Chapter 2

Chapter 2

My mother looked so beautiful in her final sleep. In her youth, she had been an elegant courtesan whose music moved all of Jiangnan; young lords from wealthy families would vie for her attention, showering her with countless bolts of red silk as tips.

But she never got to drink my chicken soup-the soup I had gone through so much trouble to find, the soup she had yearned for even as she passed. It took all my strength just to close her eyes.

My mother lived a bitter life. Sold at eight years old, her parents had sent her away for nothing more than a bowl of chicken soup. Yet she always said that the time before she turned eight was what she missed most; back then, she was still free, and a little hunger was a small price to pay.

Later, when her fame was known throughout the land, she fell for my father, a penniless scholar. She gave him her entire fortune to fund his studies, his imperial exams, and the bribes needed to grease the wheels of bureaucracy.

She had a keen eye; my father did indeed earn a place on the golden rolls and rose steadily through the ranks.

And yet, she was blind. She went from wife to concubine, then from concubine to a lowly servant-concubine. In the end, she died on a tattered mat in this drafty, dilapidated alleyway.

Even so, why? Why was she denied even that final sip of soup? I had sacrificed the only thing I had-something that would have broken her heart to know-just to get that soup for her!

Someone had to be held responsible, didn’t they? Someone like the man who played with me like a toy, making me catch a chicken and cook the soup myself just to waste time.

I wiped away my tears and pulled the wooden hairpin from my mother’s hair. I sharpened it to a fine point, tucked it back into my own hair, and walked into that small restaurant once more.

I timed it perfectly, entering just as the last customers were leaving and he was cleaning up. When he saw me, a flash of surprise crossed his eyes, followed by a restless, predatory agitation.

This time, I was much more proactive. I was so forward that he lost himself in the moment, a stream of foul, vulgar words pouring from his mouth. At the peak of his hideous expression, I suddenly pulled out the hairpin and thrust it into his throat with every ounce of my strength.

Just as the blood was about to spray, his hand clamped down on mine. He grinned at me with a sneer. “You little bitch, trying to play me? You’re still a bit too green.”

I closed my eyes in despair. Heaven had failed me once again.

Suddenly, a thick wooden club swung down. His throat crashed directly into my wooden hairpin. A sickening squelch echoed in my ears as his carotid artery was punctured. Warm, foul-smelling blood stained my face, while the mocking expression on his face didn’t even have time to change.

It was that little girl.

I shoved the bloated, dead weight off me and onto the floor. I doubled over, vomiting until I was breathless, tears and snot streaming down my face. It was as if my body had only just realized how much I had lost in a mere two days.

As for the little girl, she swung the club down upon that pile of stench-ridden flesh again and again. Each blow was heavier than the last, until the beast was a bloody pulp, his features mangled beyond recognition.

When she finally grew tired, she slumped to the ground, dazed. The face that had remained expressionless since we met now showed a profound, deep sorrow. It started as a low whimper, then turned into a deluge of tears, and finally, a gut-wrenching wail.

She scrambled on all fours to the base of the tree and gently stroked the trunk, murmuring, “Good girl, my sweet girl. Don’t be afraid anymore. We never have to be afraid again. Big sister has avenged you. He’ll go to the eighteenth level of hell and never be reborn; he can never hurt you again.”

Among the white bones beneath that tree lay an eleven-year-old girl. Her name was Tian Xiaoya, the only younger sister of Tian Daya.

In a world on the brink of collapse, humans are more terrifying than ghosts.