Ye Sibei and Qin Nan stayed in the car for a while when her phone suddenly rang urgently. She glanced down—it was Zhao Shuhui's number.
She answered the call and immediately heard Zhao Shuhui's sharp questioning: "Was it you who contacted the media?"
"No."
"Then it was you who posted online, right?! You're the one spreading all this online, aren't you?!"
"It wasn't me." Ye Sibei listened to Zhao Shuhui's agitated voice but remained calm. "Someone exposed the paint-throwing incident online. It has nothing to do with me."
"How could it have nothing to do with you? It must be you! Ye Sibei, you called the police, I paid the fine, I stayed in detention—what more do you want? Haven't I already given you enough leeway?"
"Have you?" Ye Sibei found it absurd. "You had people throw paint at my home, harass me, send me threatening messages. You got Zhao Chuchu fired and cost my brother his job. If that's not pushing me to the brink, then what is?"
Zhao Shuhui fell silent. After a long pause, she finally spoke: "Zhao Chuchu resigned on her own. So did your brother."
"You gave them an impossible choice—how is that voluntary resignation?!"
"That has nothing to do with me!"
"And today's reporters," Ye Sibei emphasized word by word, "also have nothing to do with me."
After these words, neither spoke. In the silence, Ye Sibei turned to watch the passing traffic. After a long while, Zhao Shuhui spoke again, her voice hoarse: "Ye Sibei, you're not the only one who's suffered. Our family has had a hard time too these days. At this point, don't you feel any remorse for what you've done?"
Ye Sibei stared out the window and answered hoarsely: "No."
With that, she hung up and tossed the phone aside.
Qin Nan turned to look at her. He reached out and took her hand.
That small gesture made her feel as if she had grabbed onto a lifeline. She sat in the seat, silent.
When they returned home, they didn't dare turn on the lights, afraid the reporters might return. They used flashlights to wash up in the dark.
After a long, exhausting day, Qin Nan was drained. He lay on the bed, intending to rest for a while, but fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
When Ye Sibei finished showering and groped her way out, she saw Qin Nan fast asleep on the bed.
She hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to gently pull the blanket over him, then slipped back under the covers.
Lying there, feeling someone beside her, she kept her eyes open for a long time before reaching out to lightly hold Qin Nan's hand.
Qin Nan sensed her movement and forced his eyes open. Ye Sibei looked at him in the dark, and they silently gazed at each other. Suddenly, Qin Nan asked: "Are you scared?"
"Yes."
Ye Sibei admitted frankly. Qin Nan turned onto his side to face her: "Then why didn't you say anything?"
"I've already caused everyone so much trouble," Ye Sibei lowered her head. "I didn't want to worry you all further."
They lay facing each other on the bed, hands clasped. Qin Nan wasn't sure what to do. After a long pause, he asked softly: "Can I hold you?"
Ye Sibei looked up, meeting his eyes. She drew strength from his gaze, realizing that there was someone who had always stood by her side, supporting her unconditionally and without reason.
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she smiled through the lump in her throat and asked in return: "Can I hold you?"
Qin Nan immediately pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.The two of them embraced in the darkness, with Ye Sibei holding onto the person so tightly that her hands began to tremble.
She gently lowered her head, resting her forehead against his chest, and let out a quiet sob.
That night, not only did Ye Sibei fail to sleep, but Zhao Shuhui also lay awake.
The Fan family lived in a high-end residential area in Nancheng, guarded by security, preventing reporters from entering. Unable to get in, they called Zhao Shuhui instead.
After answering two calls, Zhao Shuhui turned off her phone. Then she opened her laptop and began searching for related keywords.
The incident had already sparked discussions on Weibo. Many mainstream media outlets had tagged it with #NanchengExecutiveWorkplaceSexualAssault, but the more emotionally charged hashtags like #RapeAndSilenced and #AssaultedAndBeatenForReporting were gaining traction faster. Zhao Shuhui clicked on one of the topics at random and saw the first post was a photo. It appeared to be a repost—the original blogger had added two crying emojis with the caption: What do I do? I burst into tears just looking at this picture.
Zhao Shuhui’s gaze fell on the photo and recognized it as Ye Sibui’s home.
Ye Sibei, wearing an apron and a cloth wrapped around her hair, stood with her back to the camera, stretching on her tiptoes to paint over the wall.
