羅曉君，生於簪纓世家，鐘鳴鼎食之門。她仿若上天最精心的傑作，容貌清麗脫俗，氣質端雅嫻靜，更難得的是那一點即通的聰明靈慧。自小便在無數欣羨與讚嘆的目光中成長，錦衣玉食是日常，出入皆有僕從簇擁，所到之處無不備受尊崇。更令人嘖嘖稱奇的是，無論琴棋書畫、詩詞歌賦，乃至於尋常女子甚少涉獵的經世致用之學，如天下大勢、歷史地理、格物致知、佛道哲思，她皆能信手拈來且見解不凡，常令飽學宿儒自歎不如。只要她想要的，無論在旁人眼光中是多麼大的鴻溝，她只需要輕輕一躍就能克服。
Luo Xiaojun was born into a family of high-ranking officials, where the chime of ceremonial bells and the fragrance of lavish feasts marked her privileged upbringing. She seemed like heaven’s most meticulous creation—her beauty ethereal and refined, her demeanor poised and graceful. What truly set her apart, however, was her innate intelligence, a brilliance that grasped profound truths with effortless ease. From childhood, she grew accustomed to admiration and acclaim. Luxuries were her daily norm, her every move attended by entourages, and reverence followed her wherever she went. More astonishing was her mastery of skills both elegant and unconventional: music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and literature, as well as disciplines rarely touched by women of her time—statecraft, global affairs, history, geography, natural philosophy, and the depths of Buddhist and Taoist thought. Her insights, casually shared yet profound, often left seasoned scholars in awe. Whatever she desired, no matter how unattainable it seemed to others, she would leap across the chasm with effortless grace.
生來就擁有一切，旁人窮盡一生苦苦追尋的才華、地位與財富，羅曉君唾手可得。她習慣了這份完美，也享受著這份完美，總是表現得謙遜有禮，溫和恭謹，將一身鋒芒細心收藏。然而，在那層層包裹的完美外殼之下，一顆驕傲的心悄然跳動。對於那些她認為資質平庸、見識淺陋，或是出身卑微的人，一種難以言喻的輕蔑感便會如幽影般暗中滋長。當然，她是追求極致完美的羅大小姐，這些陰暗的心思，她不僅絕不容許外露分毫，甚至連對自己，都刻意地否認與迴避。她不只要大家佩服她，更要喜愛她，對她完全卸下心防。她是純潔無瑕的花朵，開在所有人的心窩。
Born with everything others spend lifetimes chasing—talent, status, and wealth—Luo Xiaojun claimed them effortlessly. She grew accustomed to this perfection, reveling in it, always presenting herself as humble, gracious, and gentle, her sharp edges meticulously concealed. Yet beneath that immaculate facade, a thread of pride pulsed quietly. Toward those she deemed mediocre, narrow-minded, or lowborn, an indescribable disdain grew like a shadow in her heart. Of course, she was Miss Luo, the paragon of flawlessness—she not only forbade such darkness from surfacing but even denied its existence to herself. She craved not just admiration but affection, a desire for others to lower their guards completely around her. She was the pure, unblemished flower blooming in the depths of every heart.
日子如流水般淌過，曉君憑藉著她的聰慧，也漸漸在心底升起一絲疑慮。這份被世人稱頌也被被自己戮力維護的完美，真的就是完美嗎？或者說，這真的是她內心深處渴望的嗎？
這份看似無懈可擊的完美，其實脆弱得不堪一擊，只要稍加審視，處處是裂痕。那些被她強行壓抑無視的情感思緒，偶爾對姊妹摯友產生的嫉妒與心結，突如其來的無理取鬧，都在無聲地嘲笑著她對完美的執念。即使她引以為傲的這具皮囊，閉月羞花的容顏，在纏綿病榻之時，會變得枯槁憔悴；吹彈可破的肌膚，一旦受傷，結痂後便顯得粗糙不堪；心情惡劣之際，再美的五官也會扭曲成醜陋的模樣。
最讓她難以忍受卻又無從逃避的，是每日例行的生理需求。無論她用了多少香料薰蒸，吃的是多麼精心調理的食物，那通往淨房的時刻，總讓她感到一種難言的羞辱。無法避免的氣味，身體排出的污穢，就像一群嗡嗡作響的蒼蠅，不斷衝擊著她完美無瑕的自我認知。為何？為何無論如何努力，人終究還是會有這樣那樣的缺憾與不堪？這個念頭，如同一根細刺，扎在她心頭，隱隱作痛。
一日，春光正好，曉君在侍女與幾位閨中密友的陪伴下，出遊散心。京城的主街寬闊整潔，兩旁店鋪鱗次櫛比，販售著來自天南地北的奇珍異貨，珠寶玉器，香料古玩。琳瑯滿目的商品，繁華熱鬧的景象總能暫時撫平她心中的煩躁。
然而，就在她顧盼流連，享受著這片繁盛之時，不經意地一瞥，目光觸及了陰暗的角落。街角裡蜷縮著衣衫襤褸、面容枯槁的乞丐與遊民。他們或坐或臥，眼神空洞，帶著一種生無可戀的麻木，彷彿是這幅盛世畫卷上突兀的污點，無聲地訴說著繁華背後的淒涼。
Days flowed like water, and Xiaojun’s sharp intellect gradually stirred doubt within her. Was this perfection—so praised by the world and so fiercely guarded by herself—truly flawless? Or was it even what her deepest self truly desired?
