My name is Shen Wenta.
I despise most people in this world.
I don’t believe in the existence of any kind of emotion. It’s nothing more than a byproduct of hormone secretion and an exchange of interests.
It makes the weak huddle together for warmth, drives fools into fire and water for each other.
I don’t need that kind of thing, and I don’t plan on becoming that kind of person.
For as long as I can remember, I grew up by Grandpa’s side.
The nannies and servants I knew or had seen around me—once I got familiar with them—would be swiftly replaced.
The auntie who taught me origami today would turn into a stranger by tomorrow morning.
The older sister who handed me milk yesterday would never be seen again the day after.
I quickly learned not to ask, “Where did they all go?”
Because no one would answer if I asked. Asking only showed I still cared.
And at home, caring was the greatest weakness.
For a very long time, aside from my family, I knew no one.
Well, aside from my family, no one else really mattered anyway.
In the end, I didn’t care.
Since I was young, my family and teachers always told me: No one else matters except yourself.
That doesn’t mean I can act arrogantly and do whatever I want—it just means I don’t need to feel anything for anything that disappears.
Someone dies? Oh, so what?
The sun still rises. Business still runs. No one’s breakfast gets an extra fried egg or a missing slice of bread because of it.
Environment shapes character. I’m a self-interested person.
“You’ll be a qualified businessman and ruler in the future,” Grandpa said, like he was checking the final polish on a finished piece of work. He was satisfied with me.
Shen Yi’s arrival—to me—was an intrusion into our relationship.
Blood is what ties everything together. That was the iron law I was raised on.
But to me, she was a stranger, a disruptor.
I genuinely hated her for a very long time.
I rarely truly hate anyone. People I dislike—I just let them die.
That was always my principle.
If I hated someone, I’d make them disappear from my sight. No need to waste the energy of “hatred,” something that demands emotional investment.
But she was the one person I couldn’t stand and couldn’t kill.
I hated her.
I don’t respect life. I don’t care about other people’s pain.
There were always people who’d beg me, some for their children, others desperate with nowhere else to go. There were always those who slipped through the cracks and came kneeling before me.
They’d fall to the ground, grab my pant legs, their faces smeared with tears and snot, repeating the same words over and over.
— “Please, I beg you.”
“Only you can help me.”
“I’ll work for you like a beast of burden.”
Instead of listening to their pleas, I’d softly tell them that running into traffic and claiming insurance fraud would be easier than begging me for help.
I wasn’t going to help them.
But ironically, I always looked forward to Shen Yi asking for my help.
Our long-term relationship of mutual hostility and conflict made me constantly hope that she would one day bow her head to me.
But that subtle, twisted desire of mine would always end up shattered in some way, eventually turning into barely restrained rage.
I gave her chances. I gave her opportunities. I even lowered myself to test the waters.
I left gifts at her door—she kicked them back.
I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere—she always said, “No.”
When I stubbornly pushed my luck and provoked her, she’d punch me right in the face.
Every time, it hurt like hell.
It hurt so much I started questioning my own life.
How old was she back then? Six or seven?
…
I hated her.
She always rejected me and hit me.
But Shen Yi always had a courage beyond what anyone would expect.
At the age of six, she dared to stand in front of me with a knife, thrusting it toward an adult.
She held that fruit knife with both hands, blood dripping from its tip. The expression on her face was eerily calm—something I had never seen before.
In that moment, I forgot to breathe.
Something exploded inside my chest. It wasn’t shock. It was something I couldn’t name—a heat that made my whole chest burn.
My mind went blank.
Song Guanyan, that damn bitch, kicked her. She was sent flying backward and hit the floor with a dull thud.
When I scrambled to hold her, she curled up in my arms without making a sound.
When I grabbed the gun, I was nearly insane with the urge to kill Song Guanyan.
At the same time, I noticed she seemed terrified of the gunshots.
Why?
The thought lingered in my mind for only a second.
I figured a kid being scared of gunfire was completely normal.
Next time I kill someone in front of her, I’ll remember to cover her ears.
I fired several shots, but none hit Guanyan’s vital spots. I realized I couldn’t waste time there and gave up on trying to kill that motherfucker. Frantically, I took her away and hid us in a room.
With the pain in my arm and my constant worry, I kept vigil over her while she slept, checking her breathing every so often, terrified she might die quietly.
From that day on, I couldn’t stop thinking about her—whether I wanted to or not.
I didn’t dare let Grandpa know she existed. Every time I got hurt and he asked, I’d say it was my own fault.
If the family found out, she would be erased from my world just like the nannies and servants.
She didn’t like me either. I knew that.
People need to see something in each other to stick around.
My family background meant nothing to her. My personality was awful—fundamentally unlikable.
I knew exactly what kind of person I was better than anyone.
Prickly. Cold. Moody.
I always questioned everything uncertain. Human feelings, above all, were ever-changing.
But compared to my inexplicable fixation and care for her, Shen Yi’s attitude toward me remained unchanged. Indifferent as always.
I hated her.
…
The turning point in our relationship came after that day.
I tried to apologize for everything I’d done, hoping to earn her forgiveness.
And sure enough, Shen Yi didn’t hold it against me.
She’d always been easy to get along with.
More than once, I thought how soft-hearted she really was, and for a long time, her growing up filled me with constant worry.
I kept fearing she’d get tricked by someone.
Shen Ruxu liked throwing trackers on her—his wrong approach always got him punched by Shen Yi.
And I, on the other hand, liked texting her nonstop every day, asking where she was.
