The year I turned seventeen, my wealthy birth parents brought me home.
They hemmed and hawed before saying, “You also have a twin brother and a younger sister, but they…”
Judging by their attitude, I understood at once.
My brother and sister probably weren’t going to welcome me.
But in the next second, the door was pushed open, and a flamboyant figure strode in.
His hair was dyed a bright red, and he said with cheerful swagger, “So this is my little sis, huh? I dyed my hair red just to celebrate you coming home. Festive enough for you?”
Behind him followed a little girl with side-swept bangs, holding pomelo leaves, a peachwood sword, and yellow talismans.
“Sis, I got these from a master specially for you. They’ve even been consecrated. They’ll drive away all your bad luck!”
“…”
Every family has its own difficult story. Mine had two volumes.
