The Road Is Long, But Light Awaits

Ten years ago, in the Great Explosion, my father sacrificed himself in the blaze, saving the entire city. Citizens forged a golden medal for him and voluntarily donated money to support my education.

But my mother immediately used all of it for plastic surgery, marrying the richest man and becoming a high-society wife. To curry favor with my stepbrother, she even poured the remaining money into his gaming account.

And I became the lowest servant in the household, part of her dowry, allowing myself to be beaten, cursed, and bullied with my mother's tacit approval.

In my senior year of high school, my stepbrother intentionally set fire to the school, causing the immediate death of twenty-three students who had already secured early university admissions. To protect him, my stepfather forced me to take the blame.

He threw the confession at my face, disdainfully saying: "Little bastard, I've raised you for years; it's time to collect some interest. The Blackwood family's food isn't free. You have no choice. Even if you don't sign, I have plenty of ways to dump all the blame on you."

I bit my lip fiercely, looking at my mother, who had just returned from a cosmetic procedure. She hid her new alligator-skin bag, timidly saying. "Your father is right. Everyone else is dead. You were the twenty-fourth on the list who missed out on early admission. Even if you don't sign, everyone will believe you set the fire."

I laughed through my tears. My father was a fire hero, but now, they were making me personally tarnish his name.

...

My stepfather noticed the defiance in my eyes and slapped me, sending me sprawling. You brat, you dare glare at me? A few days without a beating and your skins itching, huh?

If I hadnt agreed to let a bastard like you into my home back then, youd have starved to death! Its your good fortune to take the blame for Jerry! Dont be ungrateful!

My ears rang, and my head swam. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth, splattering onto the confession papers. I wiped away my tears, grabbed the scattered pages, and tore them to shreds.

My stepfathers face flushed crimson above the neck. He grabbed the mop from the doorway, ready to strike me. You little rascal, youve gone rogue!

My mother, Clarice, who had been silent, suddenly threw herself onto my back, shielding me tightly beneath her. My whole body trembled. Over the years, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be protected by my mother.

My stepfather and Jerry Blackwood had short tempers. They would often take their anger out on me when displeased; beatings and curses were commonplace. At first, Clarice would stand by, weeping incessantly. Later, she tried to persuade me to endure it, saying the pain would pass. Eventually, whenever I was hit, she would hide in her bedroom.

This was the first time she had protected me. A bitter ache welled up, but the very next second, her words dragged me back to reality. Elara, Mommy is begging you, please sign it. For Mommys sake, okay?

For her? The year Dad died, Clarice immediately used all the survivor's benefits and donations for plastic surgery and luxury bags. Yet that year, I couldn't even pay the thirty dollars for my textbooks. When had she ever cared about me?

Just then, her precarious alligator-skin bag finally fell from the table. A stack of confessions, too many for me to tear, spilled out. I suppressed the tears that threatened to overflow again and broke free from Clarices embrace.

You want to force me to sign too? You want to ruin my entire life?

My grades are enough to get into the top universities. Thats not just my dream; it was Dads lifelong aspiration.

Clarice lowered her head, avoiding my gaze, her voice as thin as a mosquitos buzz. Elara, whats the use of a girl going to school? Dont they all end up marrying anyway? Its all the same. Just think of prison as going to school. When you get out, Mommy will definitely arrange a good match for you.

I swallowed the metallic taste of blood welling up, choked out: Selling yourself wasnt enough, you want to sell me again?

Am I really your biological child? A birth mother forcing her daughter to take the fall for her murderous stepsonhow absurd.

Hearing this, my stepfather, who had been pacing with the broom, turned deathly pale. Clarice quickly slapped my mouth, all gentleness gone from her face.

Thats your brother! Hes the future heir of the Blackwood family! How can you tarnish his reputation?

The money you eat and use is Jerrys future inheritance! You owe him all of this; you could be his slave for life and still never repay him!

Hearing those words, I laughed aloud. At the Blackwood mansion, I barely ate and had worn-out clothes during the day, sleeping in the basement at night. I never received a single cent. They ordered me to do this and that, eventually even firing the housekeeper and dumping all the chores on me.

