected this response, grumbled under his breath, Tch, so stingy.

After muttering, he quickly shut his mouth tight, afraid Cao Weidong’s hand would come at him again.

Cao Weidong ignored his childishness and sat back at the computer to continue his work.

The tutoring money had come through, and he’d also received the prize from the legal document competition. With a decent sum of funds in hand, he was thinking about what to buy for Xu Jiu and what to add to their home.

He then created a table in the document and began typing as he thought.

After taking painkillers, the medication took effect on Xu Jiu. Even leaning against the wall, he drifted into a drowsy sleep.

The warehouse fell silent instantly, with only Xu Jiu’s pained groans in his dreams and Cao Weidong’s keyboard clicks audible. The time in the lower right corner of the computer screen peacefully shifted from December 30th to January 1st.

This was the first New Year Cao Weidong and Xu Jiu spent together, and soon it would be their first Lunar New Year.

Quickly after that, it would be Xu Jiu’s birthday.

It seemed life suddenly held anticipation—one holiday followed another. Even dates like February 14th felt like occasions Cao Weidong could celebrate with Xu Jiu.

Could he even drag Xu Jiu to eat tangyuan and dumplings for all twenty-four solar terms?

It was a pity Xu Jiu didn’t eat KFC, otherwise even every Thursday could become meaningful.

Cao Weidong chuckled at his own sudden childish thought, though his expression soon turned blank again.

The emptiness in Cao Weidong’s emotions was now filled with an anticipation called the future, making it hard to recall the feeling of drifting aimlessly through one day after another.

However, all those future visions were filled with Xu Jiu’s presence. Cao Weidong dared not imagine what he would do if Xu Jiu disappeared.

Pan Yu—

Pan Yu must know about this. He would definitely come knocking—it was only a matter of time.

At the thought of that name, Cao Weidong propped his head in his hands, took a sharp, deep breath of cold air, closed his eyes, lowered his head, and slowly exhaled with delicate control.

If only he were dead—then there wouldn’t be so much trouble.

Cao Weidong’s eyes snapped open. His breathing spiraled out of control in that instant, startling even himself with the emergence of such a terrifying thought.

Even when Xu Jiu had thrown his life into chaos, he had never harbored such a simple, horrifying, and blunt desire.

Cao Weidong splashed cold water on his face, then walked over to Xu Jiu. He stared coldly at him, searing every inch of his body into his memory.

He stared until his eyes turned red and swollen, bloodshot veins spreading like spiderwebs, clouding his vision from all directions.

Unconsciously, a long time had passed.

After the painkillers wore off, Xu Jiu woke to an agony so intense it felt as if he were being torn apart, broken, and ground into pulp.

Xu Jiu glanced at Cao Weidong, who was still busy at his computer—he always had endless tasks.

I’m in pain! Xu Jiu shouted at Cao Weidong.

Cao Weidong’s typing halted. His tone was unusually stern: Endure it. Overuse leads to addiction.

Emboldened by the pain, Xu Jiu made a demand: Then I want to sleep on the bed.

Cao Weidong ignored him. He still had a stack of documents to review and no time to entangle with Xu Jiu amid his busy schedule.

Don’t ignore me, Xu Jiu pleaded, though his words carried a forceful tone.

When his forceful tone failed to draw Cao Weidong’s attention, Xu Jiu’s flexible boundaries retreated further. He shifted from insistence to begging meekly:

Let me go back to the bed. It’s hard and cold here. Please.

Cao Weidong still didn’t respond, but the good news was that he stopped typing. It was unclear whether Xu Jiu had captured his attention or he had simply paused to think.

So Xu Jiu’s adaptable boundaries decided to retreat even further—until there was nowhere left to retreat.

Xu Jiu took a deep breath, exhaled, and pleaded once more:

I’ll do anything if you just let me sleep on the bed.

Upon hearing these words, Cao Weidong’s face, which had been directed at the computer screen, suddenly took on a meaningful smile.

This meaning was by no means benevolent—otherwise, Cao Weidong wouldn’t have suppressed the smile before slowly turning his head to look at Xu Jiu.

Cao Weidong didn’t rush to speak. He simply stared at Xu Jiu, observing him as if he were a specimen.

Seeing Cao Weidong turn his head at his words, Xu Jiu thought there was a chance he could sleep on the bed, so he quickly and anxiously emphasized repeatedly:

As long as I can sleep on the bed, I’ll do anything!

This time his tone was exceptionally firm and intense, rather than pleading.

Hmm… Cao Weidong drew out his breath.

Xu Jiu’s eyes widened, full of anticipation, his face written with certainty as he matched Cao Weidong’s drawn-out breath.

This bed—he, Xu Jiu—was determined to sleep on it today!

Cao Weidong closed his laptop, stood up, and turned toward Xu Jiu.

Rather than saying he was making eye contact with Xu Jiu, it was more like his gaze was forcibly holding Xu Jiu in place, not allowing him to move.

At the same time, his voice abruptly sounded, devoid of any emotion or desire, without malice but also without kindness, just lightly asking in an icy tone:

Even having sex is fine?

Mini Theater:

Cao Weidong (secretly confessing)

Xu Jiu: Yay, two orders of McDonald’s Crispy Chicken!

Cao Weidong (sulking)

Xu Jiu: ?? Who pissed him off again? Me?