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

Niannian's "method" was implemented starting from the first day of the Lunar New Year.

Visiting relatives and friends during the first month of the lunar calendar is a tradition in Chengjiawan. From the first to the fifth day of the first lunar month, families visit each other to exchange New Year's greetings.

Carrying a bowl, I could walk a few steps to my neighbor's house, where I could drink some sweet soup and eat some melon seeds.

Niannian observed for three days—not to observe the festivities of the Lunar New Year, but to observe the "power structure" of the Gu family.

Grandpa Gu Dehou – his word doesn't count.

This taciturn old man squatted at the entrance of the main room from morning till night, smoking his pipe. He'd grunt a couple of times at anyone who spoke to him, like a mere decoration. But Nian Nian noticed a detail—every time Wang Guifang cursed, Gu Dehou would smoke his pipe with unusual ferocity, the flame flickering in the pipe. It wasn't that he had no thoughts. He just didn't want to speak. Or rather—speaking would be pointless.

Grandma Wang Guifang – she's the one who calls the shots.

She was the "central figure" of the household. She managed the kitchen, determined the food rations, and assigned the chores. Whether someone ate an extra bite or did less work was entirely under her control. She favored the eldest son's wife—and did so with unwavering conviction. Her reason was simple: "Your eldest brother is successful, but you're not."

Uncle Gu Yanchun—keeping all the benefits to himself without saying a word.

He was the militia captain and had some influence in the village. He didn't directly bully Gu Yanqiu, but he tacitly accepted all the benefits—two of the three main rooms, three acres of good land, and white flour and brown sugar in the kitchen. His attitude was, "I deserve it."

Aunt Sun Xiufen – the trader.

She was Wang Guifang's "strategist." Many of the harsh ideas came from her, and then Wang Guifang would put them into words. She was shrewd and manipulative, making her even more difficult to deal with than Wang Guifang.

There was another person—his uncle, Gu Yandong.

Niannian only learned about this person after she arrived. Nineteen years old, unmarried, and hanging around with the eldest brother. He usually helps out at the brigade's tractor station and rarely goes home. Occasionally he'll come back, but his attitude is ambiguous—he doesn't help the eldest brother, nor does he help the second brother. He's like a weather vane.

Niannian saw all of this.

A four-and-a-half-year-old child cannot understand the term "power structure".

But she understood one thing in her own way—

In the Gu family, you can't rely on anyone.

Then move towards the outside.

-

On the second day of the Lunar New Year, Niannian went to pay her respects to Aunt Wang.

No one in the village asked her to go—she went on her own.

She remembers.

That day, while I was fetching water, I saw a plump old woman standing at the gate of her own yard, scolding away several gossipy women.

She asked her father, who said that was Aunt Wang—"She's a good person, you can just call her Grandma when you see her in the future."

Niannian carried two boiled sweet potatoes—the only food ration for her family, which Gu Yanqiu had earned with work points.

We arrived at the gate of Granny Wang's house.

"Grandma Wang, Happy New Year!"

Aunt Wang was squatting in the yard chopping firewood when she heard the sound and looked up—

A skinny little girl, as thin as a bamboo pole, stood at the door, holding two sweet potatoes in her hands.

His cotton-padded jacket was faded from washing, and his cloth shoes were two sizes too big, but he stood ramrod straight.

Those eyes were dark and bright, curved like crescent moons.

He is laughing.

It wasn't a fawning smile—it was the kind of smile that said, "I genuinely think you're wonderful, that's why I came to see you."

Aunt Wang's heart softened.

She put down the axe and pulled Niannian into the yard.

"Oh my goodness—coming out to wish everyone a Happy New Year in the dead of winter? Does your dad know?"

"Dad told me to thank Grandma Wang—you were the one who helped me by the well the other day, weren't you?" Niannian handed over the sweet potato. "My dad cooked this; please have a taste."

Two sweet potatoes.

In the winter of 1964, for someone like Gu Yanqiu from a poor family, two sweet potatoes were not a gift, but a staple food.

Aunt Wang took the sweet potato, and her nose tingled with emotion.

She didn't say anything—she turned and went into the kitchen, and when she came out, she had two more things in her hands: a boiled egg and half a boiled sweet potato wrapped in oil paper.

No—not sweet potato—it's roasted sweet potato. Roasted in the stove, with a crispy outer skin and a honey-like golden-red interior when broken open.

"eat."

Aunt Wang stuffed the roasted sweet potato into Niannian's hand.

Niannian held the roasted sweet potato, but didn't eat it right away. She glanced down at it, then broke it in half—one half of which she handed back to Aunt Wang.

"Grandma Wang eats too."

Aunt Wang's eyes reddened.

She has lived for over fifty years. Her son works in the county town and comes back once a year. Her husband has been dead for ten years, and she usually has no one to talk to.

