Family

In the first year after my divorce, I announced my retirement from the scene.

Everyone said I had gone mad after being abandoned by Lu Xiao.

Until one day, a Wish Blogger’s video shot to the top of the trending searches.

My video was split into seven episodes.

Those were the last fragments of my life, flashing by like a carousel.

The title of the first episode was:

[By the time you see this video, I will already be gone.]

On the day I confessed to my crush, I suddenly discovered that I was just cannon fodder in a novel.

A sudden System notification informed me that the man standing before me was the Male Lead.

The plot was about to kick off, and the Female Lead would soon be making her grand entrance.

It was destiny; I was fated to be nothing more than a background character.

Suddenly, my rebellious streak flared up.

Before anyone could react, I leaned in and planted a loud kiss right on the Male Lead’s cheek.

Both the System and the Male Lead were frozen in shock.

Two years into our marriage, I finally became pregnant.

But then my husband brought home an eight-year-old girl.

That girl called him “Dad.”

My son was being pestered by another boy.

The teacher called and asked me to come to the school.

When I arrived, he shouted at me for the first time. “Mom, what’s wrong with me liking boys?”

I looked at him, feeling neither anger nor resentment.

I crouched down and asked him in a low voice, “Then how can you be sure that you like boys?”

After I entered the horror game, my severe nearsightedness made everything blurry.

I treated the Blood-Dress Ghost Loli as my own daughter, cherished the Big Boss as my husband, and honored the Old Weirdness as my parents.

The first time we met, I grabbed the Big Boss’s abs and exclaimed:

“Great physique, but it’s a pity you’re a bit short.”

The Big Boss laughed angrily, reattached the severed head to his neck, and ground his teeth:

“I’m 1.86 meters tall. Take another look now?”

I am a Bone Demon, trapped for countless years within that cold, desolate graveyard.

No one can see me, and no one can hear me. I have spent centuries in solitary silence.

Until one midsummer, when the sun was shining just right.

A young girl came to sweep the graves, but she mistakenly offered her tributes to me.

I took a bite of a crisp peach and said, “Truly sweet.”

She froze for a moment, then covered her mouth and stifled a giggle.

“Next year, I’ll come again.”

True to her word, she returned year after year, bringing me crisp peaches every time.

Later, she died, and her remains were carelessly tossed into the graveyard.

Her five-year-old daughter, clutching the hand of a younger brother who had only just learned to walk, came to the graveyard day and night to wail for their mother.

I couldn’t stand the noise.

I possessed her body, crawled out from the straw mat, and clumsily gathered those two little brats into my arms.

“Keep crying, and Mother will eat you.”

On the night of February 2, 2011, my daughter was lured to a park under the guise of a part-time job.

There, she was raped and her body was discarded. At least three people were involved in the assault, but the killers were never found.

On New Year’s Eve, 2026, I prepared a table full of poisoned food and looked at my daughter’s photograph. “It’s been fifteen years, and I still haven’t found the people who destroyed you.

I don’t want to spend another New Year without you. I’m coming down to join you now.”

As the poison began to take effect, I set down my chopsticks and leaned over the table, retching. Just then, my phone rang.

When I answered, a familiar voice came from the other end: “Dad, I’m at the park. Wait for me, I’ll be home soon.”

I am a Zombie.

Early in the morning, my mom burst into my room, yanked open the curtains, and, wearing an apron and brandishing a spatula, shouted at me: “Still sleeping? Stayed up late again last night, didn’t you? I’ve told you to spend less time on your phone-are you deaf?”

I got up slowly. She glanced out the window and said, “Look at Xiao He next door-how many brains have they eaten already? And you’re still waiting here, waiting for me to feed you, is that it? Get out!”

I was really annoyed, but couldn’t say anything. I mechanically washed my face and got ready to go out and hide for a bit, but my mom said again, “Take your bag! And bring back some groceries from the supermarket: cabbage, celery, lettuce, and pork. Make sure it’s fresh!”

“Oh, and don’t eat the brains on the ground, too many germs…”

…

Do you know what it feels like to be diagnosed with a terminal illness at such a young age?

A year ago, on a whim, I told my wife a story.

Because the content was bizarre and the details were too realistic, she was scared out of her wits.

Afterwards, I deeply regretted it and emphasized countless times that the story was made up. But her trust in me had already collapsed, and the look in her eyes was filled with fear.

That night, she ran into the bathroom, locked the door, and called the police.

As a result, I ended up in jail.

Now, I am sorting out the whole incident as follows.