I wasnt spending their money. I was spending the wages I earned as a servant!

I threw away the pen and the new confession Clarice offered, stubbornly stating: I dont owe any of you anything!

My father was a fire hero. I will never take the blame and tarnish his name!

My stepfather instantly erupted in fury. Clarice immediately cowered to the side. The broom repeatedly swung at me, causing me agonizing pain. My stepfather still felt it wasnt enough and then pulled out his belt, savagely lashing me. Soon, new wounds mixed with old, leaving me barely clinging to life.

Just then, the butler knocked on the villas grand hall door from outside. Mr. Blackwood, a group of reporters has arrived, and theyre live-streaming!

My stepfather smiled, telling the butler to quickly invite the reporters in, his whipping arm not pausing for a second. The arriving reporters were all astonished by the horrific scene in the living room. Many looked at me with sympathy. The lead reporter made a move to help me up.

Mr. Blackwood, were here today to interview Elara, the twenty-fourth person who wasnt caught in the fire. What happened to make you lay such a heavy hand on a child?

I widened my swollen eyelids, recognizing him as Reporter Davis, who had previously covered my fathers story. Just as I was about to cry for help, my stepfather sighed deeply, covering his face in sorrow: Her mother and I personally heard her admit that she set the school fire. She said if the top twenty-three early admits all died, then she would be the one going to the top universities! We urged her to turn herself in, but she refused, even if it meant death.

I am only her stepfather, and technically, I have no right to discipline her. But what she did is truly outrageous, twenty-three innocent lives! Even if Im cursed for it, today I must discipline her properly for her heroic father!

Reporter Davis immediately let go of my hand, allowing me to collapse back onto the floor. He disgustedly wiped the bloodstained tissues repeatedly, angrily cursing: Your biological father was a hero who saved the entire city, but you committed arson and harmed others! You are an absolute disgrace to him!

Many kind-hearted people donated money back then, fearing you wouldnt live well. What a waste of good intentions, feeding it to a dog!

How could Captain Reed give birth to such a heartless beast like you!

No investigation, no evidence. They convicted me based on mere words. Reporter Davis glanced at the scrolling comments, then gave my stepfather a secret nod of affirmation before turning his camera to Clarice.

Clarice opened her mouth, instantly bursting into tears. She fiercely slapped herself. Its all my fault. I didnt discipline her well enough. Shes always been jealous since she was little. If only I had guided and educated her properly, those twenty-three children wouldnt have died.

She kept saying that no one would suspect her of arson because of her status as a martyrs child. But Elara, heaven sees what people do!

With that, she made to kneel before me. Mommy kneels and begs you, turn yourself in!

Reporter Davis quickly shoved the camera into my face. The scrolling comments clearly slammed into my eyes.

Why werent you the one who died back then! Murderer, go to hell!

You, wanting to go to the top universities? Go to hell!

Could it be that your dad set that fire back then!

Filthy words turned into sharp knives, slowly torturing me. Dad sacrificed his life for a greater cause; I couldn't let him be disgraced because of me.

My lips trembled. I stared unblinkingly at the camera. "It wasn't me! The one who set the fire was"

Before I could finish, my stepfather lashed my mouth with a whip. "Still not confessing!" He turned, feigning disappointment, "She locked her room tightly, not letting us in to find evidence. Even if I beat her to death, I couldn't get justice for the unjustly dead children!"

Reporter Davis then suggested breaking into my bedroom under the cameras supervision to search. My stepfather and Clarice unhesitatingly took the reporters upstairs. It was then I realized my room had been moved from the basement to Jerry Blackwoods former room, which had the best lighting.

Soon after, my stepfather came downstairs, clutching a diary. He slammed it in front of me. It was filled with Top Universities and Hate, written in my handwriting. All the surrounding reporters instantly grew excited, each wishing they could shove me directly into the camera.

You envied and hated the twenty-three students who received early admissions to the top universities, so you deliberately lured them into the activity room and set it on fire. So young, yet so ruthless!

Quickly sign the confession and come with us to turn yourself in!