This seemingly impregnable perfection was, in truth, fragile. The faintest scrutiny revealed cracks everywhere. Emotions she forcibly suppressed—fleeting jealousy toward sisters and confidantes, inexplicable bitterness, sudden irrational outbursts—mocked her obsession with flawlessness. Even her prized beauty, once said to "shame the moon and flowers," withered during illness; her delicate skin, smooth as silk, turned rough with scars; her exquisite features twisted into ugliness when rage took hold.
Yet what tormented her most was the daily indignity of bodily needs. No amount of perfumed incense or meticulously prepared meals could soften the humiliation of visiting the privy. Unavoidable odors, the expulsion of waste—they swarmed like flies, battering her pristine self-image. *Why?* she wondered. *Why must humans remain flawed, no matter how hard they strive?* The thought festered like a thorn in her heart.
One spring day, seeking respite, Xiaojun strolled the capital’s main thoroughfare with her maids and closest friends. The street gleamed with order, flanked by shops brimming with treasures: jewels, spices, antiques from distant lands. The dazzling array of goods and lively bustle briefly soothed her restlessness.
But as she lingered, savoring the prosperity, her gaze drifted to a shadowed corner. There, huddled figures in tattered clothes—beggars and vagrants with hollow eyes—sat or lay in numb despair. Like stains on a grand painting, they whispered silent truths of suffering beneath the splendor.
曉君的心猛地一縮，隨即熟練地換上了那副悲天憫人的表情。她輕移蓮步，示意侍女取來一些碎銀和點心後，溫柔地開口，語氣中帶著恰到好處的慈悲：「老人家，天氣寒冷，拿去買些衣物食物吧。」
她盡力展現著自己的善良，但只有她自己知道，在那溫和的表象下，是怎樣的厭惡與疏離。看著他們污穢不堪的衣衫，散發著異味而流膿的身體，羅曉君感覺就像看到了令人作嘔的蒼蠅老鼠。一個陰暗的念頭甚至在她腦海中一閃而過：若是沒有這些人，這世間就更美好了吧？
曉君刻意控制著自己伸出手的距離，避免碰到對方那雙佈滿污垢和老繭的手。她的眼神雖然含著悲憫，卻總是不自覺地飄移，不願在那骯髒襤褸的身形上停留片刻。
然而她小心翼翼的偽裝，卻被一個頭髮花白、身形佝僂的老乞丐看出來。老漢姓黃，在這街角行乞已久，見過的人情冷暖比曉君吃過的飯還多。他盯著羅曉君，看著她那隻遞出食物卻顫抖游移的手，還有她那雙閃爍不安的眼眸。一瞬間，他什麼都明白了。
「呸！」黃老漢猛地啐了一口唾沫，聲音沙啞卻充滿力量。「虛偽的婆娘！」他伸出枯瘦的手指，直指著羅曉君，聲音陡然拔高，引得周圍行人紛紛側目：「假惺惺！妳眼裡的厭惡，老漢我看得一清二楚！妳施捨我們，不過是為了妝點妳的高貴！妳心裡怕是巴不得我們這些骯髒東西早點死絕，好讓眼裡的世界乾乾淨淨吧！」
Xiaojun’s heart clenched, but she swiftly donned her practiced mask of compassionate concern. Gliding forward with lotus-step grace, she signaled her maid to fetch silver coins and pastries, then spoke in a voice honeyed with carefully measured pity: “Elderly sir, the cold is bitter—take these for warmth and food.”
