Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 88

Chapter 88:

Brothers – Brother, Yet You Abandoned Me

He had a brother.

Hu Boyuan, after seventeen years away from his hometown, finally learned of his brother’s existence.

His eyes filled with tears, his body hunched over, his back stiff as a drawn bow, his mind a blank canvas, the pain a physical sensation, his heart pounding, a raw, throbbing ache, the old scars on his back burning, blood seeping through his fingers, falling onto the freshly turned earth, the soil beneath his feet a burial ground.

He clutched his chest, his hand touching the smooth, unbroken skin, the pain a phantom limb, a ghost of memory.

Only he could unravel this, he straightened up, his vision blurry, the small grove of trees, the golden persimmons, a memory from seventeen years ago.

He and his mother had buried a body, then left.

His mother had carried him to their new home, his grandmother gently cleaning his wounds, their tears falling as they looked at the bruises on his small body, their voices hushed, afraid of startling him.

“My poor child, my poor Boyuan…”

He had been held tightly, a comforting embrace, his mother’s hand no longer a fist, but a gentle caress.

The old house, its mud walls and simple furnishings, a plate of sweet pastries on the table, the adults’ faces distant and blurred, he had sat quietly in his mother’s lap, his mind blank.

Then what?

He forced himself to remember, his gaze fixed on the dry, yellow grass, a strange sound carried by the wind.

Not just them, not just humans, but…

A dog barking!

Yes, the sound of a dog barking!

He had run towards the sound, a small yellow dog, his arms wrapping around it, his tears flowing freely, his sobs echoing through the house.

The adults had rushed in, their faces etched with concern.

But no one had stopped him, his voice, silent for a month after their move, finally breaking the silence, his tears a release.

His mother had smiled, her voice trembling. “Who am I?”

“Mama,” he had said, his arms reaching for her, holding her tightly.

“Yes,” she had said, her own tears falling. “I’m Mama.”

“Boyuan, don’t be afraid, Mama is here.”

She had held his face in her hands, her tears washing away the dirt and grime.

Then what?

He had grown older, gone to a new school, his wounds healing, leaving only faint scars, like centipedes crawling across his back, making him hunch his shoulders, his posture a constant reminder of his past.

But he had excelled in his studies, his teachers praising him, his perfect test scores a source of pride.

His mother had always smiled at him, her love a constant presence, yet tinged with a strange fear.

He had looked in the mirror, thinking he resembled the man who had hurt them, his father, his mother’s gaze a mixture of love and pain, her memories a burden.

That’s what he had thought.

But she had cried, her sobs muffled, her grief hidden, yet he had seen it, her tears a silent accusation.

“Boyuan, my poor child.”

He hadn’t understood, his confusion growing as he grew older.

He wasn’t pitiful anymore, he was grown, an adult.

He had a job, he could provide for himself.

But her sadness had deepened, not just hers, but his grandparents’ too, their gazes filled with a silent sorrow, and he had left, escaping their shared grief.

Boyuan, Boyuan…

No—!

His heart screamed, a silent roar.

Not Boyuan.

He clutched his chest, his jaw clenched, tears streaming down his face, his voice lost.

Boyang.

His mother’s cries, the name she whispered, Boyang.

The one who had died, Hu Boyang.

“Don’t be afraid, Boyuan.”

The first person to say those words to him, Hu Boyang.

He knelt before the coffin, his gaze fixed on the small bones, some broken, some missing.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm and steady. “My brother’s name was Hu Boyang.”

“My mother buried him here. That monster escaped before the police arrived. She was afraid, she just wanted to take me away, as far away as possible.”

“I forgot about him, how could I… forget him?”

He had been withdrawn, silent, his focus on his studies, wanting to be different from his father, but his mother’s gaze had always been the same, a constant reminder of his past.

“I resented them, their sadness, their inability to be truly happy.”

Because there should have been two perfect test scores, two smiling faces, two boys, identical twins, a reflection of each other, their bond unbreakable.

Not a dog barking, but a small boy’s voice, his cries sharp and piercing, his strength a fragile shield against a monster, his arms thin and wiry, his love a fierce and unwavering protection.

Hu Boyang had shielded him, again and again.

And then he had fallen, his life extinguished.

Their mother had found proof of their father’s abuse, she had wanted to take them away, and he had snapped.

They hadn’t hidden in the closet together this time. Boyang had told him to hide, while he faced their father alone.

Hu Boyuan had seen the blood, the fists raining down, his brother’s body like a broken doll, his life extinguished before his eyes.

“Brother, my brother is dead,” he had cried, his head in his hands, his heart shattered, his world broken.

