NOVEL WEB Chapter 5: chapter 5
The memory shatters.
Fang Yuan is pulled back to the present, but his mind refuses to follow. The dim light flickers weakly around him, shadows shifting like restless phantoms. Everything blurs into insignificance against the horror still seared into his vision—burning brighter than reality itself.
He still sees them. His wife's frozen terror—her pale face twisted in desperation, her trembling lips forming a final, soundless plea. His daughters' silent screams—their wide, unblinking eyes pleading for salvation that never came. Their lifeless hands reaching out to him—so close, yet impossibly far. He was too late. Too powerless.
His chest tightens, as though an invisible hand is squeezing the air from his lungs. Pain crashes over him in suffocating waves, dragging him under once more. He remembers how he failed—not just his family, but countless others who had looked to him for help. Every attempt to stop the cruelty felt futile, like trying to hold back the ocean with bare hands. No matter how fiercely he fought, no matter how many lives he tried to save, the darkness always won. It swallowed everything whole, leaving only destruction in its wake.
And now, here he is again—sinking into that same pit of despair. Powerless. Helpless. Broken.
Then, a voice cuts through the chaos—a desperate cry so raw, so agonizing, that for a moment Fang Yuan thinks it's his own. It feels like he's screaming, helplessly, desperately, for his daughters, for his wife, as he watches them brutalized and murdered before his very eyes. The image is vivid, horrifying—he can feel their desperation, their horror, their fear, their pleas tearing through his soul. He tries to move, to fight, but he's frozen, forced to endure the unspeakable. His heart fractures all over again, and he collapses inside, crushed beneath the weight of grief.
Suddenly, he hears the voice again—and realizes the scream isn't his. It belongs to someone else. Someone equally broken, equally terrified and helpless, as if they too are facing unimaginable terror. The sound pulls at him, dragging him away from the nightmare gripping his mind. He fights to focus, searching frantically for its source. And then, he hears it clearly:
"Brother! Don't leave me! Please, open your eyes! I can't lose you! Please, come back!"
The voice is frantic, shaking with desperation. It cuts through the fog in his mind, pulling him closer to reality. Slowly, painfully, his eyes focus on the figure in front of him. Gu Xianer. She kneels beside him, her small body trembling as tears stream down her face. Her hands grip him tightly, as if she's afraid he might vanish. For a moment, he doesn't recognize her. His mind is still spinning, struggling to piece together the present.
But then, clarity begins to break through. Little by little, the haze clears, and he starts to understand where—and who—he is. Without thinking, his instincts take over. He sits up abruptly, pulling her into his arms with a force born of desperation. His hug is tight, unyielding—as if he believes she'll disappear the moment he lets go. His body shakes with uncontrollable sobs, but his grip remains firm.
Fang Yuan's face is wild, untamed—a portrait of madness slowly giving way to fragile sanity. He feels Gu Xianer's warmth seep into him, melting the ice and darkness that have frozen his heart for so long. In this moment, she is more than just his sister—she is his lifeline, his anchor. She is the light holding him back from the abyss of insanity.
Seeing Fang Yuan awake and holding her, Gu Xianer feels a flicker of relief. For a moment, she had thought she was losing the most precious thing in her life—something more valuable than her own breath. She clings to him tightly, her arms wrapping around him as if shielding him from the cruel world. Despite the pain of his desperate grip, she finds comfort in it. It reassures her that he is still here.
Fang Yuan's mind hasn't fully cleared—it stumbles through broken thoughts, unable to make sense of anything. But his instincts scream at him not to let go, not to release her even for a second. So he holds her tighter, drawing strength from her presence. Her warmth becomes a soothing balm, easing the sharp edges of his shattered mind. Gradually, the images of his past begin to fade, pushed aside by the simple comfort of her embrace.
Yet even as the memories retreat, they linger beneath the surface—silent threats waiting for the smallest crack in his fragile defenses. His mind may falter, but his instincts remain sharp, unyielding. They shout at him, raw and primal: Do not let go. Do not release her.
And so, he clings to her—not because he understands why, but because letting go would mean losing the last thread keeping him tied to sanity. Without her warmth, without her presence, he knows he will break completely, swallowed by the abyss that has haunted him for so long.
