Sold into a ghost marriage? Four-year-old and his thuggish father go on a killing spree.

Gu Yanqiu's room was at the far west end of the Gu family courtyard; it was originally a side room used for storing firewood.

It's called a house, but it's more like a shed.

When Niannian was put down, the first thing she saw was a cracked mud wall—

The crack stretched from the base of the wall all the way to the roof, and the north wind blew in through the gap, making people shiver.

The door was made of two crooked wooden planks joined together; they didn't close tightly, leaving a gap about a finger's width at the bottom.

The cold wind cut through it like it was cutting through iron.

There were no tables or chairs inside.

Against the wall was a low bed made of wooden planks, covered with a dusty gray quilt.

It was thin and stiff, with yellowish cotton showing at the corners.

The stove was in the corner, with a clump of dry grass blocking the firebox, and a thick layer of ash on the stove surface—it was clear that it hadn't been used for a long time.

The water tank was empty, and cracks had appeared at the bottom.

In the corner, there was a half-full bag of shriveled sweet potatoes, the bag open, with a few worms crawling on it.

The whole room was filled with a damp, musty smell, mixed with the earthy odor and the sour smell of bedding that hadn't been washed for years.

This is all of Gu Yanqiu's possessions.

Niannian stood in the middle of the room, her feet on the cold mud, and looked the room over from left to right.

She didn't find it offensive.

When she lived at her maternal grandmother Zhao's house, she lived in a storage room next to the kitchen. There wasn't even a bed; they just laid a straw mat on the floor.

It's even worse than this place.

not to mention--

Inside the coffin.

The coffin was so dark you couldn't even stand up; it was pitch black and filled with the stench of decay.

Compared to a coffin, this dilapidated house is heaven.

"Dad, can I start the fire?" Niannian squatted in front of the stove, looking up at Gu Yanqiu.

The stove was taller than her, and she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the top of the stove.

"My mother taught me."

Gu Yanqiu's body stiffened for a moment.

He watched his four-and-a-half-year-old daughter squatting in front of the stove, her two hands wrapped in gauze prying open the dry straw at the stove opening. Her movements were so skilled that they didn't seem like those of a child—but rather like those of a little adult who had been taught everything by life at a young age and had grown up prematurely.

"My mother taught me"—these five words felt like a punch to his chest.

Song Wanqing was a woman who could write and had received an education.

Her four-and-a-half-year-old daughter wasn't learning to read or study—she was learning how to light a fire in the stove.

Because living is more important than learning to read.

Gu Yanqiu remained silent.

He silently turned and left.

It was pitch black outside the courtyard, and a cold wind was howling.

He crept to the woodpile behind the Gu family's old house, looked around to make sure no one was there, bent down and carried five or six pieces of dry firewood, and then scooped half a bucket of water from the water vat outside Gu Yanchun's kitchen.

When we returned, Niannian had already cleaned out all the old ashes from the stove.

Her face and hands were covered in ash, her little face was patchy with black and white marks, but her eyes were very bright.

"Dad, the firewood's here? Give it to me."

Gu Yanqiu handed her the firewood.

Niannian stuffed the dry grass into the bottom of the stove, then placed fine firewood on top, followed by coarse firewood—this set of movements was so smooth and fluid, it was clear that she had done it countless times.

She rummaged through Gu Yanqiu's pocket and pulled out a box of matches—there were only three left—and carefully struck one, placing it on the dry grass.

The flames suddenly shot up with a "whoosh".

The firelight from the stove reflected on Niannian's face, making her thin face appear orange-red, and the strip of cloth on her forehead showed dark bloodstains.

But there was light in her eyes.

That was the first time in several days that something like that had appeared in Niannian's eyes—

It wasn't fear, it wasn't vigilance, it wasn't a calmness beyond its years—

Rather, it is a down-to-earth, small, and warm light.

Like the fire in a stove.

Gu Yanqiu squatted down next to Niannian, looking at the ball of fire.

He washed the sweet potatoes he had taken out of the bag, cut them into pieces, and threw them into a pot with water to boil.

The sweet potatoes were severely shriveled, and some had developed black spots.

But that was all the food he had stored.

The water boiled, and the sweet potatoes tumbled and bubbled in the pot, emitting a sweet aroma.

Niannian lay down by the stove, her hands gripping the edge, and sniffed it.