She performed kindness flawlessly, yet only she knew the revulsion simmering beneath that gentle facade. The sight of their grime-caked clothes, bodies reeking of decay and oozing sores, filled her with the same visceral disgust as swarming flies or vermin. A dark thought even flickered through her mind: *Wouldn’t the world be fairer without such wretchedness?*
Her outstretched hand carefully measured its distance, avoiding contact with the beggar’s grimy, calloused fingers. Though her eyes feigned empathy, her gaze kept drifting unwillingly from the filthy, tattered forms.
Yet her meticulously crafted performance faltered under the scrutiny of one beggar—a stooped, gray-haired man surnamed Huang. Having begged at this street corner for decades, he’d witnessed more human frailty than Xiaojun had eaten meals. His milky eyes fixed on her trembling, hesitant hand, her restless eyes flickering with unease. In that moment, he understood everything.
"*Bah!*" Old Man Huang spat fiercely, his voice raspy yet thunderous. "*Hypocrite!*" His gnarled finger jabbed at Luo Xiaojun, his tone rising to a shout that drew stares from passersby. "*Fraud! I see the disgust in your eyes! You toss us scraps just to polish your precious nobility! Bet you pray for the lot of us filthy wretches to drop dead—so your perfect little world stays spotless!*"
羅曉君如遭雷擊，整個人僵在原地。她從未在大庭廣眾之下受過如此直白的叱責羞辱。那雙總是含著溫柔笑意的杏眼睜得大大的，充滿了震驚與難以置信。周圍的竊竊私語像針一樣扎在她身上。
「你……你胡說！」她試圖辯解，聲音卻帶著顫抖，「我……我只是……」
「只是什麼？」黃老漢步步緊逼，眼神銳利如刀，「只是嫌我們髒？嫌我們臭？怕髒了妳那雙白淨玉手？怕污了妳那雙尊貴寶眼？」
他的話語如同剝洋蔥般，一層層剝開了羅曉君精心維護的完美外衣。曉君發現，自己竟然一句反駁的話都說不出來，因為黃老漢的話語，句句直指她深藏而連自己都不願承認的心思。屈辱，憤怒，還有被看穿的恐懼，此刻化作滾燙的淚水，從她眼中撲簌簌地落下。
「老東西，放肆！」曉君的護衛見狀，勃然大怒，衝上前去對黃老漢拳打腳踢。可憐老漢年老體衰，哪裡經得起這般毆打，只得蜷縮在地，痛苦地呻吟。
雖然如此，黃老漢扔掙扎抬起頭，眼裡燃起熊熊怒火。他看著狼狽不堪的羅曉君，用盡最後的力氣，將自己腳上破爛而沾滿泥污的草鞋扔向她。
「脫掉！脫掉妳那身榮華富貴！」他嘶吼著，「換上我們這身骯髒的粗布衫！扔掉妳那踩雲踏玉的絲履！就穿我這雙臭烘烘的草鞋！妳的華美外表，不過是掩蓋妳醜陋內心的遮羞布！昂貴的鞋子，讓妳永遠也踩不到我們腳下的污泥！」
「大小姐！我們都是人！一樣是人啊！」黃老漢淒厲地吼出對羅曉君靈魂的撼動，「妳和我這糟老頭子，能有多大不同？吃了飯，一樣要拉屎！妳又能高貴到哪裡？！」
最後的那句粗鄙，卻似鋒利的匕首，狠狠刺穿了羅曉君最後的防線。她只覺得腦中嗡嗡作響，平日裡能言善辯口齒伶俐的她，此刻只像個木偶，張口結舌，面色慘白。跟班們手忙腳亂地護著她，驅散了圍觀的人群，將失魂落魄的大小姐帶回羅府。
那一夜，羅曉君輾轉難眠。黃老漢那佈滿皺紋卻怒目圓睜的臉，在她腦海中揮之不去。他沙啞而充滿憤怒的嘶吼，如同魔咒般不斷在她心底迴響。
奇怪，像黃老漢這樣卑賤污穢的老乞丐，一向為她打心底所嫌惡，為何他的話語和憤恨，會對她產生如此巨大的衝擊？那句粗鄙不堪的話，卻像一把鑰匙，打開了她一直不願面對的心結，不由自主地想起每日的出恭。
是啊，無論她是多麼尊貴的羅家大小姐，無論她的身體被多少珍貴的衣料包裹，被多少香料浸潤，最終排出的穢物，與黃老漢那樣的乞丐所排出的，又有什麼區別呢？不都是一條條的髒臭與噁心嗎？在身為人最基本的生理層面上，她所謂的高貴，蕩然無存。
就在她胡思亂想之際，貼身侍女輕手輕腳地進來通報，聲中帶著驚慌：「小姐……外面傳來消息，昨天那個……那個黃老漢，他……他死了。」
Luo Xiaojun stood as if struck by lightning, frozen in place. Never before had she been so bluntly scolded and humiliated in front of so many people. Her almond-shaped eyes, usually filled with a gentle smile, were wide open with shock and disbelief. The murmurs and whispers around her stabbed at her like needles.
