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

The morning Gu Yanqiu left, it was still dark.

Niannian stood at the door of the dilapidated house, her small figure swaying in the cold wind.

Her cotton-padded jacket collar was turned up, and her hands were tucked into her sleeves.

The white breath he exhaled swirled in the dim light of the kerosene lamp before dissipating.

Gu Yanqiu squatted down in front of her, cupping her face in his hands—those hands, calloused and scarred, were as rough as two pieces of sandpaper.

But it felt very light on Niannian's face.

"Dad will be back in three months."

"Um."

"Listen to Grandma Wang."

"Um."

"Don't talk back to your grandma."

Niannian's lips twitched slightly. She didn't say "hmm"—nor did she say no.

Gu Yanqiu knew her daughter's temperament.

He pulled a paper package from his pocket.

turn on.

There was five yuan inside—he had saved up from carrying bricks for more than two weeks.

"Keep this safe." He stuffed the paper package into the inside pocket of Niannian's cotton-padded jacket. "Keep it safe—don't let your grandma see it. If there's an emergency, go find Aunt Wang."

Niannian looked down at her pocket, then looked up again.

"dad."

"Um."

"Study hard in the training course. Don't think about me."

The four-and-a-half-year-old child said this without any expression on his face.

But her eyelashes were trembling.

Gu Yanqiu pulled Niannian into his arms and hugged her tightly.

Then he stood up, slung an old canvas bag over his shoulder, and turned to leave.

After taking a few steps, I looked back.

Niannian stood at the door.

The light shone through the crack in the door behind her, casting her small, thin shadow onto the muddy ground of the yard.

It is long and thin, like a small tree without leaves.

She didn't cry.

She waved at Gu Yanqiu.

Gu Yanqiu's Adam's apple bobbed violently.

He turned around and strode away.

He never looked back.

-

The first day after Gu Yanqiu left.

Everything is as usual.

Niannian ate a bowl of corn porridge at Aunt Wang's house in the morning, and cooked two sweet potatoes at noon when she returned to her dilapidated house. In the afternoon, she fed the chickens, cleaned the yard, and practiced calligraphy with a twig in front of the stove.

the next day.

As usual.

Wang Guifang didn't cause her any trouble—perhaps Cheng Tiezhu had given her a heads-up before leaving.

But on the third day, things began to change.

In the morning, as Niannian was sweeping the yard with a broom, Wang Guifang poked half her body out of the main room.

"Feed—"

She doesn't even call me by my name.

"Shovel the chicken coop's manure. It stinks so bad it's giving me a headache."

Niannian picked up a broom and walked to the chicken coop.

The chicken coop was in the northwest corner of the yard, with three crooked wooden stakes surrounding a tattered mat.

The ground inside was covered in a mixture of chicken droppings and straw, making it sticky to walk on.

A strong, sour and pungent smell made one's stomach churn.

Niannian found a shovel—the shovel was taller than her.

Holding the shovel handle with both hands, she shoveled the chicken droppings into the bamboo basket, one shovelful at a time.

The shovel was too heavy. Her arms couldn't support it—with each shovelful, she staggered forward a step.

After shoveling more than half a basket, my arms were sore and trembling.

But she didn't stop.

After shoveling the chicken manure, the ground was covered with dry straw again.

Then she came back with a broom and continued sweeping the yard.

After sweeping the yard, I went to fetch water.

After returning from fetching water—

Sun Xiufen stood at the door of the east wing, holding a pile of clothes in her arms.

"Nian Nian".

Sun Xiufen's voice was sickeningly sweet—a sweetness that was laced with thorns.

"Xiaohe has had diarrhea for the past few days, and several of her clothes are dirty—could you help her wash them?"

My cousin Gu Xiaohe's clothes.

The five-year-old girl's clothes—but not just one. There were four or five. There was also a pair of cotton-padded trousers—with a large yellowish patch on the crotch.

Niannian glanced at the pile of clothes.

He didn't frown.

"it is good."

She picked up her clothes and walked to the well.

The well water was icy cold. In January, the well water felt like a knife cutting into your hand when you put it in.