"It smells so good."

When she said those two words, her voice carried a very light and careful sense of satisfaction.

It's as if they're afraid they'll disappear if they speak too loudly.

Gu Yanqiu's eyes stung.

He ladled out the sweet potato porridge, one large bowl and one small bowl.

The large bowl was pushed in front of Niannian.

"eat."

Niannian picked up the bowl, blew on it, and drank it in small sips.

The moment the hot porridge slid into my stomach, a warm feeling gradually spread from my belly to my limbs.

She finished the porridge in the bowl completely, leaving not even the sweet potato peel.

Then she put down her bowl and looked carefully at Gu Yanqiu's bowl—he had only filled it to a shallow half-full bowl and had already finished drinking.

"Dad, have some more."

"I'm not hungry."

"You're lying." Nian Nian's voice was soft but firm. "Your stomach has been growling the whole time."

Gu Yanqiu was taken aback.

He hadn't expected that this four-and-a-half-year-old girl would have heard that.

His stomach was indeed growling. He hadn't eaten for a day and a half—not that he hadn't eaten, but that he was too lazy to.

I used to be too lazy to eat.

Now—there's only half a bag of sweet potatoes left. He has to save it for Niannian.

"Go to sleep." Gu Yanqiu put down the bowl, pulled the hard, thin quilt from the bed, and spread it out on the bed.

There was only one quilt in the room.

He wrapped the quilt around Niannian and leaned against the bed in his cotton-padded coat.

Niannian huddled under the covers, feeling the damp, sour smell.

But she didn't frown.

Because although the blanket was thin, there was someone next to them.

She no longer has to be alone in the dark.

The wind howled outside, blowing in through the cracks in the wall and making the kerosene lamp flame flicker.

Gu Yanqiu reached out and used his old cotton-padded coat to plug up the largest crack, and the wind subsided a little.

Niannian rolled over in the blanket, her eyes shining in the darkness.

"dad."

"Um."

Why didn't you come to see me and Mom before?

She had asked this question once at the brigade headquarters, but that time Gu Yanqiu only said the two words "unworthy".

Now it's just the father and daughter. There's no Cheng Tiezhu, no Cheng Fulai, no outsiders.

Gu Yanqiu remained silent for a long time.

The night wind squeezed in through the crack in the door, making a sobbing sound.

"I... thought your mother didn't want me anymore."

His voice was very low, as if it were rising from underwater.

"After I left, I sent her a letter through someone. But I didn't get a reply. Later, I asked someone to inquire again, and they said she had moved and was no longer in the same place."

I thought she hated me.

"I thought she had found someone better than me."

So I... stopped looking.

As Niannian listened to these words, something inside her ached faintly.

Mom didn't move away.

My mother never moved away.

My mother lived in that small town. She was heavily pregnant and gave birth to her all by herself and raised her all by herself for four and a half years.

That letter—

Was the letter ever delivered?

Who said Mom moved away?

These thoughts raced through Niannian's mind, but she was too sleepy.

Although the high fever had subsided, her body was severely depleted. Her small body was like a machine that had been drained of all its fuel, running on for six days with its last breath, and now it could finally stop.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in the blanket.

"dad."

"Um."

"Don't leave."

Three words.

Gu Yanqiu clenched her fists in the darkness.

"I'm not leaving."

That night, Niannian slept soundly.

For the first time in six days.

There was no coffin, no dead body, no snow, and no sound of footsteps chasing after her.

The only sounds were the heavy breathing of the man beside me and the embers in the stove that were slowly dying down.

But Gu Yanqiu did not fall asleep.

He stared at the roof in the darkness, his eyes wide open.

A thought kept swirling in my mind—

Whom did he ask to deliver that letter?

He tried his best to recall—at the end of 1959, after returning to Chengjiawan from the provincial capital, he wrote a letter.

He wasn't very literate, and the letter he wrote was crooked and messy, filling a whole page. The gist of it was: he had gone home, and if she wanted, she could write to Chengjiawan.

He entrusted this letter to someone who was running a transport business in the county town at the time.

What was that person's name again?

Gu Yanqiu's brows furrowed into a knot.

A cat's meow came from outside the window, as mournful as a child's cry.

Niannian stirred in her sleep, her little hand groping and grabbing Gu Yanqiu's sleeve.

They held on very tightly.