Chapter 88: Haunted House 21

This was also something she thought of after overhearing the conversation between Grandma and Qian Ji.

According to their words, Qian Ji’s situation in this household wasn’t as miserable as it seemed, nor could Ai Ji possibly have received such favorable treatment. She had considered that this might be Ai Ji’s obsession, but if it truly belonged to Ai Ji, then she wouldn’t have remained in such a small space—she would have wished for a larger room. Only if this obsession was Jing Hua’s would everything make sense, for what seemed most unfair to her was the disparity in treatment between Ai Ji and Qian Ji before others. As for Ai Ji’s living quarters, perhaps she simply hadn’t paid attention, and in those overlooked corners, Ai Ji’s room had remained the same.

“You’re absolutely right. I do resent that Qian Ji has things Ai Ji never did,” Jing Hua admitted without hesitation.

She picked up a family photograph from the table and handed it to Su Man. “Looks happy, doesn’t it?”

Su Man glanced at it. Only Qian Yuan, Jing Hua, and Ai Ji were in the picture.

“This is the only family photo with just the three of us,” Jing Hua said, hugging it to her chest. “It was taken when I first brought Ai Ji here—our family, together.”

Jing Hua lay back in the rocking chair, gently swaying, as if lost in memories. “Our Ai Ji was actually two years older than Qian Ji. She was the elder sister.”

“But she looked so small,” Su Man said.

“Yes, and that’s my fault.” Jing Hua spoke without joy or sorrow, recounting it as if it were some unrelated matter.

Back then, when Qian Yuan broke up with her, she was already pregnant with Ai Ji. She was young and hot-tempered, unable to bear the pain of abandonment. Upon learning she was pregnant, and thinking she’d have to raise a child for that heartless Qian Yuan, she resisted with every fiber of her being and went to the hospital.

Unexpectedly, Ai Ji survived and was born, but as a result, her health was poor. Jing Hua had little money at the time and couldn’t afford any supplements, so Ai Ji was always frail, always smaller than other children her age. Jing Hua still resented Qian Yuan then, and seeing the child only made her vent her anger; thus, Ai Ji spent her early years perpetually sick.

Everything changed when Ai Ji was about two years old. Jing Hua, busy working outside, suddenly fell ill and collapsed, drifting in and out of consciousness.

When she finally woke up, she was in the hospital. Later, she learned that it was little Ai Ji who had crawled out to call for help, saving her life.

It was then that she truly looked at her child for the first time. The little girl, developmentally delayed, appeared dull and slow. In that instant, all the grievances in Jing Hua’s heart surged forth—pain and guilt erupting together.

Ai Ji, seeing her mother cry, didn’t understand but began to wail as well.

From that day on, Jing Hua changed her attitude toward Ai Ji, treating her as her own child. Life gradually improved, and she believed she would always live with Ai Ji this way.

Unexpectedly, one day Qian Yuan appeared again, telling her he’d lost his wife and could now take her back to live with him.

She was far from happy, deeply unwilling, but he insisted he had his reasons. He only wanted a better life, he claimed, and said he had never forgotten her—that she was the woman he loved most. Now he could provide her a better life.

He had also learned of Ai Ji’s existence, promising to give Ai Ji a good life as well.

Perhaps it was her lingering resentment at having been abandoned, or emotions she couldn’t name, or maybe a touch of vanity, but she foolishly agreed to Qian Yuan.

When she brought Ai Ji to the city mansion, she discovered that Qian Yuan, though widowed, still had a son at home.

He also lived with his mother, who, from the moment Jing Hua and Ai Ji entered, found fault at every turn.

Had she realized and left with Ai Ji then, it wouldn’t have been too late. But perhaps the years of hardship had worn her down, or perhaps it was the excuse of wanting a better life for Ai Ji, she stubbornly stayed.

She set about pleasing Qian Yuan, his mother, and the son from his late wife, but neglected her own daughter.

She thought Qian Ji, having lost his mother, wouldn’t like seeing Jing Hua and Ai Ji close as mother and daughter. She wanted Ai Ji to endure a little, believing that once Qian Ji accepted them, everything would be fine. But those hopes never materialized; instead, news arrived first of Ai Ji’s death.

“My child was murdered by that demon,” Jing Hua clutched the family photo tighter, not looking at Su Man, as if speaking to herself. “Can you believe a child could have such darkness in his heart? He killed my daughter, stuffed her into a cabinet, and set fire to her.”

“I wish I could tear that little demon to pieces!” Jing Hua’s emotions suddenly flared, but soon returned to calm. “My Ai Ji… No, not Ai Ji, she’s not Ai Ji. She’s Sweet Bao, my darling princess.”

She gazed out the window, falling silent once more. Only the rocking chair’s creaking filled the room.

Time passed—so long Su Man thought Jing Hua would never speak again—when she murmured to herself, “There used to be that old woman always opposing me, protecting her grandson. Now she’s dead, and no one protects that little demon anymore. Not until I see that demon dead will I rest in peace.”

As for whether this domain of obsession truly belonged to her, she did not admit it.

“So, was everyone in this house killed by Qian Ji? Do you know what the world said after your deaths? The news reported that you killed your whole family and then took your own life,” Su Man pressed, still feeling something was off.

“I killed my whole family?” Jing Hua laughed aloud. “If I had that kind of power, my daughter wouldn’t have been murdered while I stayed silent…” Her eyes reddened, but she forced back her tears. “If anything, I was only weak enough to kill myself.”

“Whatever I did, I was inadequate. I was not a competent mother, nor a competent wife. In the moment before death, I kept regretting—if only I hadn’t brought Ai Ji here, would none of this ever have happened?”

“You’re right. If you hadn’t come here, none of this would have happened. It’s all because of you—our fates all changed!” Qian Ji appeared in the room, his presence suffused with a deep, dark energy, brimming with malice. “You’re the one who destroyed my family!”