CHAPTER 552: 216 ALI IS WAITING FOR US_3

The man in the photograph was young, with a buzz cut, an upright posture, spirited eyes, thick brows, and a beaming smile as dazzling as the scorching sun, as refreshing as a cool breeze.

Shen You’an gazed fixedly at the figure in the photograph, fearing that with just one blink, it would vanish like a fleeting dream.

In his youth, he was in his prime, full of ambition and vigor.

Next to the photograph lay all the information about him.

Born in Jingzhou, April 12th, thirty-nine years ago.

His life was recorded in detail.

Shen You’an scanned through the text swiftly and logged off before the administrator could trace the IP address, erasing every trace she left behind.

Closing the laptop, Shen You’an’s heart remained in turmoil.

She slid open the balcony door. The cold wind, mixed with hail, swept in, but she remained unmoved, stepping into the frozen world outside.

"Father, so you had so many untold hardships."

A man so bright and cheerful—who could have known the burden he carried on his shoulders?

"The suffering you endured back then, I will make sure to settle every score for you."

The girl’s calm voice dissipated into the vast, icy expanse.

~

The cold wave extended to Jingzhou.

At midnight, heavy snow began to fall.

In an isolated house on the western outskirts of Jingzhou, aged wooden windows let in cold drafts. Persistent coughing echoed inside, louder with each bout, as if it would rip the lungs apart, wrenching the hearts of anyone who heard it.

But in this desolate world, amidst the biting frost and cold snow, who would ever set foot here?

"Old woman, you’re feeling unwell again?" A hoarse, aged voice, laden with boundless worry, broke the silence.

"Cough... cough, cough."

A shadow fumbled in the darkness, groping for the switch. In an instant, light filled the modest room.

The room was small, excessively humble. On a wooden bed against the wall sat an elderly man with graying hair. He reached for the crutch by the bed, supporting his frail, stooped body as he got up. With practiced familiarity, he walked over to a worn, old chaise longue opposite him.

On the chaise longue lay an elderly woman, her hair completely white, her face gaunt and lifeless. At that moment, her fingers clutched tightly at a worn-out cotton quilt. Her sallow face flushed dark red, as if suppressing some sharp, unbearable pain.

"Ali... cough, cough."

Hearing the unconscious muttering of the woman, the elderly man kneeling by her side froze, tears rolling uncontrollably down his weathered cheeks.

He lifted a bony, wrinkled hand as fragile as dried orange peel and gently brushed away a few strands of hair stuck to her temples.

"Ali will come back."

"Ali..."

The elderly woman suddenly opened her eyes wide, joltingly. What was horrifying—those eyes were completely unfocused.

She was blind!

"Yisen, I dreamt of Ali! I dreamt of Ali!"

The elderly woman grabbed the man’s arm, weeping with joy.

A stream of tears flowed from those lifeless eyes, resembling dried-up wells.

But then, a certain thought crossed her mind, and the joy on her face gave way to panic. All of a sudden, she screamed, "Yisen, save Ali! The fire! The fire was so huge! Ali fears pain the most—please save our son!"

The elderly man stared in agony at the woman, who had spiraled into madness and was now screaming and crying uncontrollably. He reached out to pull her into his arms, gently patting her back in a soothing gesture.

"Ali is fine. Ali is doing well. He’ll be home soon."

The woman gradually calmed down, mumbling weakly, "We shouldn’t have returned to the country back then. If we hadn’t gone back, those villains wouldn’t have hurt us, and Ali wouldn’t have left us. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. Give me back my son."

Her emotions flared up again as she spoke.

"Yu Yisen, give me back my son!"

On this bone-chilling winter night, her cries were laced with searing anguish.

The old man’s entire body stiffened. His aged face, etched with countless wrinkles, bore the weight of immeasurable suffering.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end, all that escaped was a deep, heavy sigh.

It was a sigh of powerless surrender to fate.

Two elderly souls, one frail, one blind—what hope could there possibly be?

He knew all too well that their Ali would never return.

The only thing that had kept them going all these years was the faint glimmer of hope that they might see him again.

Yet now, even he was reaching his limit.

"Bang, bang, bang." The door resounded with heavy knocks.

"In the middle of the night, what are you screaming about? Scream again, and tomorrow there’s no food for you. Starve to death, the both of you!"

The shrill, venomous voice of a woman echoed from outside.

The old man clutched the frail woman in his arms. Through the broken window frames, he gazed out into the boundless, pitch-black night.

Every night since Ali’s departure had been so cold, so endless, so unbearable.

"Old woman, let’s tidy ourselves up and go see Ali."

"Ali is waiting for us."