The word "bitch" had already been partially covered—only the radical "female" was scrubbed away, leaving the glaring, cruel "prostitute" beside her frail figure.
Zhao Shuhui scrolled down and saw countless posts. It was clear that someone from Nancheng had compiled the entire incident, even outlining a timeline—from Ye Sibei’s assault, her police report, to the vandalism of her home—and posted it all.
Many comments read:
"I want to donate to this girl. I want to support her!"
"Oh my god, I wouldn’t have been able to endure this. How did she manage?"
"The victim is innocent—stop blaming her!"
"Has the case been officially filed? Has he been charged? That bastard can’t get away with this!"
Alongside these supportive messages, there were also waves of aggressive insults:
"What kind of trash is that rapist? Does he have a daughter? Isn’t he afraid she’ll suffer the same fate?"
"What kind of family raises such scum?"
"Is he married? Is his wife a garbage dump? Why hasn’t she come out to apologize?"
Zhao Shuhui kept scrolling, but for some reason, the more she read, the more her vision blurred with insults and humiliation. Someone had doxxed Fan Jiancheng—his name, his appearance, his workplace—and even found photos of their home.
"He has a daughter? Someone like him deserves to have a daughter?"
"Now I see why his wife tolerates him—she’s just as ugly inside and out."
"Their house is so nice—must be dirty money. Someone investigate!"
The barrage of hatred overwhelmed her. Zhao Shuhui wrapped her arms around herself in the dark and broke into sobs.
Fan Jiancheng’s mother noticed the light still on in the early hours and came out of her room, ready to scold her daughter-in-law. But when she saw Zhao Shuhui’s tear-streaked face, she panicked. "What’s wrong? Did something happen to Jiancheng?"
Zhao Shuhui shook her head, unable to speak.
Fan’s mother rushed forward and grabbed her. "Say something! What good is crying?"
"Mom," Zhao Shuhui finally collapsed, lifting her head as she wept. "Jiancheng wouldn’t… He wouldn’t, right?" "He's such a good man," Zhao Shuhui clutched at Fan Jiancheng's mother, "how could he possibly be so wicked?"
"I'm not that bad, I was forced into this, I had no choice..."
"Stop crying!" Fan's mother's eyes reddened as she scolded her, "Don't wake Wenwen."
Hearing this, Zhao Shuhui bit her lower lip, suppressing her sobs.
At that moment, she missed her parents, her family. She thought, if only she weren't Fan Jiancheng's wife, Fan Wenwen's mother, the daughter-in-law of the Fan family—if she were just Zhao Shuhui, her mother would surely hold her and tell her how to walk the right path.
But her identity had become shackles, making it impossible to return to herself.
While Zhao Shuhui wept bitterly at home, the Ye family was also awake. Zhao Chuchu sat alone in Ye Nianwen's room, while the three members of the Ye family sat in the living room.
Despite people being present, the house was utterly silent. They dared not turn on the lights or make a sound, sitting quietly for a long time until Ye Ling finally sighed: "Why is Sibei so stubborn? If she'd just swallow her pride and talk to the Fan family, this whole mess would be over."
"You still don't understand."
Ye Nianwen sounded exhausted: "If she could swallow her pride, she would have done it long ago. It's precisely because she didn't that things have come to this. If she doesn't sue, the Fan family won't negotiate with her. Now that they're offering terms, no matter how much money they give, she'll carry the stigma of false accusation for life. Dad," Ye Nianwen looked up at Ye Ling, "you're pushing her into a corner."
"How is this pushing her into a corner?" Ye Ling grew agitated. "Who doesn't endure some grievances in life?"
"Is this just 'some grievances'?"
Ye Nianwen stared at Ye Ling: "Since ancient times, wrongful accusations have been likened to snow in June—how can you call this just a minor grievance? If it were you," Ye Nianwen suppressed his anger, "could you endure it?"
"I could!" Ye Ling insisted. "What couldn't I endure? Haven't I endured enough for you siblings? Have I said a single word these past two months? But now we have no choice—the family needs food on the table. What would you do? Pull money out of thin air?!"
"I've said it before," Ye Nianwen lowered his head, "sell the house."