“You… you’re spouting nonsense!” she tried to defend herself, but her voice trembled. “I… I only…”
“Only what?” Old Huang pressed forward, his gaze sharp as a blade. “Only think we’re filthy? That we stink? Afraid our dirt might soil your pristine, jade-like hands? Afraid our stench might offend your noble, precious eyes?”
His words peeled away the carefully maintained façade of perfection she had built, layer by layer, like stripping an onion. Xiaojun found herself utterly speechless, unable to refute a single sentence. Every word from Old Huang pierced the deepest parts of her heart—thoughts she had buried so deep, she didn’t even dare admit them to herself. Humiliation, rage, and the terror of being seen through—all these emotions welled up into hot tears that streamed uncontrollably down her face.
“You old bastard, how dare you!” her guard bellowed, enraged. He charged forward and began to beat the old man. But the poor old fellow, frail and weakened by age, could not endure the blows and collapsed on the ground, curling up and groaning in pain.
Even so, Old Huang struggled to lift his head. His eyes burned with fury. Looking at the disgraced Luo Xiaojun, he summoned the last of his strength and flung his tattered, mud-stained straw sandal at her.
“Strip it off! Strip off all your luxury and riches!” he roared. “Put on our filthy rags! Toss aside your silken shoes that walk on clouds and jade! Wear my foul-smelling straw sandals! Your splendid appearance is nothing but a cover for the ugliness within! Your expensive shoes will never step into the filth we walk through!”
“Young miss! We’re all human! We’re the same!” Old Huang cried out with a soul-piercing scream that shook her to the core. “You and this wretched old man—how different can we really be? After eating, we both have to take a shit! Just how noble do you think you are?!”
That final vulgar remark struck like a dagger, tearing down the last of Luo Xiaojun’s defenses. Her mind buzzed, and the usually eloquent and sharp-tongued woman stood like a puppet, mouth agape, face pale. Her attendants rushed to her, pushing through the crowd and escorting the dazed young mistress back to the Luo residence.
That night, Luo Xiaojun tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The image of Old Huang’s wrinkled yet fierce face haunted her mind. His hoarse, furious shouting echoed endlessly in her heart like a curse.
It was strange. A lowly, filthy beggar like Old Huang, someone she had always instinctively despised—why had his words and hatred shaken her so deeply? That crude, indecent sentence felt like a key, unlocking a knot in her heart that she had long refused to face. Unwillingly, her thoughts drifted to her daily visits to the latrine.
Yes, no matter how noble she was as the daughter of the Luo family, no matter how many layers of rare silk she wore, no matter how much fragrant oil soaked her skin, the waste her body expelled was no different from that of Old Huang’s. It was all the same foul, disgusting filth. On the most basic, human, biological level—her so-called nobility crumbled to nothing.
Just as these thoughts tangled in her mind, her personal maid quietly stepped in, her voice filled with panic.
“Miss… news just came… that old man from yesterday… Old Huang… he… he’s dead.”