The four-and-a-half-year-old girl squatted in her yard, offering her half a roasted sweet potato, her bright black eyes looking at her.

"You child—" Aunt Wang's voice choked, "How can you be so sensible?"

Niannian took a bite of the roasted sweet potato.

Sweet.

It's sweeter than brown sugar.

She chewed a couple of times, then suddenly said, "Grandma Wang, the firewood in your yard isn't chopped neatly—let me help you stack it."

Aunt Wang paused for a moment, then laughed—laughed until tears streamed down her face.

"What are you coding for—can your little arms even lift firewood?"

"Yes, I can. I did it when I lived at my grandma's house."

When Niannian said this, her tone was calm and indifferent, as if she were talking about something very ordinary.

But Aunt Wang could tell.

My maternal grandmother's house.

The grandmother's house where she was sold into a coffin.

A three-year-old child was already carrying firewood, chopping wood, and doing chores.

Aunt Wang's smile faded.

She held Niannian in her arms and stroked her dry, yellow hair with her rough hands.

"No need. You can just sit and eat. You don't have to do anything."

Niannian leaned against Aunt Wang's chest.

She smelled a scent—soapberry, cotton, and stove fire—that was somewhat similar to her mother's scent.

Only a little bit.

But that little bit is enough.

-

Starting from Aunt Wang's house, Niannian's "New Year's greeting route" covered half of the village within three days.

She didn't go door to door—she had choices.

The older, kind-hearted, and influential people in the village—go.

Those who gossip or get close to Sun Xiufen—don't go.

Her judgment was based on a simple criterion: whoever smiled at her while she was getting water turned away and left.

The well is Chengjiawan's "information center"—where women wash clothes, fetch water, and chat.

Every time Niannian goes to fetch water, she quickly scans the area with her bright black eyes:

Whose gaze is kind, whose gaze is evasive, and whose lips turn down after speaking?

She remembers it perfectly.

On the third day of the Lunar New Year, she went to Aunt Cheng's house next door. She helped Aunt Cheng pick a basket of cabbages, carefully removing the old leaves and arranging the tender cores neatly. Aunt Cheng gave her two biscuits.

On the fourth day of the Lunar New Year, she went to see Uncle Zhao, who ran a small shop at the village entrance. Uncle Zhao was a lame retired soldier with a strange temper who never smiled at anyone. But when Niannian entered, she called out "Hello, Grandpa Zhao"—mispronouncing the address—and Uncle Zhao chuckled, grabbing her a handful of roasted peanuts.

On the fifth day, she helped Aunt Liu carry half a bucket of water to the well—the bucket was too heavy for her to lift, so she helped hold the well pulley. Aunt Liu felt bad about it, so she went home and got a pair of cotton shoes that her daughter had left over—they were a bit old, but much sturdier than the pair of worn-out shoes that Niannian was wearing, which were two sizes too big.

Less than a week.

The women of half the village would greet Niannian with, "Niannian's here? Have you eaten yet?"

The children no longer dared to bully her—not because they were afraid she would splash water on them, but because if anyone bullied Niannian, their mother would get a good scolding from Aunt Wang or Aunt Cheng the next day.

Niannian wove her own web in Chengjiawan using the simplest methods—diligence, sweet talk, and gratitude.

This net isn't big, but it's enough.

This is enough to make the villagers no longer just say "that wild girl from the Gu family" when they talk about her—but say "Niannian is such a sensible child."

One day, Aunt Wang spoke privately to Cheng Tiezhu's wife—

"This girl is smarter than a four-year-old; she speaks and acts with great composure. That old woman Wang Guifang doesn't know what she's got; she doesn't want such a good granddaughter. She'll regret it later."

Cheng Tiezhu's wife relayed these words to Cheng Tiezhu.

After listening, Cheng Tiezhu remained silent for a long time.

Then he said, "This girl is no ordinary person."

-

yard.

Niannian squatted by the chicken coop, scattering handfuls of corn kernels.

Six old hens surrounded her, clucking.

Sun Xiufen watched all this from the kitchen window, her brows furrowing even more deeply.

"What exactly is this girl trying to do?"

She couldn't explain it clearly.

But her intuition told her that what this four-and-a-half-year-old girl was doing was not something a four-year-old child should be doing.

That method of subtly, gradually, and quietly embedding oneself into the entire village—

It made her more uneasy than having a bucket of ice water poured on her.

Sun Xiufen stopped stirring the mixture.

She turned her head and glanced in the direction of the main room—Wang Guifang was inside sewing shoe soles.

"I need to talk to Mom," she muttered.

Outside the kitchen, Niannian stood up and patted the corn crumbs off her hands.

Her gaze swept across the kitchen window—a casual glance.

Their eyes met.

The two pairs of eyes, one big and one small, stared at each other for less than a second.

Then Niannian turned around and left.

Sun Xiufen inexplicably broke out in goosebumps on her back.