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

Gu Yanqiu moved to the window, bracing himself against the window frame with both hands, his entire weight resting on it—his legs were already weak.

Li Huilan held the letter up to the light, pointing to the last line obscured by bloodstains.

Gu Yanqiu squinted and stared at it for a long time—most of the words were blurred by the erosion, but the last few words were still faintly discernible:

"...The Zhao family...deceived...all of us..."

Seven characters.

Every word is like a nail.

Gu Yanqiu's hand slid down from the window frame.

He leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to the ground.

Like a pile of fallen firewood.

"Explain yourself to me." His voice was forced out through clenched teeth, hoarse like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other.

"What exactly did the Zhao family do?"

Li Huilan squatted down opposite him.

Her eyes were as red as a rabbit's, but she forced herself not to cry anymore—she knew this was not the time to cry.

"During the time Wanqing was hospitalized, she told me some things on and off."

Later, she passed away, and I heard some more things from her neighbors in that town.

Put them together—

Li Huilan's voice was very low, as if she was afraid that if she spoke too loudly, it would cause a fire.

"After you left in the winter of 1959—"

Gu Yanqiu closed her eyes.

Winter of 1959.

That was the most humiliating thing he had ever done in his life.

Working as a porter in a textile factory, the wages weren't high, but they were enough to make a living.

He met Song Wanqing.

She was an apprentice in the sewing workshop. She was skillful, quiet, and had two dimples when she smiled.

The first time he saw her smile—that evening, she was waiting for someone under the streetlight at the factory gate, the light casting a long shadow—something in his heart seemed to skip a beat.

This life is only once.

They got together.

He made a six-month appointment with her.

He once bought her a blue headscarf with white flowers, which he earned by saving up his food money for two months.

She folded the headscarf neatly and tucked it under her pillow, touching it every night before she could fall asleep.

Later—later someone told him.

"What kind of person are you, a country bumpkin laborer, clinging to that girl? Even though her father is gone, she's still from an educated family. Do you deserve her?"

"If you truly care about her, leave. Don't drag her down."

Who said these words?

Gu Yanqiu couldn't remember clearly before.

But at that moment—he suddenly remembered.

The person who said this was a distant relative of the Zhao family.

That man often loitered around the textile factory, claiming to run errands and do business for people. He struck up a conversation with Gu Yanqiu a few times, and each time he would intentionally or unintentionally mention that "you are not good enough for her."

Gu Yanqiu didn't take it seriously once or twice.

Three or four times—he believed it.

Because he was already insecure.

He came from Chengjiawan, a poor, remote village. He was not very literate, and his family was extremely poor. His older brother looked down on him, and his mother thought he was useless.

He felt those words were true—he was indeed not good enough for Song Wanqing.

So he left.

He left without saying a word.

After returning to Chengjiawan, he wrote a letter—in a crooked hand, two pages long—and had someone mail it to the Song family's address.

"But that letter..." Gu Yanqiu's voice seemed to rise from the bottom of a well, "...there was no reply. I waited for half a year. I didn't receive a single word."

Li Huilan nodded.

"Because the letter was intercepted by the Zhao family."

Gu Yanqiu's breathing became heavy.

"Later, I asked someone to inquire again—that person came back and said that Song Wanqing had already moved away."

"The person who helped you inquire—" Li Huilan's eyes sharpened, "was it someone the Zhao family hired?"

Something seemed to explode in Gu Yanqiu's mind.

He tried hard to recall—the person who had helped him inquire—was a middle-aged man who ran a transport business in the county town—

That person...had drunk with Zhao's distant relatives a few times.

Gu Yanqiu's fingers dug into the mud.

"Do you understand now?" Li Huilan's voice carried a restrained anger. "Zhao Shi never wanted you to be with Wanqing in the first place. After you left, she intercepted all your letters; she had someone lie to you and say that Wanqing had moved away; she even had someone impersonate you and write a letter to Wanqing—saying that you went back to the countryside to get married and that she shouldn't wait for you anymore."

"She lied to both of you. She lied to you, and she lied to Wanqing. She completely tore you two apart."

Gu Yanqiu's body arched up—as if something in his stomach was about to churn up.

"Why—" His voice almost turned into a roar, but his throat was too hoarse, and the roar only produced gasps of breath without sound. "Why did she do this?"

"Because she took a fancy to the son of the town's supply and marketing cooperative director," Li Huilan said coldly. "That man was willing to pay three hundred yuan as a bride price to marry Wanqing. In 1960, three hundred yuan was enough for the Zhao family to live on for two years."

Three hundred yuan.

Three hundred yuan.

Zhao sold her daughter as a commodity for 300 yuan.

First, they broke her up with Gu Yanqiu, then they married her off with a price tag on her.

"But Wanqing refused." Li Huilan's lips trembled. "She refused to marry despite being heavily pregnant—because she was carrying your child. She still clung to a sliver of hope that you would come back to her."

