When asked if Lian Hua was afraid, she didn't know, she just felt as though she had seen this scene before, as if she were an onlooker who had detached herself, kneeling in the hall and listening to people from all sides accuse her of pushing someone down the stairs, wanting to pin a crime on her—it seemed like she was watching a bizarre and fanciful play.
It seemed that a long, long time ago, she had also experienced such a thing, but when she tried to remember the specifics, her head hurt like it was being pricked with needles, a dense and intense pain, growing worse the more she thought about it, feeling overwhelmed with sorrow and helplessness.
From a very young age, she knew the world was cruel, that the weak were as easy to crush as ants, she was weak and without lofty ambitions, so she lived carelessly, thankful for each day she survived. But that didn't mean she was clueless, she just chose not to understand, for she was not unfamiliar with the coldness of the world's ways.