His voice had been lost, his cries a silent scream.

The shadows in the woods shifted, the darkness spreading, reaching the edge of the light.

The ghost reappeared, its slumber disturbed, perhaps by the desecration of its grave, perhaps by his cries.

It emerged from the darkness, its form slowly solidifying, its tall, shadowy figure shrinking, becoming a ten-year-old boy.

It walked towards him, into the sunlight, its pale face, its empty eyes, seemingly regaining a flicker of life.

Its ghostly form, its grotesque scars, a testament to its violent death, its small body not strong, but its presence a powerful force.

“I’m sorry…” Hu Boyuan said, his voice choked with guilt.

The ghost looked at him, its eyes searching.

It spoke, its voice soft and familiar.

“Boyuan, don’t be afraid,” Hu Boyang’s ghost embraced him, its hands on his arms, its eyes flashing red. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore, I killed him.”

Hu Boyuan looked up, his vision blurred by tears, his sobs wracking his body.

He knelt, their heights now equal, his hand covering his mouth, his breath catching in his throat, wiping away his tears, finally seeing his brother’s face clearly, his skin pale and cold.

The ghost looked at him, its gaze intense, taking in his appearance.

Then its form flickered, shrinking, dissolving, only its hands remaining, their touch a lingering warmth.

The pressure on his shoulders vanished, he reached out, but there was nothing there, no touch, no pain, just emptiness.

“Where did he go?” he asked, his voice filled with panic. “Where did he disappear to?”

“He’s become a part of the sky, his essence merging with heaven and earth,” Jiang Wan replied.

“Why?” Hu Boyuan’s voice rose. “You said you would send him to the underworld, to be reborn!”

“He lost his chance,” Chen Henian said. “He killed someone, he can’t be reincarnated, he would become a wandering spirit, a malevolent entity, so he chose to dissipate.”

Hu Tian hadn’t died accidentally. He had been drowned, held beneath the water by a pair of pale, skeletal hands, their grip like a vise, their touch cold and terrifying.

Souls returned on the seventh day after death.

Hu Boyang had returned to the apartment, finding his father still plotting against his mother and brother, his hatred and his rage consuming him, wanting to kill them all, to take them with him.

So he had killed him, his ghostly form, that night, stronger than the monster that had once tormented him.

Yu Lin, having seen the ghost’s memories, recounted the story.

“He didn’t kill a human, he killed a monster,” Hu Boyuan said, his voice filled with hatred, his gaze fixed on the pouch in Jiang Wan’s hand, the ghost trapped inside. “It’s the one who deserves to be punished!”

“It will face its judgment,” Chen Henian said. “Its resentment will be purged by the Southern sect, its soul sent to the eighteenth level of hell.”

“Give your brother a proper burial. You have a long life ahead of you.”

They turned to leave, Hu Boyuan needing time alone, to grieve, to bury his brother’s remains.

And they had to leave too.

Chen Henian stood at the entrance, the cool air against his face, waiting for Zuo He.

“Have you decided where we’re going next?” Jiang Wan asked.

“South,” he replied. “Further south, to see the ocean.”

Yu Lin smiled. “The southern lands, a place of beauty and abundance, a good place.”

“What are you thinking about?” Chen Henian asked, glancing at him.

“I’m thinking, as we travel south, the weather will turn warmer, the water ghosts will be more active,” Yu Lin replied, his eyes gleaming.

“You’re so thoughtful,” Jiang Wan said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “But he’s still not back. It’s almost dinner time.”

“Is that him?” Chen Henian looked towards a figure approaching along the path.

“Who else could it be?” Jiang Wan chuckled.

The tall, slender figure, its movements slightly awkward, was indeed Zuo He.

He didn’t know they had already finished.

They smiled as he approached, but Yu Lin’s expression changed.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, stepping in front of Chen Henian, his hand reaching out.

He moved, his speed unnatural, his hand closing around Zuo He’s throat.

Zuo He didn’t resist, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

“What’s wrong with him?” Chen Henian rushed forward, seeing the emptiness in Zuo He’s eyes, his gaze unfocused, his hand reaching for his pulse.

He was still alive.

But…

Yu Lin turned, his face a mask of anger, striking Zuo He’s abdomen, and a yellow talisman fell from his mouth, his body collapsing as the talisman left his body.

Yu Lin caught him, his voice low. “His soul is gone.”

Chen Henian knelt beside him, finding a piece of paper in his clenched hand.

He read it, his face hardening.

“It’s Jiang Li,” he said.

The note read:

A brother protects his brother.

A brother loves his brother.

Brother, yet you abandoned me.