After the family split up, my stepmother and scumbag father begged me to come home.

Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, a nine-year-old boy lay sprawled in the ground like a dead dog.

His stepmother's shoe soles pounded against his back, kicking up clouds of yellow dust. The boy's face was buried in the dirt, his nose and mouth filled with the smell of mud. He didn't make a sound or cry, but clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, blood dripping from between his fingers.

"You little bastard! I wish I could beat you to death!"

Ding Yuxiang was sweating profusely from kicking, but the more she kicked, the more addicted she became. She had never felt so good in her life. She had been married into this family for five years, and she had long wanted to get rid of these two burdens.

How dare they bully her daughter?

The boy's name is Lin Yulong, he is nine years old, and he was born to that short-lived man. There is also a girl named Lin Qianqian, who is 13 years old this year.

Lin Yulong didn't cry. His sister had said that crying in front of outsiders was a sign of admitting defeat.

But he didn't know how much longer he could hold on. The bones in his back felt like they were about to break, his internal organs were churning, and his mouth tasted like rust.

"I'm telling you, if you dare bully my daughter again, I'll sell your sister to an idiot!"

Ding Yuxiang's words were like a red-hot branding iron, pressing hard on Lin Yulong's heart.

He suddenly raised his head.

The nine-year-old child had a murderous look in his eyes.

Ding Yuxiang's heart skipped a beat when she was stared at by that gaze, and she froze for two seconds.

But then she thought again—what trouble could a nine-year-old kid possibly cause?

"You dare glare at me? I'll show you!"

She kicked him a few more times, then squatted down and pinched the inside of Lin Yulong's arm. That piece of flesh was the most tender, and it hurt the most when she pinched it.

One turn, two turns, twisting and pinching, the fingernails digging into the flesh, then pulling outwards, leaving two bloody marks.

Lin Yulong was trembling all over, his forehead covered in sweat and dirt. But he gritted his teeth and didn't utter a sound.

He wanted to fight back.

He had thought about killing this woman countless times. He was driven mad by the thought.

He couldn't sleep at night thinking about it. He lay alone in the woodshed, staring at the roof beams above his head, imagining himself beating the mother and daughter until they bled from their heads with his fists, sticks, and stones.

But as soon as he clenched his fist, he loosened it again.

He fears.

It wasn't that he was afraid of Ding Yuxiang; what he was afraid of was that if he fought back, Ding Yuxiang would take her anger out on his older sister.

My sister is a gentle person; even when she was hit, she didn't fight back and came back smiling, saying it was nothing.

If she knew that her younger brother had been beaten for protecting her, she wouldn't say anything, but she would definitely cry in bed at night.

Lin Yulong clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly.

My fingernails dug into the wound on my palm, and beads of blood oozed out one by one.

"Stop hitting him! You'll kill him if you keep hitting him!"

Ding Xiaohu, who was standing nearby, couldn't bear to watch any longer. This child was from the Ding family next door, and he was ten years old this year. He mustered up his courage and shouted, his voice trembling.

"Get out of here!" Ding Yuxiang didn't even turn her head, slapping Ding Xiaohu two steps away.

Ding Xiaohu staggered to his feet, looked down at Lin Yulong curled up on the ground, and his lips trembled.

Ah Long's face was covered in dirt, blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth, half of his face was swollen like a steamed bun, and his arms were covered in bruises, not a single good spot was visible.

His stepmother is going to beat Ah Long to death.

Ding Xiaohu turned and ran.

Ah Long had said that Sister Qianqian had gone up the mountain to dig for wild vegetables. He had to go find her. If he was too slow, he was afraid Ah Long would really be beaten to death.

One of his shoes fell off, but he didn't have time to pick it up. He rushed up the mountain barefoot. The gravel on the mountain path hurt his soles, and the thorns tore his trouser legs, but he didn't care about anything else.

"Sister Qianqian—Sister Qianqian—!"

He shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing through the valley, startling a flock of sparrows.

"Ah Long is going to get beaten to death—you'd better go back now—"

Under the old locust tree at the village entrance, Ding Yuxiang finally tired herself out. She stood up, panting, and patted the dirt off her hands. Looking down at the small, curled-up figure on the ground, a satisfied smile played on her lips.

"Remember this: if you dare to lay a finger on Yuanyuan again, I'll make sure you die out there like your dead mother, with no one to care."

The boy on the ground froze.

Ding Yuxiang said the three words "dead ghost mother" lightly, like spitting out a mouthful of saliva.

Lin Yulong slowly raised his head.

This time, his eyes changed.

It wasn't murderous intent, nor hatred, but something far more dangerous—a kind of calm that only the dead possess.

"Don't talk about my mother."

Four words, each word spoken slowly and deliberately.

Ding Yuxiang was stunned for a moment, then flew into a rage at those four words. How dare this little bastard talk back to her?

"You little brat, you think you're so great, huh!"