Niannian already had frostbite on her hands, and her cracked fingers were in excruciating pain when they touched ice water.

But she rubbed them one by one.

They rubbed for almost an hour.

After rubbing them, they were neatly stacked and hung to dry on the wire in the yard.

Sun Xiufen stood behind the window of the east wing, watching all of this.

She waited for Niannian to make a scene. She waited for her to cry. She waited for her to say, "Why should I?"

But Nian Nian didn't say anything.

Every piece of clothing was washed clean.

He even rubbed the yellow stain on the crotch of his cotton trousers until there wasn't a trace left.

Sun Xiufen frowned.

It's not because we found fault with it—it's because we couldn't find fault with it.

What she fears most is this: if you can't find the fault, you can't lash out.

In the afternoon, Gu Xiaohe, wearing her new cotton-padded coat, strolled around in front of Niannian.

The new red cotton-padded jacket with small floral patterns was made by Wang Guifang for her granddaughter using fabric coupons she had saved up for half a year.

"Sister Niannian—look at my new clothes! Aren't they pretty?"

Niannian raised her head and glanced at it.

"It looks really good," she said.

He paused for a moment.

"It looks especially good on you."

Gu Xiaohe ran off happily.

Sun Xiufen heard this from behind the window, and her lips twitched slightly.

She couldn't tell whether it was sarcasm or not.

But her intuition told her something was wrong.

A four-and-a-half-year-old child—who had been bullied, bossed around, and treated like a servant—showed not a trace of resentment on his face.

The things they do are flawless. The things they say are irrefutable.

This is a hundred times worse than throwing a tantrum.

-

at night.

Niannian huddled alone on the kang (a heated brick bed).

The dilapidated house was pitch black, and the fire in the stove had gone out.

cold.

It was so cold it felt like tiny insects were crawling in my bones.

She wrapped the knotted thin blanket tighter around herself.

He pulled something out of the inside pocket of his cotton-padded coat.

a photo.

A photo of Song Wanqing.

It's black and white. The paper is curled at the edges, and there's a tear stain the size of a fingernail in the upper right corner—

That was taken when she first saw the photo at Zhao Fengying's house.

The woman in the photo is very young. She has arched eyebrows, long braids, and two dimples when she smiles.

Niannian stuck the photo to her chest.

"Mother."

Her voice was very, very soft. So soft that even her own ears felt like she was listening to someone else speak.

"Dad went to learn a new skill. Once he's mastered it... we'll have better days ahead."

As she spoke, her eyes reddened.

I held back for a moment.

I didn't shed a tear.

"You're watching over Niannian from heaven. Niannian is very good. She washed a lot of clothes today. Her hands hurt a little—but I didn't cry."

She lowered her head and looked at the photo.

The light from the kerosene lamp was too dim—the facial features in the photograph were so blurry they were almost invisible.

But I remember it vividly.

She remembers every single line.

Curved eyebrows. Long braids. Dimples when she smiles.

"Mother……"

His voice trembled slightly.

I miss you so much.

Tears finally fell.

Silent.

A drop of liquid stained the photo, spreading out in a small circle on Song Wanqing's smiling face.

Niannian quickly wiped the photo with her sleeve and carefully put it back into her inner pocket.

She covered her head with the blanket.

I cried for a long time under the covers.

I'm done crying.

I rubbed my eyes vigorously with the back of my hand.

He rolled over.

Close your eyes.

Before she closed her eyes—her lips moved silently.

That was a sentence that only she could hear.

"Tomorrow—I have to get up early to feed the chickens."

-

On the other side of the courtyard wall.

Sun Xiufen sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) in the east wing and took something out of the kang cabinet.

A wire.

Thin wire bent into a hook shape.

She examined it for two seconds under the oil lamp, then put it back.

Then she looked up and gazed out the window—in the dark direction beyond the dilapidated house.

The corners of her mouth slowly curved into a smile.

That was a calculated, confident bend.

Gu Yanqiu is not home.

Thinking of someone.

Some things—it's time to get started.

-