Chương 24: Echoes from Frost's Past

The man exhaled heavily beneath the silver glow of the moon, a silent witness to the aftermath of his brutal confrontation. Crimson trails painted his face and hands, marking the toll of his battle. Amidst the shattered and bloodied forms surrounding him, it was evident that he had emerged victorious.

A hundred bodies lay strewn about, each bearing the scars of conflict, each a unique testament to the chaos that had unfolded. Yet, in the middle of this carnage, the young man stood tall. His visage marred by swelling and an array of bruises, he refused to succumb, aware that a fall would spell the end of everything. So, he pressed on. He moved away from the scene, navigating past the inert figures of his enemies.

He had been the victor in that battle. He wasn't a legend or a monster — just a solitary soul in his twenties, striving to exist.

Just existing in this solitary world.

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Yasushi tilted his head slightly, as if searching for the right starting point amidst the vast expanse of his memories. "Where should I begin…?" he mused aloud, his voice trailing into the stillness.

"Anywhere," Jingliu replied, her eyes fixed intently on him, a silent invitation to unravel his tale.

"Well, let's say…a long, long, long time ago, I was a very troubled youth," Yasushi began, his words weaving a narrative of inner chaos. "I wandered the streets of my hometown, seeking solace in conflict because love, friendship, and camaraderie eluded me. Absence bred aggression, and I sought refuge in violence to awaken some semblance of vitality within me."

"In those early days, I lost more than I won," he continued, tracing the path of his evolution. "Yet with each fight, I honed my skills, gained insight, and emerged victorious more often than not. Still, with each win, the hunger for dominance grew, propelling me further into the abyss of aggression. Strangely, though, it was never enough — or so I believed," he confessed, his gaze drifting downward as if seeking answers in the earth beneath his feet.

"One fateful day," Yasushi recounted, his voice carrying the weight of a hundred burdens, "a multitude from my town, representing every facet of life, banded together against me. To the ordinary, such a number would have meant death or defeat. Some wielded crude weapons — batons, wooden bats adorned with rusted nails and jagged spikes, even knives. Yet, against all odds, I emerged victorious. My body bore the marks of battle, a canvas of bruises and bloodstains."

"I believed myself to be the epitome of strength," he continued, his gaze fixed on the earth below as if seeking answers in its depths. "But what happens when you stand at the pinnacle?"

"Loneliness," Jingliu replied, her response cutting through the air like a blade, surprising Yasushi.

"Correct," he affirmed, nodding slowly. "Loneliness and isolation. Some may offer reverence, but most harbor fear and shun your presence. Such was the life I led," he confessed, his words trailing off into a silence heavy with unspoken truths.

Jingliu looked down at her lap, absorbing the words that Yasushi had said. The way he spoke made her think he was talking about someone else but also it felt like he was talking about himself, it felt strange to her but she also felt that he wasn't lying.

"Is it true... that you fought and defeated a hundred people all at once?" Her gaze bore into him, searching for validation.

"I did," he confessed, his tone carrying the weight of experience. "It was no simple feat, but it left me stronger. Yet, paradoxically, it deepened my solitude," he sighed, as if reminiscing about a distant past.

"And before you question further," he interjected with a smirk, "I trained tirelessly, almost similar to something out of an anime." His eyes met hers, a hint of defiance in his gaze. "Dragging truck tires tied with ropes, running ten thousand kilometers twice a week, completing five hundred push-ups, squats, and sit-ups daily — paired with near-daily fights from my solitary upbringing."

His words painted a curious picture, a blend of strength and loneliness that seemed contradictory. The city dweller who claimed a town's trials and triumphs, the solitary fighter whose tale hinted at a life less ordinary — it was a narrative filled with enigmatic hues, leaving her questioning the coherence of Yasushi's story.

"Believing me is your choice," Yasushi remarked with a detached air, his eyes fixed on Jingliu, inviting her to probe deeper into the complexities of his story. "It may contradict what I've revealed thus far, but it's my truth — a truth unknown to my current parents."

Jingliu absorbed his words in silence, her gaze fixed on him as she processed the layers of his confession. Finally, she nodded, signaling her willingness to reciprocate with her own tale.

