My Alleged Husband

Chapter 900: Chapter 830_3

I exert all my efforts trying to surpass everything, striving to surpass my ultimate limit, the very peak—but the peak means it’s insurmountable. If I can’t surpass it, it means death. I ponder how I could possibly make all of this less unbearable. I’m not promoting myself, because deep in my heart I’m always wondering what I should do. I know I should aim for ideals, not delusions; pursue passion, not pretension. I should find joy in contentment, yet I can’t help myself. I love the feeling of happiness surrounding me, yet time and again, it’s my own hands that disrupt all the happiness. It’s me who wrecks every rhythm until it becomes unbearable forevermore. It’s me who makes everything so lonely. It’s me who drives everyone away, time and again. It’s me who forces everyone to see through me, over and over. I forever refuse to stay by my own side. All of this is my own doing, the consequences I face are entirely self-inflicted—who can I blame?

Whenever someone comes to promote something to me, I have no reason not to believe them—just as I have no reason to believe in myself. I know that aside from myself, there’s no one else I can trust. I want to make my life resemble someone else’s life, or even surpass the most extraordinary life that others could have. I want everyone to understand—even if everyone else is an idiot, I alone am not someone who falls into the same pit repeatedly without learning from it. People who fail to learn after falling into it 13 times truly are fools. I am not foolish—but at the very least, I refuse to acknowledge that I am.

When I experience pain time and again, it always coincides with the light drizzle falling outside. I choose to slowly walk out into it, to absorb the scent of nature. Yet every time I step outside, the storm arrives—it pours down upon me, relentless. The suffocating smell of the storm assaults me, unbearable to endure. Every time it rains, I tell myself deep in my heart, ”It will surely stop within an hour.” Maybe it sounds ridiculous, but to my surprise, time and again, the rain actually ceases within an hour of my words. Sometimes, I feel grateful—could it be that heaven really hears every word I say? Could it be that my every word truly carries the power to change reality? If that’s the case, then why haven’t all the wounds I’ve endured altered? Why has none of it ever changed in favor of my perspective? Why haven’t they tried to bring my family back to my side to accompany me? Why is it that everything I’ve gained is never what I truly wanted?

”Child, we as your parents know you’ve borne a great deal of pain, but in this beautiful world, you shouldn’t harbor so much resentment. You should look forward. Only by looking forward can you discover that your life isn’t truly what it seems. Only then can you find that life can, in fact, be lived joyfully—so joyfully. If you remain endlessly caught up in these thoughts, how do you think your life can ever be happy? Have you considered how your choices might bring suffering to your family? You always feel like your life is perfect, but you forget that it’s your actions that have possibly inflicted deeper wounds upon your family. Shouldn’t you worry about what it is your family desires most in their hearts?”

”Dad, Mom, sometimes saying these things to you feels utterly pointless. I just want to pour out everything from the depths of my heart, because I know—I know I’ve become numb and unfeeling. I know I’m no longer the person I used to be. Every choice I’ve made has driven me, time and again, down this path. I’m powerless to stop it. Again and again, I compel myself to be different from others, because I want to make myself stronger. I want all those who’ve looked down on me to know forever that I am the strongest one. They have no reason, no qualification to despise me.

Do you know? Back when I was in school, there was a time I achieved an extraordinary score in biology. That teacher, inexplicably, gave me a smile—a kind smile. I couldn’t believe it, because he had never smiled at me so kindly before. Yet that kind smile didn’t evoke any special insight in me. Beyond knowing that he was always like that, I understood nothing. Time and again, I questioned myself, only to ultimately extinguish my own moment of brilliance. Reflecting on my small moments of success back then, they occurred after I had burned every bridge and fought with no retreat, the so-called ”desperate struggles lead to victory.” Sacrificing everything wasn’t something my teacher could understand. When I saw the biology teacher filled with confidence and joy at my accomplishments, I thought... the ignorant are not only fearless but carefree as well. How wonderful it would be to be ignorant. Back then, my teacher thought I was suited for biology, but I disagreed. I looked at lab coats, test papers, microscopes—all of that—and instinctively distanced myself. Rather than studying biomolecules or DNA, I’d rather become a forensic pathologist, slicing open corpses and poking holes, finally ensuring justice is served—letting the guilty be punished and the innocent cleared. But alas, the dead are the innocent ones. The work of a forensic pathologist is akin to flogging corpses.