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

Li Huilan stayed in Chengjiawan for two days.

In the past two days, she has gained a thorough understanding of the Gu family's situation—

From morning till night, her eyes, honed on the assembly line of a textile factory, scrutinized the Gu family from top to bottom like a ruler.

Old Mrs. Wang Guifang—her favoritism was utterly blatant. The white noodle soup cooking in the kitchen was for Gu Yanchun's family.

Gu Yanqiu only had corn porridge so thin you could see your reflection in it. And that corn porridge wasn't even given to him by his family; Gu Yanqiu had to exchange his work points for it.

eldest son Gu Yanchun—

He occupied two of the three main rooms in the house, one side room went to the elderly couple, and the drafty woodshed at the far west end was Gu Yanqiu's entire territory. Even the division of land ownership was off—

The three acres of good land belonging to the family were all registered under the names of Gu Yanchun and Gu Dehou, while Gu Yanqiu was only allocated half an acre of poor land on the hillside, where everything he planted died.

Sun Xiufen was so shrewd that she would even weigh the gender of a fly that flew by. Every morning, as soon as the smoke rose from the kitchen, she would squat at the kitchen door and "watch," making sure that no one scooped up an extra spoonful of porridge.

This home—for Gu Yanqiu and his daughter—was colder than the weather outside.

The next evening, Niannian washed the dishes in front of the stove.

Six bowls—these were left for her to wash after Wang Guifang's family and Gu Yanchun's family finished eating. Gu Yanqiu hadn't returned from the brigade warehouse yet; the threshing ground was taking inventory of pre-New Year supplies, and they wouldn't finish work until dark.

Niannian washed each bowl clean and arranged them on the stove.

The water was drawn from a well, and it was icy cold.

Her hands were soaking in water, her fingers swollen like radish strips, and her frostbite had cracked open, oozing a little pink blood.

But she didn't say a word.

Li Huilan stood at the kitchen door, watching the little figure, thin as a bean sprout, squatting in front of the water basin, his movements so skilled that he didn't seem like a four-and-a-half-year-old child.

Her eyes reddened again.

She turned and walked into the yard.

As soon as Gu Yanqiu entered the courtyard, he carried a bundle of firewood on his shoulder, and his cotton-padded coat was covered with wood chips and dust.

Li Huilan stopped him.

"Yanqiu, I have something to tell you."

The two people stood at the foot of the courtyard wall.

The north wind made the red cloth on the flagpole rattle loudly.

Li Huilan got straight to the point—

"I'm suffering here with you."

Gu Yanqiu remained silent.

"Look at yourself—your room! The walls are cracked, the door won't close properly, and there's not even a decent stove. The child's injuries haven't healed yet, and he sweeps the yard, feeds the chickens, and washes the dishes every day; his hands are so cold they're rotting—"

"I know."

Gu Yanqiu's voice was very low, so low it seemed to come from underground.

"I have a colleague in the provincial capital, surnamed Chen. He and his wife have been married for ten years but have no children."

She's a good person, and her circumstances are good too—she works as a sales clerk in a department store, earning forty-two yuan a month. After hearing about Niannian's situation, she said she was willing to adopt her—

"no."

Gu Yanqiu didn't even hesitate.

"Let me finish speaking—"

"no."

Li Huilan took a deep breath: "How will you support yourself? You only get six work points a day, how many kilograms of grain can that be earned?"

The child is growing—look at her like that—

So thin she looks like she'd be blown away by the wind—

"I know."

"You know that—"

"She is my daughter."

Gu Yanqiu's voice suddenly rose—not to yell at Li Huilan, but at himself.

"Her mother entrusted her to me. Before she died—with her last breath—she entrusted her to me."

His eyes turned red, and it felt like there was a piece of iron stuck in his throat.

"She walked over a hundred miles to find me. She crawled out of her coffin to find me."

"If I were to give her away—I wouldn't deserve to live."

It was quiet at the foot of the courtyard wall.

The north wind howled.

The distant mountains were dark and loomed like a giant wall.

Li Huilan looked at Gu Yanqiu's face.

His face was red from the wind, his lips were cracked and bleeding, and his stubble hadn't been shaved for days, sticking out in a messy, prickly manner.

But those eyes were bright.

Two days ago, when she first saw Gu Yanqiu, his eyes were gray.

Like two stagnant pools of water.

Now—things are different.

There was fire in those eyes.

A very small fire.

But it's burning.

Li Huilan's lips moved slightly.

She wanted to say a lot—to tell you to wake up, to tell you what gives you the right to do that, and to tell you to look at yourself.

But she didn't say a word.

Because she remembered Song Wanqing.

On the back of the letter, Song Wanqing wrote: "He was a good person, but he became like that because his family broke his heart."

She believed her husband.

I will believe it until I die.

Just like Nian Nian's father.

Li Huilan closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes again, she took an envelope out of the inside pocket of her cotton coat.

"Fifty dollars."

She slipped the envelope into Gu Yanqiu's hand.

"Buy Niannian a new cotton-padded coat and a pair of cotton-padded shoes. Don't let her feet get cold anymore."

