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

"That's all..."

Niannian squatted in the corner of the kang (a heated brick bed), feeling around under the straw mat with both hands again and again.

empty.

There was nothing there.

That oilcloth bag—my mother's letter, my mother's photo, and thirty-seven yuan and fifty cents—

Gone.

Niannian's fingers froze in the empty crevice.

Her face was deathly pale.

In that instant, her heart tightened, and she couldn't breathe.

She didn't cry.

There was no shouting or yelling.

She took a deep breath. And another.

Then she stood up and started looking at the ground.

door.

Door lock.

The lock on the dilapidated house was an old-fashioned bolt lock—the bolt was inserted into an iron ring on the door frame, and a brass clasp lock hung on the outside. Gu Yanqiu had specifically replaced it before leaving; there were only two keys:

One was in Niannian's hand, and the other was with Aunt Wang.

Niannian walked to the door.

Squat down.

The bolt is still inside the iron ring—but in the wrong position.

Every day when she locks the door, the end of the bolt faces right—that's her habit, because when she carries the bucket of water in her right hand, she pushes the bolt to the right.

The tail end of the bolt is now facing left.

Someone opened the lock from the outside and then locked it again. But the bolt was inserted backwards.

Niannian's gaze shifted downwards.

There were muddy footprints on the threshold.

It's faint—it's been touched by someone, the mark isn't deep, but it's noticeable.

They are a pair of adult cloth shoes.

The sole has a horizontal stripe pattern—a multi-layered sole.

Niannian's gaze followed the muddy footprints to the doorway—the footprints stretched seven or eight steps from the threshold to the muddy ground outside, then dried in the wind and became indistinct.

But the direction—

Heading east.

The direction of the east wing.

Niannian stood at the door.

The wind blew in from the mountain gully, making her dry, yellow hair stick to her forehead.

Her lips were pressed tightly together into a line.

She did not go to her uncle's house.

He did not go to see Wang Guifang.

There was no crying. There was no fuss.

She turned and jogged out of the courtyard gate, heading towards the east end of the village.

-

Cheng Tiezhu was taking stock of the accounts in the brigade headquarters office.

With the first month of the lunar calendar over, the production team needed to make arrangements for spring plowing ahead of time. A large red sheet of paper was spread on the table, covered with densely written work points and food ration plans for each household.

"Knock knock knock—"

knocking.

Light. Low. The knock was made on the lower half of the door panel.

Cheng Tiezhu looked up: "Who?"

The door opened.

Niannian stood at the door.

The four-and-a-half-year-old girl's face was red from the cold, and a snotty dandruff stick from her nose. Her cotton-padded jacket was covered in chicken droppings and bits of straw.

But her eyes—

Clear and bright. No tears. No panic.

Uncle Cheng.

Niannian called him "uncle"—not "grandpa." She knew the proper generational order. Cheng Tiezhu was her father's peer, so according to the village custom, she should be called "uncle."

"Niannian? What brings you here? Isn't your father...?"

"My dad went to a training class." Niannian walked in and stood in front of the table.

She pursed her lips, then said, word by word—

"Uncle Cheng, my mother's belongings have been stolen."

Cheng Tiezhu stopped writing.

"What?"

"The things my mother left me: letters, photos, and money. Wrapped in oilcloth, they were hidden under the straw mat on my kang (heated brick bed). I went to Grandma Wang's house for breakfast this morning, and when I came back, they were gone."

She spoke clearly and logically. She described the time, place, where it was hidden, when it was discovered, and what was lost.

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

Cheng Tiezhu put down his pen and leaned forward slightly.

"Do you know who took it?"

Niannian did not answer directly.

She said—

"The door lock had been opened from the outside. There were muddy footprints on the threshold. Cloth shoes with thick soles. The footprints went east."

Cheng Tiezhu's face darkened.

Heading east.

The east wing of the Gu family's house is on the east side.

Sun Xiufen lives there.

Are you sure?

"I'm sure the bolt is inserted in the wrong direction. I always insert it to the right, but someone changed it to the left." Niannian paused after saying this.

Then she added another sentence.

"Uncle Cheng, those things aren't worth much money. But they belong to my mother."

Her voice trembled slightly when she said the words "my mother".

It only trembled slightly.

Then things stabilized.