"The son of the supply and marketing cooperative director immediately turned hostile upon hearing that the woman was pregnant. The marriage was called off."

"Zhao hated Wanqing—she felt that Wanqing was disobedient and had wasted three hundred yuan. From then on, Zhao treated Wanqing and Niannian—"

Li Huilan couldn't continue.

She closed her eyes briefly.

Niannian squatted by the stove, listening quietly.

Her eyes stopped crying—the previous bout of sobbing had emptied her of all her tears.

But her hands were shaking.

It's not because of the cold.

It's because of—Grandma.

My maternal grandmother, Zhao.

From as far back as she can remember, her grandmother never gave her a kind look.

"Money-losing brat"—that's what her grandmother called her.

"Broom star"—that's what my grandmother called my mother.

She thought her grandmother just had a bad temper.

Now she knows—it's not that she has a bad temper.

It is hatred.

Grandma was upset that Mom hadn't sold it for a good price of three hundred yuan.

So he hated the mother and daughter.

I hated him for five whole years.

From my mother's pregnancy to her death.

From the moment Niannian was born to the moment she was sold into a coffin.

Five years of hatred.

Not a penny less.

"Wanqing started getting sick at the end of 1963," Li Huilan continued, her voice now calm—the cold calm that followed extreme anger. "She worked odd jobs at the town's sewing cooperative, and that's how she got sick. She didn't have money for medical treatment, so it dragged on for more than half a year. When she really couldn't take it anymore, Zhao wouldn't even take her to the county hospital—saying it was a waste of money."

"When I went to see her—" Li Huilan's voice cracked for the first time.

"She's so thin—I almost didn't recognize her."

"She was lying on that broken bed in the rented room, with a medicine pot and a bowl of thin porridge next to her."

Niannian squatted in front of the stove to brew her medicine—a three-and-a-half-year-old child, who couldn't reach the stove on tiptoe, so she used a small stool to stand on her tiptoes—"

Li Huilan couldn't continue.

Gu Yanqiu slumped to the ground, his hands gripping the ground tightly.

His fingernails dug completely into the hard mud.

Blood seeped from between the fingers of all ten fingers.

"The Zhao family—"

His voice squeezed out from deep in his throat—as if something was burning in his chest, making his throat feel like it was smoking.

"The Zhao family—"

He repeated it.

Then he slammed his fist into the muddy ground.

A muffled "bang" was heard.

The bowl on the stove shook.

Niannian walked to his side.

She squatted down.

He looked directly at Gu Yanqiu's face.

That face—was contorted in pain.

Tears, snot, and dust mingled together, covering his face.

But she saw something on that face.

It's not about being decadent.

It's no longer a state of despair.

It is hatred.

It's the kind of hatred that makes you want to burn yourself up just to illuminate something.

"dad."

Gu Yanqiu looked at her.

"My mother once said—'To hate someone, you don't go after them with a knife. You live your life well and make them regret it.'"

These words, spoken by a four-and-a-half-year-old child, were as quiet as a drop of water falling on red-hot iron.

With a "sizzle" sound.

A silent vibration.

Gu Yanqiu stared at Niannian's face for a long time.

Song Wanqing's smile in the photo;

The letter was written by Song Wanqing;

Before me were those eyes that looked exactly like Song Wanqing's.

He clenched his fists.

It slowly loosened up again.

"I will not go to the Zhao family."

His voice was hoarse, but he regained his composure.

"But I'll remember this debt."

He stood up.

His knees were still shaking, but his back was straight.

Li Huilan looked into his eyes—those eyes that had been soaked in decadence and alcohol for years—and saw something change within them.

It hasn't softened.

It has hardened.

Like a piece of iron that has been heated in a fire, quenched in water, it has an extra layer of bluish-gray shell.

It was scalding hot underneath that shell.

"But—" Li Huilan wiped her eyes, her voice becoming serious, "the Zhao family won't let this go so easily."

Gu Yanqiu frowned slightly.

"She sold Niannian for two hundred yuan. The Wang family's coffin was stolen—do you think the Wang family will admit defeat?"

Li Huilan's gaze fell on Niannian.

"What will you do if the Wang family comes knocking on your door?"

These words were like a bucket of cold water poured on a fire that had just been lit.

Gu Yanqiu clenched his fists again.

-

Outside the door, the north wind suddenly picked up.

It howled and whistled, as if something was howling in the ravine.

Niannian's ears twitched.

Her instincts were sharper than any adult's.

"Aunt Li."

Li Huilan looked down at her.

"That old lady from the Wang family—what kind of person is she?"

Li Huilan was stunned for a moment.

She never expected a four-year-old child to ask such a question.

Niannian's eyes were calm.

But beneath that calm, there was something chilling.

That's something only people who have been in a coffin have—

A sense of danger.