"Have you even asked Chuchu about selling the house?" Ye Ling pointed toward the bedroom. "Is this how you plan to wrong her?"
Ye Nianwen remained silent. Ye Ling turned to Huang Guifen: "Guifen, say something! Are you just going to sit there and watch our son make a fool of himself?!"
"Have the reporters outside left yet?"
Huang Guifen ignored Ye Ling's words. She glanced wearily outside. Ye Nianwen stood up, peeked through a gap in the curtains, and after seeing no one, turned back to Huang Guifen: "It's late, they've probably gone to rest."
"Take Chuchu home first."
Huang Guifen stood up: "I'm going to bed."
"Wait—" Ye Ling grew frantic. "Guifen, talk some sense into Nianwen..."
Huang Guifen numbly walked into the room and shut the door with a sharp "bang."
Ye Ling stood dumbfounded by the door. Ye Nianwen knocked: "Chuchu."
Zhao Chuchu sat on the bed. Hearing Ye Nianwen, she stood and opened the door.
Ye Nianwen gave her a tired smile: "It's late, let me take you home."
Zhao Chuchu nodded with a smile.
There were no buses at this hour. Ye Nianwen hailed a taxi, and the two rode in silence. When they arrived at Zhao Chuchu's home, Ye Nianwen walked her to the gate of the courtyard. Finally, Zhao Chuchu spoke: "You can leave me here."
"Alright."Ye Nianwen nodded. Zhao Chuchu turned to go home when Ye Nianwen suddenly called out to her, "Chuchu."
Zhao Chuchu paused her steps. Ye Nianwen lowered his head, tears welling in his eyes. "I want... to sell the house."
Zhao Chuchu remained silent as Ye Nianwen spoke with great difficulty, "I'm sorry, Chuchu. I'm not capable enough. I don't know when I'll be able to stabilize things. My family is already in this state, and I don't want to make you suffer with me."
"Chuchu," Ye Nianwen continued, raising his head as tears blurred his vision, his voice trembling uncontrollably, "We... we..."
"Ye Nianwen," Zhao Chuchu turned back, looking at the young man who couldn't stop crying, her own eyes reddening, "Do you like me?"
Ye Nianwen couldn't speak. He didn't dare say he liked her, afraid that if he did, she wouldn't be able to bring herself to leave.
But he also couldn't bear to let her stay.
Seeing his expression, Zhao Chuchu felt something overflow in her heart.
"You like me, you care about me," Zhao Chuchu stood on the steps and reached out to embrace him, "That's enough."
"Actually, I don't care that much about the house. What I care about is your feelings, you as a person. We can earn money together, it's okay. We're still young."
As Zhao Chuchu spoke, Ye Nianwen completely broke down in an instant.
He leaned into her arms and sobbed uncontrollably.
Zhao Chuchu sniffled as she held him. "You've grown up, you're good. Just always remember, no matter what—"
"Ye Nianwen likes Zhao Chuchu, and Zhao Chuchu likes Ye Nianwen."
Ye Nianwen nodded desperately. "I'll remember. I'll remember it for the rest of my life."
Ye Nianwen likes Zhao Chuchu, and Zhao Chuchu likes Ye Nianwen.
After making their decision, the next day Ye Nianwen went to find the developer. They reached an agreement where the developer would charge them a 30,000 yuan service fee to help list their house for sale again through their company.
Then he began posting everywhere online, clicking on consultations, and looking for business opportunities.
Ye Sibei no longer went out. She stayed at home every day. When Qin Nan was around, they would do chores together, chat, watch TV shows, and play games.
When Qin Nan wasn't there, she couldn't help but go online, constantly checking the news.
People online were very different from reality—there weren't as many conflicting interests, and their views on good and evil were simpler, more pure.
Most people were condemning Fan Jiancheng, hurling abuse at him.
What made people most angry about this incident wasn't just Fan Jiancheng using his workplace advantage to commit sexual assault, but more importantly, his subsequent actions—like splashing paint—trying to use his power to silence the victim.
This infuriated netizens, who tried their utmost to expose the true nature of this family. They insulted, doxxed, and sought out every possible moral failing of the Fan family.
Ye Sibei came across a video titled "The Wife and Daughter of a Rapist," which had an extremely high view count. She opened it and saw that it was filmed outside an elementary school. Zhao Shuhui was holding Fan Wenwen in the crowd when an old woman rushed forward to slap the filmer's phone away. "What are you filming? Give me that phone!"
