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

"Niannian—is the food in the pot burnt?"

Aunt Wang shouted from across the courtyard wall.

"It's not burnt!" Niannian squatted in front of the stove, her hands covered in soot and her cheeks smeared with soot from the bottom of the pot.

The flames in the stove flickered twice, then died down.

A wisp of smoke rose from the stove, choking Niannian and making her eyes water.

She picked up a dry firewood stick and poked it under the stove, just like her father did—a string of sparks flew out and almost burned her sleeve.

Niannian withdrew her hand slightly and remained silent.

He rearranged the firewood and blew on it a few times.

The flames suddenly shot up.

Niannian grinned – though her face was covered in soot, her eyes were bright and sparkling.

The sweet potatoes in the pot were almost cooked. Steam was rising from the cracks in the lid, carrying a sweet aroma.

This is the fourth day that she has cooked for herself.

The stove went out twice in the first three days.

I undercooked the sweet potato once.

They even knocked a bowl off the stove.

But by the fourth day, she had figured it out—

First, lay down a layer of fine firewood as a base, then place the coarser pieces on top. Once the fire is lit, don't rush to add more firewood; wait until the fire is stable before adding more. Don't put too much water in the pot, or the food won't cook properly.

A four-and-a-half-year-old child.

She squatted in front of the stove, which was taller than her, and stood on tiptoe to reach the pot lid.

The chilblains on my hands cracked open, and my fingers were full of ash.

But his movements are very methodical—like a little adult.

Aunt Wang comes to visit every day.

They come once in the morning, once at noon, and sometimes even once in the afternoon.

Niannian always says the same thing—

"Grandma Wang, I'm fine. Please don't run back and forth, the road is slippery."

Aunt Wang couldn't persuade her otherwise, so she cooked an extra bowl of vegetable porridge in her own kitchen, brought it over and placed it on the stove, muttering, "How much nutrition can your sweet potato provide? At least have some porridge."

Niannian took the bowl and politely said thank you.

I never ask for an extra bite. After I finish eating, I wash the bowl and return it.

-

Gu Yanqiu would leave home before dawn and return only after dark.

Eleven miles of mountain road. Twenty-two miles round trip. A whole day spent carrying bricks in between.

When he returned, his cotton-padded coat was covered in dust and brick fragments.

The blisters on both hands burst and scabbed over, only to be rubbed raw again. Brownish-red brick dust seeped into the gaps between my fingers, impossible to wash clean no matter how hard I washed.

But the first thing he did upon returning wasn't to rest—

It means squatting down to look at Niannian's face and touching her forehead.

"Did you have a fever today?"

"It's not burning."

"How much did you eat?"

"Two sweet potatoes and a bowl of Grandma Wang's vegetable porridge."

Is that enough?

That's enough.

Gu Yanqiu nodded. He took out the handkerchief pouch from his bosom—it contained half a steamed bun, still warm from his body heat.

Niannian took it, broke it in half, and handed it back.

"Dad eats too."

Gu Yanqiu shook his head: "I already ate at the factory."

Niannian remained silent. She glanced down at the cross-section of the half-eaten steamed bun—neat and clean, without any teeth marks.

Dad didn't eat.

He skipped lunch.

Niannian put the half-eaten cornbread back into Gu Yanqiu's hand.

"I'm full. You eat."

The two pushed it back and forth twice, and finally each took half.

Niannian chewed her cornbread very slowly.

She looked at the fire in the stove, but her mind wasn't on the cornbread—it was on something else entirely.

-

In the afternoon, something strange happened.

Niannian was scattering corn kernels for the chickens in the yard—a task assigned to her by Wang Guifang, and no one in the village could say anything bad about it. Niannian knew exactly what was going on, but she did it anyway.

After scattering the corn, she turned and walked back.

As I approached the door of the dilapidated house, I almost tripped over something.

looked down-

There was a drab gray cloth bag outside the threshold.

Niannian squatted down and opened the cloth bag.

There were two boiled eggs inside. And a small handful of roasted peanuts.

The eggs were still warm. The peanuts were wrapped in an old newspaper, the oil seeping into the paper, and they smelled delicious.

Niannian's eyes twitched.

She didn't bring it inside immediately.

Instead, he stood up straight and slowly looked around.

There was no one in the yard.

The door to the main room was closed, and the faint sound of Wang Guifang coughing could be heard from inside. The curtains in the east wing room were drawn tightly shut.

Niannian's gaze swept towards the direction of the courtyard gate.

A figure was walking quickly away on the muddy road outside the courtyard gate.