Confess! Go to hell! Beat her to death! scrolled rapidly across the comments section. The cries grew louder and louder. My stepfathers eyes darted, signaling the reporters to turn off the live stream. Unrestrained by the cameras, my stepfather grabbed my head and violently smashed it against the floor.

Little bastard, still not signing?

I shook my throbbing head and spat a mouthful of blood at him. Pah, I will never confess.

My stepfather, his face covered in blood, grinned sinisterly. Now I am disciplining you at the urging of the vast netizens. Id like to see how long your stubborn bones can last!

With that, he grabbed a stick, aiming to smash my leg. A shriek came from outside the door.

The murderer isnt Elara, stop!

My stepfathers face changed. The next second, the class president, Fiona, rushed in from the doorway towards my bruised and battered body, but she was immediately restrained by the Blackwood familys butler and bodyguards.

She was on the verge of tears, gasping as she shouted to the reporter holding the camera: Im Elaras class president! I know her; she would never commit arson!

A warm current continually surged through my heart. She had been my classmate for over ten years, and my best friend. In the ten years since Dad passed, she had always protected me and helped me. Now, everyone had branded me a murderer, but only she still stood firmly by my side.

Fiona struggled and shouted repeatedly. My stepfathers eyes flashed with ruthlessness, and he signaled the butler to release her. Just as Fiona was about to rush to me, my stepfather lifted his foot and fiercely kicked her away. He then, gripping the stick like a demon, walked towards Fiona, who lay clutching her abdomen.

Class president, my ass? A cleaners daughter, daring to meddle in my Blackwood familys affairs? Getting a beating for trespassing is perfectly reasonable, isnt it?

Realizing what he was about to do, I nearly collapsed, roaring, Dont mind me, run!

Seeing the stick about to fall on Fiona, I desperately grabbed a nearby vase and threw it at my stepfather. Clarice suddenly shrieked. My stepfather turned, smashing the airborne vase with one swing. His face was livid. He raised the stick high above his head and brought it down forcefully on my right leg.

The sound of bones shattering echoed, and I cried out in excruciating pain. Clarice stumbled, crying, to my side, but her words chilled me to the bone. Elara, stop being so stubborn, just confess. Do you have to harm yourself and drag others down too? Mommy is begging you!

My whole body trembled uncontrollably from the pain, tears and blood mixing to cover my face. I gritted my teeth: No, I am not a murderer! My father was a hero; I am not his disgrace!

Clarice still wanted to persuade me.

Just then, Fiona, lying on the ground, cursed furiously: Elara is not a murderer! You all are! If it werent for Uncle Reed back then, the entire city would have died. You show no gratitude, instead, you use a fake diary to force Elara to confess to an enormous crime, you ungrateful wretches!

She turned to Clarice. You cherish someone elses son like gold, but treat your own daughter like a servant. You dare call yourself a mother? Bah, disgusting!

Clarices eyes glazed over, frozen in place.

Suddenly, Fiona turned and, pushing herself up, rushed towards Reporter Daviss camera.

Youve all been deceived! I am reporting, under my real name, that the one truly resentful about early university admission was their son, Jerry Blackwood!

A hush fell over the scene.

The next second, my stepfather walked up to her, holding his stick and laughing loudly. You filthy bitch, you dont know, do you? These reporters are all mine! The live stream was shut down the moment you walked in!

Dare to expose my son? You really have a death wish. What should I do with you?

I immediately sensed danger and cried out, What are you doing? Stay away from her!

Fiona, run!

Fionas face was pale, but she bravely comforted me. Elara, dont be afraid. This is a society governed by law; they wouldnt dare to casually kill anyone! Besides, my life was saved by Uncle Reed. Even if I die today, its worth it!

I shook my head in terror. My stepfather reached out and touched her face. I wouldnt dare to casually kill anyone, but I can find dozens of men to keep you company.

He turned, his gaze venomous, to me. Still not signing, Elara? Or do you want to personally see how many men your good class president can endure?

Despair enveloped me, pulling me into an abyss. I

Before I could utter the word "sign," a familiar voice came from outside the door.