People around were all staring at Zhao Shuhui. Fan Wenwen wailed in her arms as Zhao Shuhui kept her head down, clutching the child and hurrying away.Compared to the Fan family's disarray, Ye Sibei was in a much better position. Online, she was portrayed as a flawless, tragic saint—kind, brave, hardworking, and diligent. Reading the praises showered upon her, she felt both happy and afraid.
Because she knew she wasn’t that perfect, yet she couldn’t help but bask in the admiration.
With influential figures demanding accountability and the media fanning the flames, public opinion quickly escalated. Ye Sibei’s Weibo was flooded with messages, countless people sending her private words of encouragement, urging her to stay strong.
But amid the support, beneath every related news post, strange comments inevitably surfaced. Such as:
"Ah, so pitiful. Girls really need to learn to protect themselves better."
"A wise man doesn’t stand under a dangerous wall. Let this be a lesson—if anyone pressures you to drink, just quit."
A hundred comforting words couldn’t compare to the impact of these seemingly mild remarks. Because beneath their casual tone, they echoed the world’s deeply ingrained traditions, violently shaking the resolve she had barely managed to muster.
Especially when some low-tier media outlets published photos of her from that day. Though many condemned these outlets for invasive reporting and exposing the victim, the truth was, articles with headlines like "Photos of Nan City Sexual Assault Victim Leaked—No Wonder Men Lost Control" garnered far more traffic than legitimate news coverage.
And beneath such reports, the comments were even more vile.
Beyond Ye Sibei, Fan Jiancheng, and Zhao Shuhui—the key figures in the case—the media also quickly revealed the details of the incident. Netizens played judge, speculating endlessly about what had truly happened that night.
The most crucial witness, Zhao Chuchu, was dug up by the public. Photos of her, alongside Ye Sibei, spread everywhere. Compared to Ye Sibei, Zhao Chuchu was more striking in appearance, dressed in trendier fashion. And since she was the last person to see Ye Sibei that night—the one who left her alone in the car—speculation and accusations poured in.
"Was she doing this on purpose? Who leaves an unconscious friend in a man’s car?"
"Big curls, high heels, stockings—wow, this woman knows what’s up."
"Don’t casually judge a woman’s appearance. She might be glamorous, but that doesn’t reflect her character..."
Then there were the labels slapped on others—the "vampire" Ye Nianwen, the "mother who sold her daughter for a house" Huang Guifen, the "deadbeat dad" Ye Ling...
Everyone dragged into the online storm seemed to bear some original sin, their heads branded with tags for netizens to dissect.
During those days, it wasn’t just Ye Sibei. Zhao Chuchu, Huang Guifen, Zhao Shuhui—everyone was glued to their screens, scrolling through posts about themselves.
Huang Guifen read the online condemnations of her, the analyses of women’s suffering, Ye Sibei’s struggles, and her own failings as a mother. Night after night, she lay awake, unable to sleep.
Zhao Chuchu saw the accusations questioning why she abandoned Ye Sibei, the insults about her looks and style, and hid in her room, too afraid to step outside.
Ye Sibei, Huang Guifen, Ye Ling, Ye Nianwen, Qin Nan...
The waves of information piled on endlessly, stretching them like rubber bands—gripped at both ends, pulled tighter and tighter, thinner and thinner.Everyone endured the agonizing wait until, a few days later, Ye Sibei received a notice from the procuratorate asking her to verify her statement.
She acknowledged the call and hung up. Grabbing a cigarette, she stepped onto the balcony, gazing at the city sinking into nightfall. Her mind was flooded with online comments and the video of Zhao Shuhui being jostled by a crowd while clutching her child.
Qin Nan finished cooking and noticed Ye Sibei wasn’t in the living room. After searching around, he found her on the balcony, smoking. He walked over and stood beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“The procuratorate wants me to go in tomorrow.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
Qin Nan didn’t understand. Ye Sibei lowered her head, silent, as if wrestling with something. After a long pause, she murmured softly, “Qin Nan, I’m scared.”
“At this point, what is there left to fear?” Qin Nan smiled faintly. “I’ve seen so many people online supporting us. With this many people behind you, the one who should be afraid is Fan Jiancheng.”