Cheng Tiezhu stared at Niannian for five seconds.

He had been the brigade leader for over a decade, witnessing petty theft, feuds between sisters-in-law, and even family divisions escalating to the point of tearing down roofs. But a four-and-a-half-year-old girl ran up to him and described the details of a burglary scene more clearly than the commune's security officer—

He had never seen this before.

"Let's go." Cheng Tiezhu stood up, picked up the brigade's official seal from the table—it was his habit when he went out on business; he would put the seal in his pocket to represent the brigade's authority.

He walked out of his office and shouted into the next room:

"Old Sun! Come with me!"

Accountant Sun poked half his head out from next door, looking completely bewildered: "What's up?"

"To the Gu family."

-

When Cheng Tiezhu led Lao Sun into the Gu family's courtyard, Wang Guifang was picking chives in the main room.

Seeing the brigade leader's expression, the old woman's fingers trembled, and the chives fell onto the kang (a heated brick bed).

"Tiezhu? What's wrong?"

"Just a routine check." Cheng Tiezhu's tone was indifferent, but he didn't stop walking—heading straight for the east wing.

Hearing the commotion in the courtyard, Sun Xiufen came out of the east wing.

His expression changed for a split second—only for a split second.

Then she laughed.

"Uncle Cheng is here? Come in and sit down—I'll boil some water—"

"No need." Cheng Tiezhu stood in front of the east wing.

He glanced at Sun Xiufen.

That glance—it wasn't from someone just dropping by.

"Xiufen, I have a question for you. Answer it carefully."

Sun Xiufen's smile froze on her face.

"Something went missing from Yanqiu's room. Did you know?"

"Something's gone?" Sun Xiufen's eyes darted around—so quickly it was almost imperceptible. "What is it? I don't know. Uncle Cheng, you can't wrongly accuse me—"

"No one is wronging you." Cheng Tiezhu's voice wasn't loud, but it was firm. "I'll go in and take a look."

Before Sun Xiufen could speak, he stepped into the east wing.

Sun Xiufen, her face ashen, followed behind—

"Uncle Cheng—really, there isn't anything—please don't go through the child's things—clothes—"

Cheng Tiezhu squatted down and looked around.

The east wing is much better than the dilapidated house.

A thick quilt was laid on the kang (a heated brick bed), and there was a red-lacquered cabinet in the corner.

Several white porcelain bowls were stacked on the stove.

Cheng Tiezhu's gaze fell on the kang cabinet.

He opened the door of the kang cabinet—inside were stacks of clothes, quilt covers, and several cloth bundles.

Turn to the second floor—nothing.

Turn to the third floor—

His hand reached into the gap in the plywood at the bottom of the kang cabinet—

There was nothing there.

Sun Xiufen's breathing eased slightly.

But Cheng Tiezhu did not stop.

He stood up and looked around.

His gaze fell towards the end of the kang (a heated brick bed).

There's a brick at the end of the kang (heated brick bed) that protrudes slightly from the others. You wouldn't notice it unless you looked closely.

That's the entrance to the kang (heated brick bed).

In rural areas, the kang (heated brick bed) is hollow—heat circulates inside the kang hole, used for keeping warm in winter. But the kang hole also has another use—for storing things.

Cheng Tiezhu squatted down, gripped the protruding brick with his fingers, and pulled it outward.

The bricks have loosened.

Pull it out.

A surge of heat rose from the kang (heated brick bed) hole—carrying the smell of tobacco ash and earthy odor.

Cheng Tiezhu reached in.

I touched it.

An oilcloth bag.

He dragged out the oilcloth bundle.

turn on.

in--

Three letters. Neatly folded.

A black and white photograph. A woman with arched eyebrows, long braids, and dimples when she smiles.

A stack of money.

Cheng Tiezhu counted them one by one.

Thirty-seven yuan and fifty cents.

Not a penny less.

Niannian stood at the door of the east wing.

Her eyes remained fixed on the oilcloth bag.

The moment Cheng Tiezhu took out the photo—Nian Nian's lips trembled slightly.

It only shook once.

Cheng Tiezhu turned around and looked at Sun Xiufen.

Sun Xiufen's face—had lost all color.

White. Gray. Like a crumpled old newspaper.

"Xiufen." Cheng Tiezhu's voice wasn't just "indifferent"—it was "cold." "What do you have to say?"

