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

On the night of the eighth day of the first lunar month, it was as cold as if the sky had collapsed.

The north wind blew in from the ravine, making the door of the dilapidated house rattle loudly. The cold wind from the cracks in the walls cut in like knives, and the fire in the stove had long since gone out, so the temperature inside the house was not much different from that outside.

Niannian woke up in the middle of the night.

I wasn't woken up by the cold—I was woken up by the fever.

Her body was burning hot, like a small furnace.

His forehead was burning hot, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips were chapped and peeling. His eyes were half-open and half-closed, his gaze unfocused, and his breathing was rapid and shallow, like a wounded bird panting.

Days of wandering, malnutrition, frostbite, external injuries, and excessive consumption—

These things were like a final ledger, settled all at once that night.

Niannian pulled the tattered quilt around herself—the quilt was thin and stiff, the cotton was clumped together, and it felt like she was covered with a piece of cardboard.

She tried to sit up.

I feel extremely dizzy.

The ceiling is spinning.

The wall is spinning.

The stove is turning.

She braced herself on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), but after a couple of attempts, she lost her balance and tilted to one side.

"dad……"

The voice was squeezed out of his throat, hoarse like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other.

Gu Yanqiu slept on the ground next to him—he gave the only kang (heated brick bed) to Niannian and slept on the ground himself with a layer of dry straw.

He was awakened by Niannian's voice.

She sat up, turned over, and reached out to touch her daughter's forehead—

hot.

It was terribly hot.

Gu Yanqiu's blood rushed to his head.

"Niannian! Niannian, what's wrong?"

He scrambled to his feet and pulled Nian Nian into his arms—her body was burning hot, her head resting on his shoulder, her whole being as soft as a sheet of paper.

"Hot..." Niannian's voice was muffled, "Daddy...hot..."

Gu Yanqiu's hands were trembling.

He didn't know what to do.

He had never taken care of a child in his life—before Niannian came, he couldn't even take care of himself. What was fever reducer? Where could he buy it? How did he use it? He knew nothing.

He carried Niannian and rushed out of the dilapidated house.

The courtyard was pitch black; the moon was hidden by clouds.

Only a few windows in the distance emitted a dim, yellowish glow from kerosene lamps.

Gu Yanqiu hadn't even put on her cotton shoes properly before she shuffled to the front of the main room.

"Bang bang bang—"

He knocked on the door.

"Mom! Mom! Niannian has a fever—a really high fever—"

There was no movement inside for a long time.

He took another picture.

"Mom! Niannian's fever is burning hot—do you have any fever reducers in your room—"

Finally, Wang Guifang's voice came from inside the door—a voice that came from being woken up, filled with morning grumpiness.

"What are you banging on in the middle of the night! It's just a fever! What child doesn't get a fever? Just wipe them down with cold water! Don't keep the whole family awake!"

The door was closed.

The sound stopped.

Gu Yanqiu stood in front of the main room door.

Niannian in my arms was trembling—not from cold, but from the kind of trembling that comes from a fever.

He turned and ran towards the east wing—the room where Gu Yanchun and Sun Xiufen lived.

"Bang bang bang—"

"Big brother! Sister-in-law! Do you have any fever reducers at home? Niannian's fever is really high!"

Sun Xiufen's voice came from inside the door—cold and icy, like well water in winter.

"Find a solution for your own child! Don't bother us in the middle of the night! The child has to get up early tomorrow!"

Then—dead silence.

Gu Yanqiu stood in front of the door of the east wing.

The tiny body of Niannian in my arms was burning hot, and her breathing became increasingly rapid.

The lips begin to turn white or purple—that's a sign of an excessively high fever.

Only the howling of the north wind filled the courtyard.

Gu Yanqiu suddenly felt that the courtyard was particularly large—so large that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape.

He stood in the darkness, holding his burning-hot daughter.

despair.

A 26-year-old man experienced despair for the first time.

It's not that he's poor—he's used to being poor.

It's not that he's looked down upon—he's used to it.

His daughter was shivering with fever in his arms, and he could do nothing about it.

He couldn't even find a single fever reducer.

He can't even get someone to open a door for him.

"Dad..." Niannian's voice grew softer and softer.

Gu Yanqiu gritted his teeth, picked up Niannian, and ran out of the courtyard.

He didn't know where to go.

There was no barefoot doctor in the village—the nearest doctor was in Baiyang Commune, ten miles away. Walking ten miles of mountain road in the middle of the night? He could do it. But could Nian Nian endure it?

He ran to the gate of the courtyard.

Just crossed the threshold—

"Yanqiu?"

A voice came from the other side of the courtyard wall.

Grandma Wang, wearing a cotton-padded coat and holding a kerosene lamp, stood at the gate of her own courtyard.

She was awakened by Gu Yanqiu's knocking on the door.

The houses in Chengjiawan are close together, with walls connecting them, so any noise from one house can be heard halfway down the street.

"What's wrong with the child?"

"Fever—it's so high—" Gu Yanqiu's voice trembled. "Auntie, do you have any fever reducers at home—"

Without saying a word, Aunt Wang turned around and ran back into the house.

When I came out, I had an extra paper package in my hand.