"Allow me to unveil a fragment of my past," she began, her voice carrying a weight of memories. "My grandparents were imposing figures, their authority enforced through physical and emotional coercion upon my father and subsequently, upon me. They held tight to archaic family traditions, demanding I excel in swordsmanship or a comparable art, which explains Xinyi's mention of my fencing accolades."

Her words unveiled a history shaped by rigid expectations and the scars of generational obligation, echoing the complex interplay of Yasushi's revelations.

She shifted positions on the bed, her back now facing Yasushi as she removed her t-shirt, unveiling a canvas of scars that adorned her back, a testament to her endured pain. The sight jolted Yasushi; the sheer number of scars, numbering perhaps in the thousands, bore witness to her long-suffered anguish. Some were old, etched deep into her flesh, while others were more shallow, their marks still raw and jagged — a blatant display of her endured torment.

"They lashed me," she confided, her voice barely above a whisper, each word heavy with the weight of her past. "For every failure to meet their demanding standards, for every moment of inadequacy, their 'tough love' found expression in the cruel kiss of a whip."

"Their abuse extended beyond the physical," she continued, her voice carrying the weight of years of suppressed anguish. "Words, sharp as knives, tore into my innocence, filling my ears with horrors no child should bear."

"I sought refuge in my parents," she recounted, a flicker of pain crossing her face. "My mother's rage was a fleeting shield, nearly costing her life in a desperate attempt to defend me. My father, haunted by his own scars, offered silent solace, easing some of my burdens in his quiet way."

"Yet," she paused, her voice trembling slightly, "my father's profession demanded his absence. As my grandparents' tyranny escalated and threatened my mother's safety, she clung to my father out of fear. I, however, remained in their suffocating grip, bound by fear and obligation."

"...and there are memories," she murmured, her voice trembling with unspoken pain. "Memories I'm not ready to vocalize again, but with their passing, a weight was lifted — we were liberated from their tyranny. We abandoned that cursed estate, seeking refuge in this Japanese city, free from their oppressive shadow. Perhaps one day, we'll revisit our roots, but for now, we'll carve out our existence without them."

As her words faded into silence, Yasushi absorbed her narrative with a quiet intensity, his hand gently finding its place on her exposed back. Jingliu's eyes widened in surprise, but she made no move to stop his touch, allowing his comforting presence to linger.

"For guardians meant to shield you, they failed miserably," Yasushi remarked softly, his fingers tracing a path along her scars. "Your parents, they tried their best, yet the weight of their failures is undeniable. I don't condemn them, but it's my perspective. I can't fully grasp the extent of your grandparents' influence, but..." his voice trailed off, his touch offering a silent reassurance in the face of shared pain and unspoken truths.

"It's all right," she responded softly, slipping her t-shirt back on before turning to face Yasushi. "Tomorrow... can we go out again? I want to explore this city more," she expressed, her eyes hopeful for his agreement.

"Sure, after school works. Although," Yasushi added with a hint of caution, "we might have to face the principal's decision, and with any luck, we won't attract the attention of the authorities, both within the school and beyond."

A fleeting smile graced Jingliu's lips as she nodded in agreement, acknowledging the potential challenges ahead. With a final exchange of glances, she made her way to the door. "Goodnight, Yasushi. See you tomorrow," she bid him farewell, leaving the room wrapped in a blanket of quiet anticipation for the adventures awaiting them on the morrow.

"Goodnight," Yasushi murmured as Jingliu departed, leaving him alone in his room. He sank onto his bed, his gaze fixated on the ceiling, lost in contemplation. "...abusive grandparents, huh?" The words hung in the air, resonating with his own tumultuous memories.

His thoughts drifted back to a past life, one marred by distant parents and the echoes of neglect. A heavy sigh escaped him. "I can empathize with her," he admitted quietly to the empty room, his mind replaying a haunting scene from his childhood — a drunken uncle's violence, met with inaction from his own parents.

"Tch," Yasushi clicked his tongue in frustration, the bitterness of unresolved wounds lingering in his thoughts. He settled onto his bed, exhaustion creeping over him as sleep beckoned. "...some people shouldn't be parents," he muttered with a mix of resignation and resentment, his eyelids heavy as he finally surrendered to rest.