死了！？
羅曉君的心臟猛地一沉，難以形容的窒息感瞬間攫住了她。震驚，愧疚，還有某種說不清道不明的情緒，在她胸中翻湧。是氣急攻心？還是……因為那一頓毆打？她幾乎是下意識地披衣而起，不顧侍女的勸阻，執意要去看看。
當她再次來到昨日那個街角，看到的已是黃老漢冰冷僵硬的屍體，被一張破蓆蓋著，旁邊散落著一些銅錢，大概是好心人留下的。而那雙扔向她的草鞋，孤零零地躺在不遠處的泥地上，彷彿在等著曉君到來。
周圍的空氣似乎都凝固了。曉君呆呆地站著，看著那具了無生氣的軀體，轉頭看向草鞋，胸口像是被巨石堵住，悶得發慌。不知是何種力量驅使，她緩緩走上前，撿起了草鞋，脫下了自己腳上繡著精美花紋的軟緞繡鞋，把原屬於乞丐黃老漢的草鞋，套在了自己精巧白皙的雙足上。
一瞬間，天旋地轉。一股難以言喻的感受，如同洶湧的潮水，衝進了羅曉君的意識。那不是她的記憶，卻又真實得可怕。是飢餓，是寒冷，是被人驅趕的屈辱，是病痛的折磨，是長年累月在底層掙扎的悲苦與絕望……那是黃老漢一生的縮影，此刻，隨著這雙草鞋，蠻橫地融入了她的存在。
曉君全身劇烈地顫抖起來，她感覺自己精心構建的「完美羅曉君」的虛像，正在一片片剝落崩解，自己開始逃離自己。
她那顆曾經飽受無數人讚美容顏和才情的頭顱，彷彿有了自己的意志，猛地脫離了穿著綾羅綢緞的身體，並與她那隻穿著草鞋的左腿結合在一起。這個怪異的結合物，以滑稽卻奮力的姿態一躍而起，直衝雲霄，彷彿要到天庭，在天仙環繞中展示已然殘破而不堪的驕傲自我。她烏黑亮麗的長髮，此刻卻狼狽地纏繞在沾滿泥濘的腳踝上，而曾經纖巧精緻的腳掌，只散發出屬於老乞丐的汗臭與污濁。
Dead!?
Luo Xiaojun’s heart sank like a stone, a suffocating pressure gripping her chest so tightly she could barely breathe. Shock, guilt, and an unnameable storm of emotions surged within her. Was it a sudden attack of rage that killed him? Or… was it because of the beating? Almost by instinct, she threw on a robe and rose to her feet, ignoring her maid’s pleas as she insisted on going to see for herself.
When she returned to the street corner from the day before, what greeted her was Old Huang’s cold, stiff corpse, covered by a tattered reed mat. Scattered around him were a few coins, likely left by some kind-hearted passerby. And not far from him, the same straw sandals he had thrown at her lay quietly in the muddy ground—as if waiting for Xiaojun to arrive.
The air around her seemed to freeze. Xiaojun stood motionless, staring at the lifeless body, then slowly turned to look at the sandals. Her chest felt like it was being crushed under a massive weight, stifling and unbearable. Moved by some invisible force, she slowly stepped forward, picked up the sandals, took off her own embroidered silk shoes with their delicate floral patterns, and slid her fair, delicate feet into the filthy sandals that once belonged to a beggar.
In that moment, the world spun.
An indescribable sensation surged through her like a crashing tide, flooding her consciousness. They weren’t her memories—yet they felt terrifyingly real. Hunger. Cold. The humiliation of being driven away. The torment of illness. The bitter despair of a lifetime spent struggling at the bottom of society. It was the condensed essence of Old Huang’s entire life, now violently merging with her being through those sandals.
Xiaojun’s body began to tremble violently. She could feel the illusion of the “perfect Luo Xiaojun” she had so carefully built crumbling away, piece by piece. She was fleeing from herself.
Her head—once praised by countless people for its beauty and brilliance—seemed to gain a will of its own. Suddenly, it broke free from the body clad in fine silks and brocades and merged with her left leg, the one now wearing the straw sandal. This bizarre fusion leapt into the air with a ridiculous yet determined posture, shooting straight toward the heavens, as if trying to reach the celestial realm and display her shattered and pitiful pride among the gathering of immortals. Her once lustrous black hair now hung in disarray, tangled messily around her mud-stained ankle, while the delicate, graceful foot of her past now reeked of the sweat and filth that belonged to an old beggar.