"I bought this for my grandson in town last month—Analgin. Hurry up and dissolve it in warm water before feeding it to him, don't use cold water."

She stuffed the paper package into Gu Yanqiu's hand and then ran back to the dilapidated house with him.

The kerosene lamp was placed on the stove, and the fire was reignited in the stove.

Aunt Wang boiled half a pot of warm water.

She opened the paper package—inside were a few white pills—broke out half of one, crushed it with a spoon, and dissolved it in warm water.

"Come on, lay the baby flat—lift his head up a bit—"

Niannian lay on the kang, her face flushed red, her eyes closed, mumbling something incoherently—as if she were talking in her sleep.

Grandma Wang supported Niannian's head with one hand and used the other hand to feed her the medicine little by little with a spoon.

Niannian's lips moved, but she instinctively swallowed.

"Get another towel—soak it in warm water—and put it on your forehead."

Gu Yanqiu frantically searched for a towel—the only towel in the dilapidated house was so black that its original color was unrecognizable. He rubbed it a couple of times in the basin of water, wrung it out, folded it into a square, and placed it on Niannian's forehead.

"You also need to rub under both armpits—yes, like this—rub around—to dissipate the heat—"

Aunt Wang patiently taught Gu Yanqiu how to lower her fever using physical methods. In the thirty years she had lived in Chengjiawan after marriage, she had single-handedly endured all the illnesses, big and small, of her three children.

From fever to dysentery to rashes—there was no disease she hadn't seen.

It took almost two hours of effort.

The sky outside the window had turned from black to dark gray.

Niannian's forehead finally stopped burning. The temperature was slowly dropping.

Her breathing calmed down, and her face changed from liver red to pale—the exhaustion and pallor that followed the fever.

I'm sweating.

Beads of sweat poured from his forehead, soaking a small patch of the pillow.

Aunt Wang wiped her sweat with a dry towel and changed her into a dry undergarment—an undergarment that Aunt Wang had found in her own home, worn by her little granddaughter, faded from washing but clean and soft.

"The fever has gone down." Aunt Wang stood up and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her sleeve. "But we still have to keep an eye on it tomorrow—make sure it doesn't relapse."

Gu Yanqiu knelt by the kang (a heated brick bed), pressing down on Niannian's hands with both of his.

His knuckles were completely white.

Looking at him like that, Aunt Wang sighed.

"Don't sleep on the floor—it's cold tonight. Go up to the kang (heated brick bed) and squeeze in with the kids."

After she finished speaking, she took the kerosene lamp and left.

As she reached the door, she glanced back—

Gu Yanqiu lay on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), his forehead pressed against Niannian's little hand.

His shoulders were shaking.

Silent.

Aunt Wang's lips moved, but she didn't say anything and gently closed the door.

-

The fire in the stove crackled and popped.

Niannian opened her eyes slightly.

She saw her father's face.

Very close—right in front of her.

Her face was streaked with tears.

She stretched out her hand—that small hand wrapped in gauze, with torn fingernails and cracked from frostbite—

With great effort, he hooked one of Gu Yanqiu's fingers around.

"dad……"

Gu Yanqiu suddenly raised her head.

"Nian Nian—"

"Don't be afraid."

Niannian's voice was very soft.

As light as a thread in the wind.

But every word was clearly audible.

"I won't die."

Her lips were chapped, and her voice was hoarse like rusted iron, but her eyes—those weak, red eyes that had burned all night—held a determination that shouldn't belong to a four-year-old.

"I promised Mom..."

I need to find my father.

You must survive.

Once you've agreed, you can't go back on your word.

Gu Yanqiu buried her face in Niannian's hands.

That hand is too small.

Too small, too thin, and too cold.

He cried silently.

Tears streamed down Niannian's palm.

-

As dawn broke, Niannian fell into a deep sleep again.

This time I slept soundly.

It wasn't a high fever causing fainting; it was a genuine, peaceful sleep as the body recovered.

Gu Yanqiu sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), looking at his daughter's face.

thin.

Too thin.

His cheekbones were prominent, his eye sockets were deep-set, and his chin was as sharp as a small cone. His face was completely bloodless—as white as a sheet of paper.

Four and a half years old.

They should be at that age with round, rosy cheeks, running and playing everywhere.

It shouldn't be like this.

Gu Yanqiu clenched her fists, her nails digging into her flesh.

One thing kept churning in his mind—

money.

He has no money.

If you don't have money, you can't afford medicine.

You can't afford medical treatment if you don't have money.

Without money, you can't get enough to eat.

Without money—they couldn't even save their daughter's life.

If it weren't for Aunt Wang tonight—

He dared not think any further.

The last piece of charcoal in the stove hissed and went out.

The dilapidated house was once again plunged into coldness and darkness.

But Gu Yanqiu's eyes—in the darkness—were bright.

An idea took shape in his mind—not a vague thought, but a knotted rope firmly tied to his heart.

He has to make money.

He did all kinds of work—no matter how hard, tiring, or dirty.

He must make sure Niannian has enough to eat.

We must have money to treat her illness.

The child who crawled out of the coffin to find him must live.

The first rooster crowed outside the window.

It will be dawn soon.