Chapter 086: Hell and Heaven (Part Two)

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Li Jia curled up in the corner of her bed, trembling relentlessly, locked in an unending struggle within herself. After countless moments of hesitation, she ultimately could not resist the longing that burned inside her, nor could she endure the torment that made life feel worse than death.

The instant after she injected herself, it was as if the entire world fell silent. All the discomfort, all the anxiety and unease, vanished as if they had never existed. Bliss washed over her, so intense she felt she had ascended to heaven itself.

Within seconds, the stark contrast between agony and ecstasy gave her a pleasure unlike anything she had ever known in her life. In that moment, her body and soul together reached a pinnacle of satisfaction.

More than ten minutes passed before Li Jia felt herself returning from paradise to the world of the living. Clarity returned, and looking at the syringe in her hand, she was seized by overwhelming remorse and a deep disgust at her own lack of self-control.

Only now did she truly grasp, and fear, the nature of drugs: they could induce unimaginable pleasure, but they brought with them a dependency so binding that escape became almost impossible. No matter how strong one’s will, once the craving began, not even a god could intervene. The only true escape was death.

If one wished for a peaceful life, one must stay far from drugs.

Li Jia sighed deeply. In her heart, she had known from the moment that scarred, unfamiliar middle-aged man gave her her first injection that there was no turning back. This was the terror of drugs: after the first time, there would inevitably be countless more, each step drawing her deeper into hell.

Yet she was unwilling to accept her fate without a fight; she yearned to defy destiny.

But reality was merciless. Most people were only ordinary, made of flesh and blood, powerless against such forces.

With a heart full of grievance, Li Jia sat on her bed, head in her hands, weeping in silent anguish, her cheeks awash with tears.

She was a student of history and knew well that her life had been far luckier than that of most. Yet at this moment, she felt herself to be the most wretched person in the world—beyond compare.

Li Jia remained curled up on the bed, hugging her head, but her tears had ceased and she lay motionless.

She did not know how much time had passed.

Through the small window, sunlight streamed in, illuminating the room and revealing that it was already bright outside, the sun shining brilliantly.

There was a knock at the door.

Then, the door opened from the outside.

It wasn’t that Li Jia had forgotten to lock it; it was simply that this door could only be closed, not locked from the inside.

Peng Min entered, carrying a few common breakfast items in her hands.

She hadn’t come earlier to invite Li Jia to breakfast, intending instead to let her sleep a little longer while she fetched breakfast from the cafeteria to bring back. But upon entering and seeing the scene, she knew at a glance that Li Jia had hardly rested the previous night.

Seeing this, Peng Min was reminded of her former self.

Back then, she had been just like Li Jia—like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web. At first she had struggled, but the more she struggled, the more tightly the web ensnared her, until, exhausted, she was forced to accept her fate.

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At that moment, Peng Min recalled an old saying: life is like being forced at sword-point—if you can’t resist, why not lie back and try to enjoy it?

She wanted to share her own experiences with the woman before her, to offer comfort, but hesitated, wondering if such intimacy was appropriate when they barely knew each other.

Li Jia lifted her head. Two dark trails of tears streaked her pale face, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. She glanced at Peng Min, but said nothing and remained motionless apart from raising her head.

In less than two days, she had been reduced to this state.

“I brought you some breakfast—congee and steamed buns, all easy to digest. Come on, get up and wash your face before you eat. Life must look forward; what’s past cannot be changed.” Peng Min set the breakfast on the small side table, then sat beside the bed and spoke gently to Li Jia.

Silently, Li Jia rose, preparing to wash her face. The room was simple, barely large enough for a bed and a small table, with nothing else.

As she reached the door, Peng Min caught her by the arm, unable to bear the sight. With a sigh she said, “The bathroom here is only cleaned once a week and is filthy. Let me take you to my room—it has a private bathroom. From now on, you can stay with me, and we can look after each other.”