Gu Yanqiu looked down at the envelope in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Sister Li—"

"Don't call me Sister Li." Li Huilan said sternly, but her eyes were red. "I worked in the same workshop as Wanqing for three years. She's the best person I've ever met. Her child—I'll help her if I can.

She paused.

"But Yanqiu—you remember this—if this child suffers any more, I, Li Huilan, will not forgive you."

After saying that, she turned and left.

I went into the kitchen and squatted down next to Nian Nian who was washing dishes.

"Nian Nian".

Niannian looked up; her hands were wet, and water was dripping from her cracked fingers.

"Aunt Li is leaving tomorrow."

Niannian's eyes dimmed slightly.

It happened so fast that Li Huilan almost missed it.

Then Niannian nodded.

"Aunt Li, please be careful on the road."

These words, spoken by a four-and-a-half-year-old child—not just polite words, but heartfelt advice—brought tears to Li Huilan's eyes.

"The same to you."

Li Huilan reached out and touched Niannian's hair.

His hair was dry and yellow, like the stubble of wheat harvested in autumn.

Her hand paused at the top of her head for three seconds while she was reciting the mantra.

Then he abruptly pulled back, stood up, and strode out of the kitchen.

-

The next morning, Li Huilan left.

She was wearing a blue-gray polyester shirt and a navy blue cotton coat, carrying an empty cloth bag, and walking along the yellow dirt road in Chengjiawan, her steps uneven.

Niannian chased after her.

She ran to the old elm tree at the entrance of the village—the bare old elm tree with only withered branches.

Li Huilan had already walked more than twenty steps.

"Aunt Li!"

Li Huilan turned around.

Niannian stood under the old elm tree.

The morning light stretched that thin figure long.

Niannian bent down and bowed deeply.

My waist was bent at a 90-degree angle.

The cotton-padded coat on his back was too big; the collar turned up from the back.

A section of his neck, thin as a chicken's neck, was exposed.

Li Huilan's legs went weak.

She covered her mouth tightly with her hand—not to speak, but to prevent her sobs from leaking out.

This child is so sensible.

So sensible it's heartbreaking.

A four-and-a-half-year-old child should be held in someone's arms and act cute.

She bowed to an adult to express her gratitude.

Li Huilan stood twenty paces away, forcefully forcing back her tears.

She lowered her hand and forced a smile at Niannian.

"Eat properly. Listen to your auntie—don't neglect yourself."

Niannian straightened up and nodded.

Li Huilan turned around and strode away.

After leaving the mountain pass at Chengjiawan and turning that bend, the village disappears from view.

She leaned against a pile of stones by the roadside, squatted down, covered her face with her hands, and cried silently for a long time.

-

Niannian stood under the old elm tree, watching Li Huilan's figure disappear around the bend in the mountain road.

The north wind made her hair all messy.

She stood there for a while, then turned and walked back.

He took two steps, then stopped.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

It wasn't Gu Yanqiu's—Gu Yanqiu had already gone to the threshing ground.

It wasn't Wang Guifang's—Wang Guifang walks with dragging shoes, and her voice is different.

Nian Nian turned around.

Cheng Tiezhu stood three steps behind her.

The expression on his square face was unpleasant.

"Nian Nian".

Uncle Cheng.

Cheng Tiezhu squatted down and lowered his voice.

"Yesterday—after your second uncle left, I had someone keep an eye on him."

He didn't go directly back to your maternal grandmother's place—he went via Wangjia Village.

Niannian's pupils contracted slightly.

Wangjiacun.

Old Mrs. Wang.

That face, full of fat and chewing on a pipe.

That coffin.

That moonless night.

Cheng Tiezhu's voice lowered even further.

"Someone brought back a message—the Wang family has spread the word."

Niannian's fingers unconsciously clenched the hem of her cotton-padded coat.

"They said—" Cheng Tiezhu's brows furrowed into a deep knot, "

It cost two hundred yuan, so we can't just let it go like this.

After the New Year—people will be coming.

The wind blew in from the mountain gully, and it was as cold as a knife.

Niannian stood under the old elm tree, her small figure swaying slightly in the wind.

But her feet didn't move.

Her eyes were fixed on Cheng Tiezhu.

Those eyes were dark and bright—and there was no fear in them.

It's something that should not exist at this age, something brought out from under a coffin, tempered by death.

Uncle Cheng.

"Um."

"They're here—my dad won't let them take me away."

Cheng Tiezhu looked into those eyes.

There was a two-second silence.

"Your father won't."

He stood up and dusted himself off.

"I don't know either."

After saying that, he turned and left.

He walked a few steps, then turned back and added with a sullen face.

"But the Wang family—they're not reasonable people."

The wind blew away what he was about to say.

Niannian stood still, her fingers slowly tightening around the hem of her cotton-padded coat.

The howling of the north wind filled my ears.

In the distance, from the direction of the threshing ground, came faint voices and the dull thud of bundles of firewood falling to the ground.

Dad is over there.

Niannian turned around and started walking towards home.

After taking a couple of steps, she suddenly looked up—at the ridgeline northeast of Chengjiawan.

In that direction, after crossing two mountain ridges,

It is the road leading to Wangjia Village.

That road—she ran it once.

Bare feet.

In the snow.

She didn't want to run it a second time.