Ye Sibei didn’t respond. She kept her head down, then after a long while, whispered, “What if one day they realize I’m not who they think I am?”
“What?”
Ye Sibei took a deep drag of her cigarette, exhaled the smoke, and stubbed it out in the ashtray. “Let’s go back. Dinner’s ready.”
The news about the procuratorate’s request for statement verification also reached Ye Nianwen. As he was about to confirm the next day’s arrangements with Ye Sibei, Huang Guifen, who had been sitting nearby, suddenly spoke up. “Are you going to the procuratorate tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Lately, Huang Guifen had spoken little, mostly staying by the computer, constantly searching for updates about Ye Sibei. Since she asked, Ye Nianwen answered, “Just verifying the previous statements.”
“Is she going alone? Won’t there be a lot of reporters? What if they twist her words again and write nonsense?”
“My brother-in-law and I will take her.” Ye Nianwen sidestepped most of her questions, answering only the most crucial one.
Huang Guifen kept her head lowered. As Ye Nianwen turned to head to his room, he heard her hoarse voice. “I’m going too.”
Ye Nianwen paused in surprise. Huang Guifen’s voice was quiet but firm. “Your father and I are both going.”
Ye Ling turned back, bewildered. Huang Guifen met his gaze and repeated, “We’ll all go together.”
Unlike Ye Sibei and Ye Nianwen, who received phone notifications, Zhao Shuhui learned the news from her lawyer.
Meng Xin, the criminal defense attorney she had hired, was the best in Nan City and also the head of Ye Nianwen’s law firm. Sitting in the Fan residence, Meng Xin briefed Zhao Shuhui on the situation. “Ye Sibei and other witnesses will go to the procuratorate tomorrow to verify their statements. Mr. Fan still hasn’t confessed, and there are gaps in the case. The procuratorate has applied for an extension of his detention, so bail isn’t an option for now.”
Zhao Shuhui seemed dazed. Beside her lay a piece of paper she had taken from the door earlier—scrawled with the words “Home of a Rapist.”
Meng Xin watched her expression and lowered his eyes, as if pained. “Is your daughter still attending school?”
“No.” Only at the mention of Fan Wenwen did Zhao Shuhui show any reaction. “She got into a fight with classmates a few days ago, so I’ve kept her home since.”
“I’ve informed Mr. Fan about your situation. He wept bitterly in detention, saying he’s sorry—to you and your family.”
Zhao Shuhui remained silent, her head bowed."Oh, there's one more thing he asked of you," Meng Xin suddenly remembered. "He said you should pray more to the Bodhisattva at home, to ask for safety for you and Wenwen."
Zhao Shuhui froze upon hearing this, looking up in a daze. Sensing her distress, Meng Xin offered a few more words of comfort before finally taking his leave.
After seeing Meng Xin out, Zhao Shuhui stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the Bodhisattva statue enshrined not far away in the living room.
This Bodhisattva had been worshipped by Fan Jiancheng’s mother. Fan Jiancheng himself had never believed in such things—why would he suddenly ask her to pray to it now?
Though Meng Xin was their lawyer, he only ever relayed trivial daily matters. He never disclosed any critical information about the case.
If Fan Jiancheng wanted to send her a message, he would have to do so in a more subtle way.
The Bodhisattva?
Zhao Shuhui walked up to the shrine and began searching around.
On the very first day Fan Jiancheng was arrested, the police had already sealed off and ransacked the house. Every place she checked showed nothing unusual, until her gaze finally settled on the Bodhisattva statue.
Hesitating, she picked up the statue, her hands trembling slightly. But in the end, she smashed it fiercely onto the ground.
Hearing the noise, Fan’s mother rushed out of the bedroom and scolded Zhao Shuhui, “What are you doing?! Even knocking over the Bodhisattva—have you lost your mind?!”
Zhao Shuhui said nothing. She stared blankly as the golden Bodhisattva shattered into pieces upon hitting the floor, golden fragments scattering in all directions. Amid the sound of porcelain breaking, the ugliest depths of human nature were laid bare.
The Buddha says, the sea of suffering has no bounds, yet repentance is the shore.
But the beings drowning in that sea may have long forgotten the very distinction between gods and demons, good and evil.
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