Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. Prologue.

Zhan's Pov.

Life was sweet until my eighth birthday. Before that day, the world was small and secure, filled with the familiar comforts of my mother's warmth and the gentle presence of my grandmother. My father was a distant figure, a man whose presence was more of an occasional storm rather than the steady sun that most children imagine their fathers to be. But I didn't know any better then. To me, our life was normal. The cracks in the walls weren't yet visible.

It was on that birthday, the day I turned eight, that everything began to unravel.

I remember it clearly, the way children remember the vivid moments that shape their lives. My grandmother came home early that day, her face pale and her eyes hollow. She was clutching something in her hand, something I couldn't see but knew was important. I'd been playing with my toys, oblivious to the world crumbling around me. When my mom saw my grandmother, a silent conversation passed between them, one I didn't understand then.

Later that evening, I found out. My grandmother had caught my father cheating. Not just once, but multiple times. And she had told my mother. That night, their argument filled the house like a wild storm. My mother, usually calm and composed, confronted my father, her voice rising and trembling. He denied everything at first, then turned vicious.

That was the first time he hit her. But it wouldn't be the last.

After that night, the violence became a part of our daily life. It wasn't just directed at my mother; I, too, became a target for his anger. The man who had been distant but safe now showed a side I never knew existed. His eyes, once empty but indifferent, now held something darker, something that made me flinch every time he entered the room.

When it became too much to bear, my mother filed for divorce. It was the only escape she saw, the only way out of the nightmare that had become our home. But nothing is ever simple. My father, with his cold indifference, presented her with a choice.

"Take your son and leave without a cent, or leave your son and take the money," his lawyer said, voice dripping with cruelty.

My grandmother pleaded with my mother, begging her to take me, to not leave me behind with the monster my father had become. After a long, agonizing silence, my mother chose me. She took my hand, and we left, our lives packed into two small bags.

But freedom didn't come with that choice. It came with a different kind of suffering.

Two years after the divorce, my mother was a shell of the woman she once was. The pain of my father's betrayal clung to her like a shadow, growing darker each day. She turned to alcohol first, then drugs. It was her way of coping, of escaping the memories that haunted her. But in her haze of anger and addiction, she found another target for her hatred—me.

She reminded me every day of the life she lost. Of how she could have taken the money, started over somewhere far away, built a new life without the weight of a child dragging her down. She resented my grandmother for revealing my father's infidelity and, more than anything, she resented me for being the one thing she couldn't walk away from.

Our home became a place of anger and bitterness, where every day was a reminder of my mother's regrets. I was an anchor she wished she could cut loose. And I felt it. Every word, every glance, every drink she took, I felt the weight of her hatred pressing down on me.

School wasn't any better. I was the kid everyone whispered about. The kid with the broken family, the kid whose mother hated him. I thought things would get better in high school, that maybe the change would give me a chance to start over, but I was wrong. The bullying only intensified, and I sank deeper into the darkness that had become my life.

Then, my grandmother suggested I take a scholarship exam for one of the prestigious high schools on Jeju Island. It was a lifeline, a way out of the misery that defined my days. I passed, and for a brief moment, I believed things might finally get better.

But that school was the beginning of a new kind of suffering. A mystery I never could have predicted.

And my life, once simple and sweet, was now a series of unending trials, each one more unbearable than the last.

Wang's Pov.

Extravagance defined my childhood. Parties, galas, and ceremonies were as common as breakfast. My life orbited the elite gatherings of the political and military spheres, an endless rotation of opulent events that I navigated with my parents. My father, a general with an almost obsessive love for travel, always insisted on the grandest of adventures. My mother, a judge, had initially tolerated our constant movement from place to place, from one country to another, as his professional commitments demanded. But she grew weary. After years of restless travel, she made a decisive call. we would settle in one place.

For me, it was a dream fulfilled.

The decision to stay put thrilled me in a way I hadn't anticipated. I'd grown tired of living in the limelight, of being paraded around as the perfect child in a perfect family. I longed for something simpler, something quieter. The image of a small, cozy house in a peaceful neighborhood with a normal life—a life where I didn't have to attend glamorous parties or smile at people I barely knew—became my private fantasy. I wanted to be like other kids, to have a stable group of friends and stay rooted in one place.

But, of course, my father had other plans.

He was a man of immense pride. Everything he did had to be grander, more extravagant than necessary, and that extended to our lives as well. We didn't just move into a new home; we moved into a sprawling estate with gardens that stretched for acres, more rooms than we could ever fill, and staff bustling about at all times. He had no patience for the idea of simplicity. To him, it was almost an insult. If he wasn't living in luxury, then he wasn't living at all.

So while I attended the prestigious schools and continued to exist in the upper echelons of society, I never felt at home in that world. I longed to escape the constant need to be "extra," as my father would say.

Medical school was his idea. He wanted a son who wore the title of "Doctor" alongside his own proud title of "General." The pressure was immense. I wasn't even sure medicine was my calling, but I went along with it, as I always had. At the same time, I nurtured a passion I had discovered early on—computer engineering. It wasn't the career my father envisioned for me, but it was mine. So, alongside the grueling coursework of medical school, I pursued my secret passion. It was madness, trying to juggle both. There were days when I thought I would lose my mind from the stress and exhaustion. But my brother was my anchor. He saw my struggle and offered constant support, helping me study late into the night, and pushing me forward when I was ready to give up.

Despite the chaos of my education and the relentless demands of our family's lifestyle, there was one place that brought me peace. Jeju Island.

Two years ago, I traveled to Jeju with my parents for a wedding. Something about the island immediately captured my heart—the gentle breeze that carried the scent of the sea, the serene landscape dotted with lush greenery and volcanic rock. It was unlike any place I'd ever been. For once, I felt like I belonged somewhere. I loved it so much that I convinced my parents to buy a house there. It wasn't just any house, though. It was a large estate with a beautiful courtyard, a spacious terrace where I could sit and listen to the waves, and a high fence that gave me privacy from the outside world.

Though I visited often after we purchased it, my time on Jeju Island never lasted long. A week here, a few days there. Duty always called me back—either to my medical studies or to the expectations of my family. But in the back of my mind, Jeju became my refuge, a sanctuary where I could be free from the noise and expectations of my life.

Now, I'm preparing to return to Jeju. Only this time, I plan to stay much longer than a week.

I want to take a moment to express my deep gratitude to each and every one of you. Your unwavering support, your kind words, and your love for the stories I create mean the world to me. You are the reason I continue to write, and knowing that my words resonate with you fills my heart with joy.

To EliLoveYibo this is specifically for you. Keep shining.
Meona