That approach usually got me blocked.
I also tried inviting her to all sorts of places, hoping it would keep her away from that dangerous killer organization she spent her days in.
But those boring invitations, just like when we were kids, always ended in rejection.
And this time, my invitation to the banquet was no exception—she turned it down.
…
When the Visconti family held that yacht banquet and the situation took a turn with a group of armed men threatening everyone, I didn’t feel much tension.
A situation where death seemed certain couldn’t provoke any real reaction from me.
But those people seemed to really enjoy watching the fear on my face.
Interesting.
They went around, guns aimed, forcing people one by one to sign documents, savoring the sight of how the usually high-and-mighty faces twisted with terror.
As if that proved they’d won something.
I didn’t care whether I lived or die. In the beliefs I was raised on, everyone dies eventually.
People die every single day in this world. One more or one less doesn’t affect the Earth’s rotation at all.
I signed my name, crammed together with a crowd of others.
The sea breeze was sharp, and the tense atmosphere was shattered by sudden commotion.
The pages of the contracts went flying in the wind.
I looked up, my eyes skipping over the scattered papers, following the gazes of those around me to see what the trouble was.
To be honest, I was hoping someone would stir things up.
That would mean variables, possibilities.
Until I saw the variable itself.
Shen Yi was holding a knife, drenched in blood, with splatters on her face.
I froze, stunned, staring at her, my guts twisting in terror—I couldn’t understand why she was here.
My mind was screaming, desperate to call her name, but my throat was blocked, I couldn’t even breathe.
Finally, she walked up to me.
She said, “Everyone hates you, Shen Wenta.”
“Only me.”
“Only I killed over a hundred people on this ship for you.”
I knew.
Of course I knew.
Only she truly loved me.
At that moment, who would question her?
She collapsed into my arms, weightless, but the warmth of her body burned through my arm, making it go numb.
My hands trembled as I held her, like gently cupping a fragile butterfly, afraid I’d accidentally break its wings.
I was lost, panicked, calling her name over and over.
Begging her not to die.
Then a man pushed through the crowd, reaching out to take her from me.
He wanted me to hand Shen Yi over to them.
For a moment, I couldn’t even understand what language he was speaking.
My sister—hand her over to them?
Her blood was still warm, smeared against my palm.
Rage crashed over me like a tidal wave, drowning my panic, shattering every shred of reason.
My fingers found the outline of the gun at her waist.
Cold metal pressed against my palm, like some kind of malicious agreement.
I shot the man in front of me.
One shot, and the effect was immediate.
Everyone who had tried to step forward backed away after I pulled the trigger.
Only that damn Sui Ning still wanted to take her.
I couldn’t hold back a curse. “Get away, don’t let your dirty hands touch her.”
I aimed my gun at anyone who dared approach, like a mother beast guarding her young.
I knew I must have looked ridiculous then, but who cared? I had to protect her.
I carried her to a cabin, wiped the blood from her face with clean water.
Shen Yi’s breathing was so shallow that I checked for her pulse every ten seconds.
The next day, she started running a fever, her forehead burning terrifyingly.
I had no experience taking care of anyone, so I did everything with the utmost care.
I sat by her bed, just like when we were kids, staying up all night, my fingers lightly resting on her pulse, tense, feeling that faint beat.
…
Eventually, my eyes closed, and I fell into a dream against my will.
In the dream, I saw the first time Shen Yi came aboard that ship.
I was like an outsider, or a ghost, following her, witnessing everything she did.
On the third day, when the incident unfolded, Sui Ning and Song Guanyan both reached out to her, saying they’d take her somewhere safe.
I watched her bypass everyone, weave through the armed guards, and run across the bloodstained deck—back to me.
Dusk was pressing in from the horizon.
The twilight light gilded her entire figure in gold.
I heard her say:
“I’m not leaving.”
“I’ll die with you.”
In a daze, I clearly heard my own heartbeat.
All fear of death, all regret—everything was drowned out by that voice.
In the dream, aside from her, everyone and everything else faded into vague, shapeless blurs.
My Shen Yi stood there.
She was the only clear focus in the entire dream.
I thought, I should drown in her eyes.
In the end, the me in that dream looked at her, overwhelmed by emotions that all turned into silent tears.
God knows I didn’t want to cry.
It was too embarrassing.
…
“I’m going to start over again.”
“I swear, this is the last time I’ll rewind.”
“See you next time, Shen Wenta. When we meet again, I won’t let you cry like this.”
“After all, you look really ugly when you cry.”
Those were Shen Yi’s last words in the dream.
I woke up to find it was already broad daylight. Seabirds were calling outside the window.
Shen Yi was still asleep, her breathing steady, the fever on her forehead seeming to have subsided a little.
Suddenly, I understood.
I understood what the so-called secret among the four of them was.
And what the secret Shen Yi had been hiding all along was.
Rewinding.
Starting over.
Killing over a hundred people on the ship.
For me.
—For me.
I kept repeating those words in my mind. Waves of emotion crashed inside me like a storm against the rocks, grinding down all my sharp edges.
I couldn’t help feeling a shameful, secret joy.
She would rewind for me too.
So I’m just as important as them.
No—
I’m more important than them.
My sister killed so many people, pushed through them all, ran back to me.
She loves me most.
When I realized that, I suddenly laughed, but the tears wouldn’t stop falling.
Mixed with emotions I couldn’t name:
Heartache, guilt, that shameful triumph, and…
—Love.
…
Just kidding.
I don’t hate her.
I love her.