"I...I don't...this isn't me..." Sun Xiufen took a step back, her lips trembling as she couldn't form a coherent sentence.

"Not you? The thing was in your kang (heated brick bed) stove, who else could it be but you?"

Wang Guifang rushed over upon hearing the noise—standing at the door of the east wing, she saw the oilcloth package in Cheng Tiezhu's hand and Sun Xiufen's expression.

The old lady opened her mouth slightly.

He didn't make a sound.

Gu Yanchun also arrived.

He stood behind Wang Guifang—still maintaining the airs of a militia captain, but his expression was shifty.

Cheng Tiezhu handed the oilcloth package to Niannian.

Niannian took it and hugged it in her arms.

They held each other tightly.

"Uncle Cheng," Niannian said softly.

"Um."

"thank you."

Cheng Tiezhu looked at Niannian's face—a pale, thin face with prominent cheekbones.

And those clear, bright eyes that didn't belong to a four-year-old child.

He turned to Gu Yanchun.

"Yan Chun".

Gu Yanchun's body stiffened for a moment.

Cheng Tiezhu's voice was like a solid iron plate—

"Stealing. You know better than I what that means in the brigade."

Gu Yanchun's lips twitched.

He raised his hand—

He slapped Sun Xiufen across the face.

"Snap—"

A crisp sound.

Sun Xiufen's head was tilted to one side, and half of her face quickly swelled up.

"Look what you've done!" Gu Yanchun's voice was both urgent and annoyed—but it sounded more like an act.

Cheng Tiezhu watched as Gu Yanchun finished slapping him.

He didn't speak.

But his eyes were always on Gu Yanchun.

They see things very deeply.

How could someone who has been a brigade leader for over a decade not see through any performance?

That slap was loud.

But his eyes—revealed guilt.

Did Sun Xiufen do this all by herself?

Or did the couple decide on this beforehand?

even--

Cheng Tiezhu's gaze swept over Wang Guifang, who was standing at the very back.

The old lady showed no surprise.

Not a single bit.

Cheng Tiezhu took all of this into account.

He turned and left.

He stopped at the gate of the courtyard.

There was no turning back.

"This time—pretend I didn't see it. Next time—"

He swallowed the rest of his sentence.

The footsteps faded into the distance.

The yard was so quiet you could hear the chickens pawing at the ground.

Nian Nian, carrying the oilcloth bag, walked back to the dilapidated house.

Close the door.

Leaning against the door.

Slowly open the oilcloth package.

Faith—is there.

The photo is in.

Money—is there.

She put the photo on her face.

Close your eyes.

Tears seeped from her closed eyes, silently streaming down her thin cheekbones.

But it only flowed for a few seconds.

She opened her eyes.

Put the photo back into the oilcloth bag.

Wrap the oilcloth tightly.

This time—she didn't hide under the kang (heated brick bed).

She wrapped the oilcloth inside her close-fitting undergarment—tie it close to her stomach, and carried it with her wherever she went.

From today onwards—I will never leave this thing behind.

-

Beyond the courtyard wall, in the east wing.

Sun Xiufen sat on the kang (a heated brick bed) with her face covered, sobbing uncontrollably—but beneath her tears were a pair of eyes filled with resentment and malice, almost green with malice.

Gu Yanchun stood in front of the window, with his back to her.

The two remained silent for a long time.

Finally—it was Gu Yanchun who spoke first.

The voice was kept extremely low.

With a tone that was hard to tell whether it was annoyance or calculation—

"Your hands are too rough. You need to use a different method for this kind of thing."

Sun Xiufen's crying paused for a moment.

She looked up.

The couple's eyes met in the dimly lit room.

In the courtyard outside the east wing, the wind rustled the dry corn stalks.

On the distant mountain ridges, the sun was sinking—burning half the sky blood red.

The color was like molten iron, poured onto the rooftops of Chengjiawan.

In Wangjia Village, northeast of Chengjiawan—beyond two mountain ridges—

A dilapidated carriage was being harnessed to a mule in the yard.

Three people were sitting on the platform.

The leader was Wang Erzhu.

A middle-aged man with a limp, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

His face was covered in thick, fleshy patches.

The fifteenth day of the first lunar month.

Arrived.