與此同時，她的右腿，也脫離了軀幹。它接納了她那雙曾經彈奏出美妙樂曲、描繪出秀麗山河，此刻卻因遞出施捨而猶豫的雙手。她身體裡那些她最想排斥的臟器，也紛紛依附在這條腿上。右手緊緊抓著那顆總在滋生虛偽心思的心臟，左手則捏著那讓她不得不面對排泄尷尬的腎臟與膀胱。而那不斷蠕動製造出令她厭惡的污穢的腸子，沉甸甸地馱在腿上。這個由右腿和雙手結合不的部分，攜帶著內臟蹦蹦跳跳，一路朝著不幸的深淵奔去，彷彿隨時會跌落懸崖峭壁。
At the same time, her right leg also detached from her torso. It accepted her hands—hands that had once played beautiful melodies and painted magnificent landscapes, yet now hesitated in the act of giving alms. The organs within her body that she most wished to reject began to cling to this leg one by one. Her right hand clutched tightly at the heart that constantly brewed false thoughts, while her left hand gripped the kidneys and bladder that forced her to confront the shame of bodily excretion. The ever-squirming intestines, which produced filth she loathed, lay heavily draped across the leg. This grotesque assembly—formed from her right leg and both hands—bounced along, burdened with the weight of her internal organs, hopping toward a pit of misfortune, as if it might tumble off a cliff at any moment.
而被拋下的，是羅曉君依然穿著華美錦衣，象徵著她高貴身份的軀體。此刻扛著這具軀體踽踽前行的，卻是死去的黃老漢那雙醜陋衰敗的腳。黃老漢臨死前的不甘與怒火，則化作了無形的怨靈，盤踞在原本屬於曉君頭部的位置，引領著這具失去頭顱與四肢的軀殼，走向陰晦的幽冥。
Left behind was Luo Xiaojun’s body, still adorned in splendid robes—a symbol of her noble status. Yet the ones now trudging forward beneath that body were the ugly, withered feet of the deceased Old Huang. The resentment and fury he carried to his grave had transformed into a formless vengeful spirit, now occupying the space where Xiaojun’s head once rested. It guided this headless, limbless shell of a body toward the shadowy realm of the underworld.
不知何時，周圍出現了更多的孤魂野鬼。他們衣衫襤褸，面容模糊，圍繞著分裂成三部分的羅曉君，有的敲鑼打鼓，有的放聲歌唱，有的手舞足蹈，光怪陸離，像是一場只屬於她一個人的的百鬼夜行。
At some unknown point, more wandering spirits and restless ghosts appeared around her. Dressed in tattered rags with blurred, indistinct faces, they surrounded the three fragmented parts of Luo Xiaojun. Some beat gongs and drums, others sang at the top of their lungs, and still others danced wildly, moving in bizarre and fantastical ways. It was a night parade of a hundred demons—one that belonged to her and her alone.
啊啊……原來如此……
羅曉君回首，看著分裂而彼此厭惡自己，心中漸漸有了不同的感悟。飛向天庭的頭顱與左腳，是她曾經引以為傲的才情、容貌與高高在上的姿態，是她對至高至上孜孜不倦的追求，卻因自己內在的污濁而尷尬不堪，怪誕至極。
奔向深淵的右腿和雙手，是她對被自己嫌惡否認的虛偽、慾望和身體的「骯髒」所進行排斥的「努力」，攜出她不想要自己有的內在，驅逐到眼不見為淨的地方。
而剩下的「高貴」軀殼，與徹底跟自己的特質相矛盾的黃老漢混成一體，把「卑賤」送進羅曉君的存在，醜陋的雙腳承載著她最虛假的自我認知，低下的鬼靈在她軀殼內竄上竄下，觸摸著她深深藏起的核心。
藉由黃老漢和他的草鞋，羅曉君以最荒誕而極端的方式，作踐了那個完美無瑕而高高在上的自己。她感受著黃老漢的悲苦，感受著那份與她羅家大小姐身份融合的卑微存在；感受著不再被美麗皮囊包裹而暴露在風雨中的內在；感受著那份嚮往高處卻殘破不堪的狼狽。她深刻地體會到，她所擁有的一切不過源於天生的好運。若沒有這份好運，她與黃老漢之間又能有什麼高低之別本質差異？拿掉源自於外的，什麼才真的是羅曉君呢？
Ah… so that’s how it is…
Luo Xiaojun looked back at the fragmented parts of herself, each loathing the other, and a new understanding gradually began to dawn in her heart.