His back was long and thin, and he wore a faded blue cotton-padded jacket. He walked with a slight hunch and his head was tilted to the side intentionally or unintentionally—as if he didn't want people to see his face.

But Nian Nian recognized that figure from behind.

Uncle.

Gu Yandong.

She had seen him twice. Once was on the third day of the Lunar New Year when he came back from the tractor station to pick up some things and briefly met Niannian in the yard. He glanced at her, said nothing, and turned to leave. The second time was on the sixth day; he came back to deliver a few pounds of firewood to the main room and stopped briefly as he passed the dilapidated house. Just one step. Then he left.

He didn't say anything either time.

But that cloth bag—Nian Nian knew it was him who put it there.

She recognized the smell of roasted peanuts—Gu Yandong had eaten peanuts in the main room on the third day of junior high, and that smoky smell came from a brick kiln, exactly the same as this one.

Niannian carried the cloth bag into the house and placed it on the stove.

She didn't make a fuss.

In this family, if good intentions are discovered, both the person who gave the good intentions and the person who received them will suffer misfortune.

Niannian has already understood this principle.

She hid the two eggs in a broken earthenware jar in the corner of the wall and put the peanuts in her cotton-padded jacket pocket.

Then she sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) and thought for a while.

My uncle is not a bad person.

But my uncle isn't someone I can rely on either.

He was caught in the middle—unable to help this side or that side. Secretly slipping a cloth bag in was already his limit.

Niannian kept this in mind.

-

What truly alerted Nian Nian was something else.

Gu Yanqiu had not returned that night.

Niannian huddled alone on the kang (a heated brick bed), wrapped in a thin, knotted cotton quilt. The fire in the stove had gone out, and the room was as cold as an icebox.

The wind whistled in through the cracks in the wall.

The door slammed shut in the wind.

Niannian rolled over—she was used to it. The door of the dilapidated house was loose, and it rattled whenever the wind blew.

But the second tone is incorrect.

It wasn't blown by the wind.

It was the sound of footsteps.

Soft, careful footsteps came from outside the door.

"Snap... snap... snap..."

Stepping on the frozen, hard mud, I stopped every few steps.

Niannian opened her eyes.

She didn't move.

My body remained still, and my breathing became gentle.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

Then--

"squeak--"

A very faint sound.

Someone poked the door open.

Niannian's heart began to race. But she remained silent.

She slowly, inch by inch, moved her body to the other side of the kang (a heated brick bed), close to the corner of the wall. Her hand touched the fire poker under the pillow—the one she had deliberately placed there during the day.

A four-and-a-half-year-old child, living alone in a dilapidated house, has already learned to leave himself a backup plan.

She gripped the fire poker, held her breath, and listened intently.

Outside the door crack—

There are breathing sounds.

Short, nasal breathing sounds.

It wasn't an adult's breathing.

Niannian's brows furrowed slightly.

She quietly got off the kang (a heated brick bed)—barefoot on the cold mud floor, and slowly moved to the door panel.

She peered through the crack in the door—

In the dim moonlight outside, a teenager's profile was pressed against the door panel.

Gu Mingyuan.

He crouched down, his hands pressed against the door, his head tilted to the side, and one eye peering through the crack in the door.

Niannian and his eyes almost met—she quickly pulled her head back.

My heart was pounding.

She slowly leaned closer for another look.

Gu Mingyuan peered into the room. His gaze wasn't on the kang (a heated brick bed)—it was on the stove.

It's on the stove where you put the bowl.

In the corner near the stove.

Niannian's pupils contracted slightly.

She remembered something—

My father's five-cent bill was under his pillow.

The cloth bag left by my mother was hidden in the brick hole under the stove.

Gu Mingyuan didn't come here to cause trouble for her.

He came to gather information.

Who are you asking for information on?

Niannian didn't make a sound or open the door. She retreated back onto the kang (a heated brick bed), covered her head with the quilt, and hugged the fire poker to her chest.

The footsteps outside faded away after a while, making a "clack-clack-clack" sound.

Niannian kept her eyes open in the darkness.

Those eyes shone like two cold lights in the darkness.

She was thinking—

Gu Mingyuan has come to see it more than once.

She also heard a noise the night before last—at the time she thought it was the wind.

Looking back now, those were footsteps.

A nine-year-old child, staying up late at night, ran to the dilapidated second room and peeked through the crack in the door—

It wasn't his own idea.

Someone instructed them to do it.

Who ordered it?

Nian Nian closed her eyes.

The last spark in the stove went out, and the room went completely dark.

But she had a name in her mind—

It's very bright.

-