No Forgiveness

After parting with Qi Qiao, Bai Ci returned to the inn.

But even by nightfall,
the room remained empty—only him.

Xiya…

Where did you go?

Staring at the hollow space,
Bai Ci’s heart twisted in knots.

He stepped outside, deciding to walk the streets.

Even if he couldn’t find Xiya, maybe the night air would ease his unease.

At this hour, the streets were nearly deserted—
only drunkards, homeless wanderers, and tired courtesans returning from work under the moonlight.

In the darkness, Bai Ci found himself back on that morning’s street.

The ashes of the fruit vendor-turned-monster had been cleared away,
but a faint, lingering stench still marked where horror had taken place.

Bai Ci approached the stall. The unsold fruit lay scattered—some already rotting.

He sighed softly.
“Sorry.”
“I promise—I’ll uncover the truth behind all of this.”

Then, rolling up his sleeves, he tidied the stand, packed the remaining fruit,
and left two gold coins on the counter—enough to buy the entire stall.

“This is for this morning’s fruit.”
“Your fruit… was delicious.”

As if sensing his presence, the door behind the stall slowly creaked open.

An old man emerged, leaning on a cane. He looked at Bai Ci and asked:
“You are…?”

Bai Ci didn’t know how to answer.

“I saw there was still fruit, and no one had closed the stall, so I thought I’d buy it.”

He pointed to the two gold coins as proof of payment.

The old man followed his gaze—saw the coins gleaming on the table.

But he didn’t smile or show surprise. Instead, his eyes grew complex.
He let out a long sigh.
“At my age… what use do I have for gold? Live one day at a time, that’s all.”
“Don’t stand outside. Come in.”

With that, the old man turned and walked inside.

Somehow, Bai Ci followed. Maybe guilt. Maybe a desire to help.

The old man lit an oil lamp,
then sat heavily on a broken wooden stool.

On the table sat a meal—simple, no meat, but neatly arranged, proof of careful preparation.

The old man murmured: “This was made by my son before he went out to sell today. I was waiting to eat together…”
“But he hasn’t come back. So I haven’t touched it.”
“Child… do you think he’ll return?”

He stared at Bai Ci, trembling—eyes filled with despair too deep to bear.

“Tell me… was that monster this morning… really my son?”
“How could my boy become that?”
“Why? Why? Why…?”
“We survived the disaster…”
“After all we’ve endured… just when we could finally breathe… why did my son turn into a monster?!”

The calm old man suddenly broke down, collapsing onto the floor, screaming in a hoarse voice—a desperate cry against a cruel world.

“Please… accept my condolences…”

Bai Ci knew no words could heal such grief.
He’d seen too many deaths—each one reducing pain to mere numbers in his mind.

But for families, for loved ones,
every death was an unscalable mountain, a lifetime of sorrow.

“I swear to you—I won’t let the culprits behind this escape justice…”

But before Bai Ci could finish,

the old man snatched a fruit knife from the table, pointing it shakily at Bai Ci.

His withered hand trembled, barely able to lift the blade.

“I remember you… You’re the one who killed that monster… killed my son… with fire…”
“I remember you! I’ll never forget your face, murderer!”
“Why are you here at my doorstep?!”

The old man’s mind seemed shattered, teetering on the edge of collapse.

I’m truly sorry…

Bai Ci made no move to dodge. He understood what he represented to this man.

Yet if given the choice again, he might make the same decision.

He had no other option.

Based on current cases, once people became monsters, they lost all reason—becoming instruments of destruction.

Without restraint, their rampage would be catastrophic for Sin City.

The only humane method was immediate termination.

But Bai Ci couldn’t claim his actions were just.

To this elderly father, whose only hope in life was his son,
how could he say—your son’s existence was evil? That killing him was righteous?

All Bai Ci could do was apologize—hoping, somehow, for forgiveness.

“I swear—all responsible for the monster crisis in Sin City will burn in hell together.”

He looked at the trembling old man and vowed.

Ah…

Hearing the promise, the old man said nothing. As if drained, he slowly sank to the floor.

The knife clattered to the ground. His eyes gently closed.

He ignored Bai Ci—because he saw everything.

He saw his own childhood.
Saw Sin City before the disaster—thriving, alive.
Saw his beloved wife, lost in the catastrophe.
And just moments ago—his son, transformed into a monster.

Memories flashed like a flickering lantern, until they settled on one final image:
Outside Sin City, in a field of flowers, his wife cradled their infant son, smiling.

“You’ve worked so hard all this time.”
“I kept you waiting.”

In his delirium, the old man staggered toward that vision—
and as his fingers brushed her form, in that cold, lonely room, his eyes finally closed for good.

Bai Ci stood frozen.

For a man like this, dying without pain was the last mercy he could receive.

He saw it—the faint smile on the old man’s lips in his final moment.

“I’m sorry…”

Bai Ci felt a crushing helplessness—so profound he couldn’t move.

Even with power enough to destroy all of Sin City,
he could only stand as a witness to grief.

He couldn’t even give the man a proper burial.

“What a cruel joke,” Bai Ci muttered bitterly.

The next second—
a soft rustle of fabric came from behind.

Who?

Bai Ci’s pupils contracted.

There was someone else in the room?