The head and left leg soaring toward the heavens were the embodiment of her once-prized talents, beauty, and lofty pride—the relentless pursuit of superiority and perfection. Yet now, tainted by her inner filth, they appeared absurd and grotesque.
The right leg and hands bounding toward the abyss represented her desperate efforts to cast out the parts of herself she deemed shameful—the hypocrisy, desires, and the “dirtiness” of the physical body. They carried away the aspects of her inner self she had tried so hard to reject, banishing them to a place far from sight.
And what remained—the “noble” torso—was fused with the utterly contradictory presence of Old Huang. His lowly existence had been thrust into her being, and now his filthy, decaying feet bore the weight of her most deluded self-image. Wretched spirits crawled through her body, poking and prodding the core she had kept buried deep inside.
Through Old Huang and his straw sandals, Luo Xiaojun had desecrated her flawless, exalted self in the most absurd and extreme way. She felt his suffering—felt the humiliation of a lowly existence merged with her identity as the noble daughter of the Luo family. She felt her inner self exposed to the storm, no longer protected by a beautiful shell. She felt the desperate longing to rise above, now in tatters and disgrace.
In that moment, she understood with piercing clarity: everything she had possessed came from nothing more than sheer luck at birth. Without that luck, what true difference could there have ever been between her and Old Huang? Stripped of everything external—what remained?
What, in the end, was the real Luo Xiaojun?
天，終究會亮的。
當第一縷晨曦刺破黑暗，黎明喚醒大地，獨自一人的百鬼夜行也悄然落幕。羅曉君站在街角，晨光溫柔地灑在她身上。擁有著無限美好的羅家大小姐回到了人世間，似乎一切如常。不過她低頭望望懷裡還揣著的草鞋，知道黃老漢已無從從她的存在離去。
腹中傳來一陣輕微的咕咕聲。看來，昨天精心烹製的蓮葉羹、鮮美的松江鱸魚，還有那飯後品飲的武夷大紅袍，已經完成了它們在身體裡的旅程，迫不及待地想要離開了。
曉君回府，準備更衣出恭。她輕輕地拍了拍自己的小腹，心中沒有了往日的厭惡與羞恥，反而升起一股奇妙的歉意與感謝。
感謝這具身體的日復一日地運作，感謝它讓她體驗生而為人的真實。從這一刻起，她終於能夠心無芥蒂地成為羅曉君。
浮華若夢，唯真為實。穿透過往的癲狂與破碎，羅曉君在晨光中，緩緩閉上雙眼，腹部微微出力，把自己託付給自己。櫻桃微破，一部分的昨日探頭，帶著氣味怯生生地鑽出。曉君輕輕地感受搔癢，那是身體帶給她的，生命的訊息。
The sky, in the end, always brightens.
As the first light of dawn pierced through the darkness and morning awakened the world, the solitary Hyakki Yagyō quietly came to an end. Luo Xiaojun stood at the street corner, the gentle morning sun casting its light upon her. The esteemed young lady of the Luo family—blessed with endless beauty and fortune—had returned to the world of the living, and everything seemed as it was before.
But when she looked down at the straw sandals still tucked in her arms, she knew—Old Huang would never again leave her being.
A soft gurgle echoed from her belly. It seemed that the carefully prepared lotus-leaf soup, the succulent Songjiang perch, and the Wuyi Da Hong Pao tea she had sipped after the meal yesterday had completed their journey through her body and were now impatient to make their exit.
Xiaojun returned to the mansion, ready to change and relieve herself. She gently patted her lower belly, feeling no trace of the old shame or disgust. Instead, a strange sense of apology and gratitude welled up from within.
Gratitude for this body that had worked tirelessly, day after day. Gratitude that it allowed her to experience the reality of being human. From this moment on, she could finally become Luo Xiaojun—without pretense, without guilt.
Vanity is but a dream; only truth is real. Piercing through all the madness and shattering of the past, Luo Xiaojun, bathed in morning light, slowly closed her eyes. She gently tightened her abdomen and entrusted herself—to herself.
A cherry gently split open. A piece of yesterday peeked out timidly, carrying with it a faint scent. Xiaojun felt a subtle tickle—life, whispering to her through her own body.
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