Whenever Peng Min saw Li Jia, she always felt an inexplicable sense of affinity—perhaps because they had suffered similar fates and, out of sympathy, were drawn to help one another; perhaps it was Li Jia’s ethereal beauty, which matched her own sense of aesthetic and inspired a kind of fondness; or perhaps it was a certain grace in Li Jia, something uncommon in ordinary women, that drew her irresistibly.

Peng Min herself could not explain why she felt so compelled to be kind to this person.

Li Jia was surprised by the offer and instinctively wondered if Peng Min had some ulterior motive.

But then she realized that, in her current state, there was nothing left for anyone to covet.

Ultimately, Peng Min’s kindness was simply the mutual sympathy and aid shared between those at the bottom of society, between people of the same kind.

“Thank you.”

It was the second time Li Jia had thanked Peng Min—the first had been out of habit, but this time it was heartfelt.

Peng Min’s room, also on the same corridor, was altogether different from her own. The bedroom was spacious, more than double the size, with a separate wardrobe, a small suite, and a private bathroom. The decor was clearly far superior to what she’d had before.

The comparison made it clear to Li Jia that even among the resident “princesses” and hostesses of the nightclub, there were hierarchies and rivalries.

“Not bad, right? It’s better than most hotel suites, and you can lock the door from inside at night. For girls like us, who lack a sense of security, that’s invaluable.” Peng Min showed Li Jia around her room with a smile.

The bed, though not a king-sized double, was large enough for the two of them to sleep comfortably.

As soon as they entered, Peng Min habitually locked the door behind them.

Instantly, the room became a private sanctuary, a space belonging solely to the two of them.

Not long ago, such a gesture would have seemed ordinary to Li Jia, but now it brought her an unexpected sense of safety.

She went to the bathroom, spending more than ten minutes inside.

This time, instead of a quick wash, she took time to carefully groom herself. When she emerged, it was as if she had returned to her old self from a few days prior.

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Peng Min’s eyes lit up at the sight and she exclaimed with genuine admiration, “You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, too. Look, our brows and eyes are really quite similar. At a glance, we could almost pass for sisters.” Li Jia smiled shyly, walking over to Peng Min and taking her hand, leading her to stand together before the mirror.

In truth, their features were quite distinct. In terms of beauty alone, Peng Min was far less striking than Li Jia. The supposed resemblance was but a fleeting similarity, and Li Jia’s talk of being sisters was her way of signaling that she no longer saw Peng Min as a stranger.

Peng Min studied her own reflection, then Li Jia’s, and after several glances, she did see a hint of likeness, which delighted her.

Yet she said, “How could I compare to my little sister? Standing together, we’re like a young lady and her maid.”

The two women chatted and teased one another, their laughter filling the room.

A few minutes passed.

“Li Jia, how are you feeling today?” Peng Min asked as Li Jia was finishing her breakfast.

“Much better—the pain has lessened a lot,” Li Jia replied, understanding what Peng Min meant. The smile that had just returned to her face faded, but after a moment’s thought, she continued.

She remembered the agony of her last withdrawal, the feeling of a fate worse than death, and shuddered. But she knew that without the drug, it would not be long before she suffered that torment again. The thought chilled her to the bone.

Yet to keep receiving the drug, she would have to entertain at least one client a day. The idea filled her with revulsion and dread.

She knew well what “entertaining clients” meant for the nightclub’s hostesses—she had heard enough long before arriving here.

Once, she had looked upon the women who worked in such places with disdain, never imagining she would become one of them herself.

Thinking of it left her utterly despondent.

Peng Min noticed her despair. “Li Jia, when did you last have a craving?” she asked.

Li Jia thought for a moment. “Around five in the morning,” she replied. “Min, I really don’t want to see clients. Is there any other way to get the drug here?”

She dreaded the thought of going through withdrawal again.

“Yes, you can buy it,” Peng Min replied. “The dose you had last night costs about one thousand eighty-one. With your looks, and since you’ve never had a client here before, they’ll set a high price for your first time. Afterwards, they’ll definitely give you a dose.”