Her embrace is both shield and lifeline—a fragile barrier between him and the suffocating darkness. Each second she stays in his arms feels like borrowed time, stolen from the cruel fate that has taken everything else from him. He holds her tighter, his trembling hands refusing to loosen their grip, as though sheer willpower alone can keep the horrors at bay. They hold each other as if they are no longer two separate beings. Their heartbeats echo through each other, rhythmic and steady, blending together in a shared pulse that drowns out the chaos around them.
At the same time, Fang Zheng's mind stabilizes, and his body ceases to tremble. His frantic, uneven breathing begins to settle, the paralyzing fear that had coiled around his lungs like a vice slowly loosening its grip.
He has been observing Fang Yuan ever since regaining clarity, and now, with a steadier gaze, he takes in the scene before him. He sees the desperation etched into Fang Yuan's face, the helplessness in his trembling hands, the raw fear of losing someone precious reflected in his eyes.
After a moment of analysis, Fang Zheng pieces together what must have happened: Fang Yuan had been terrified seeing Gu Xianer fall toward the sharp edge of the bed while she was bringing a bowl of water for him.
Fang Zheng rubs his eyes and looks again and again at Fang Yuan, unsure if this is real or just a dream. Doubt lingers in his mind as he cautiously moves closer to get a better look.
Even now, deep in his heart, Fang Zheng still feels a lingering fear just from looking at Fang Yuan. But as he studies Fang Yuan's expression, he sees vulnerability, raw emotion, and undeniable humanity. With each passing moment, his fear begins to crumble.
The eyes and face that had once paralyzed him, reducing him to nothing more than a pitiful insect, the abyss that had swallowed him whole just moments ago—it wasn't real. Now, he can clearly see there is no ruthlessness in those eyes. Looking at Fang Yuan no longer feels suffocating. Fang Yuan doesn't appear to be someone who has returned from the future after killing millions. He looks like a man broken by fear and grief, clinging desperately to the one person he cannot lose.
Fang Zheng's breath catches in his throat, frustration and anger bubbling up within him. He shouts at himself internally: "How could I not have noticed this earlier? Why was I so afraid just moments ago?" He still remembers how even glancing at Fang Yuan felt terrifying, and walking toward him felt like stepping closer to his own grave.
The memory of that fear fills him with shame, and he grits his teeth, clenching his fists as anger and frustration surge through him. "Why was I so cowardly?" he demands of himself. "Why did I let my fear control me so completely?"
Then, a realization crashes over him, sharp and undeniable: Fang Yuan's gaze hadn't paralyzed him because it was monstrous. It was his own mind that had turned it into something terrifying. The fear he had felt wasn't born from Fang Yuan's presence—it was born from his own thoughts, his own insecurities, his own imagination. With even more frustration and anger directed at himself, he shouts inwardly, "Even if those were the eyes of a demon who had slaughtered millions, how the hell could I be such a coward!? How could I let my fear consume me like this!?"
He snarls at himself, his thoughts boiling over with rage: "Why the hell am I so afraid!? How can I be this pathetic!? Fear? Of my own creation!? Am I really this weak inside!?" Grinding his teeth and clenching his fists, he stares sharply at Fang Yuan, who is still holding Gu Xianer tightly in his arms. Seeing Fang Yuan's vulnerable state, Fang Zheng recalls a phrase he once read while researching for his greatest novel, Reverend Insanity:
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The world is nothing more than a painting, painted by the mind. It can paint the same sky as an endless horizon of hope or as a suffocating abyss of despair. Even in the deepest hell, the mind can paint boundless joy; yet in the heart of heaven, it can paint endless sorrow.
Reality itself is an unfinished sketch on a blank canvas, and the mind is the artist, holding the brush and choosing the colors. With every stroke, it paints not just the world around us, but the very essence of who we are.
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Fang Zheng exhales sharply, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him.
It wasn't Fang Yuan's eyes that filled him with terror.
It wasn't Fang Yuan's presence that shattered him.
It wasn't the sight of a demon that left him trembling like a helpless fool.
It was his own mind that drowned him in fear.
It was his own mind that twisted Fang Yuan into a nightmare.
It was his own mind that bound him in invisible chains, crushing him from within.