Chapter 4: These Two Mother and Daughter Have Rebelled Against the Heavens

Wang Aixian was stunned.

The pork butcher Zhu Lao’er? She thought it was some mad dog barking in her house!

Wait a second—why did Zhu Lao’er bring his two towering, cold-faced sons too? That setup was downright scary.

Looking closer, ah, turns out it was that little tramp Lin Xiaqing who’d gone and fetched reinforcements. She was hiding behind the Zhu men like the commanding general of a well-planned army.

The sun was about to set. According to the original plan, her daughter-in-law and grandson should be returning soon. But now, seeing Lin Xiaqing—who was supposed to have been sold to a neighboring county—Wang Aixian knew something had gone wrong.

Even though she was guilty inside, Wang Aixian still put on a fierce face and spoke over them with aggression:
“Zhu Er, the older you get, the less manners you have! Calling me Wang Aixian, Wang Aixian—don’t you know calling people by name shortens your own life?”

Zhu Er spat a mouthful of phlegm on the ground. “Peh! You old hag—do you even deserve respect?!”

Lin Shumei, who was like a human firecracker, instantly exploded. She grabbed a pair of fire tongs and swung them at Zhu Er.
“You stinking pig! What’s this got to do with you? Mind your own damn business!”

Zhu’s eldest son whacked the fire tongs out of her hand with a stick, and by sheer (bad) luck, they hit the water blister on her hand again. Lin Shumei yelped like she was being exorcised.

Zhu Er cast a look of approval at his son and turned to Wang Aixian with a grim expression.
“This isn’t your business? The meat you two are stewing in that pot is the pork I brought to Chun Jin this morning to nourish her body. And that jar of snow-white lard—I rendered it myself. You think I wouldn’t recognize my own stuff? You’re worse than a bandit, bullying a widow and her daughter. Aren’t you afraid you’ll be cooked in oil down in hell?”

No wonder! Wang Aixian had assumed Qiao Chun Jin was secretly hoarding money. When she went to the old house at noon, she’d been shocked—there was a tricycle, pork, lard… She’d thought Chun Jin had been faking poverty, maybe even faking illness.

But now she realized—it had been Zhu Er who gifted them all that.

That slab of premium pork belly was the kind that neighbors said you had to bribe Zhu Er with a pack of cigarettes just to get a piece of. Clearly, he was sweet on the little widow and eager to become Lin Xiaqing’s stepfather!

Wang Aixian sneered, “My son Shushan is far away in Xinjiang, not even dead yet, and you, Zhu Lao’er, are already trying to put a green hat on him? Shameless! You little tramp—open your eyes! Your surname is Lin, not Zhu! Running to call Zhu Er ‘Dad,’ are you so desperate for a father?!”

Arguing with shameless shrews, the best strategy is not to justify yourself but to hit back just as hard. Lin Xiaqing folded her arms and chuckled coldly.
“What was your dead husband’s surname again? Do Lin Shuliang and Lin Shumei even remember who their real father is? In all these years, have you ever gone to his grave with a single stick of incense?”

She dusted off her shoulders with casual elegance. “Who’s the real ungrateful white-eyed wolf here?”

Lin Shumei hated being reminded she was adopted. Her whole life, she had suffered for not being born into this family—her older brother was the only son and thus the favorite, her younger sister was the biological daughter of their stepfather and the pride of the family. Meanwhile, she was a leftover from her mother’s previous marriage, renamed awkwardly to fit in, always the ignored middle child.

Her gums clenched in fury. When did this little tramp Lin Xiaqing get so sharp-tongued?

Turns out the quietest dog bites the hardest. This girl used to tremble and stammer if you just raised your voice at her—now look at her!

Lin Shumei was livid and lunged to tear Lin Xiaqing’s mouth apart—but the Zhu men stood like iron walls in front of her, defending Lin Xiaqing like she was made of gold.

She shouted, “Mom! We were fooled! Qiao Chun Jin’s been sneaking around with a man, eating meat every day, and this little tramp’s got a poisonous tongue sharp as a knife! These two women have turned the world upside down!”

Lin Xiaqing was laughing from sheer outrage. “I’d say it’s you people who’ve turned the heavens upside down!”

If not for seeking justice for the original owner, Lin Xiaqing wouldn’t have even bothered wasting her breath on such disgusting people—selfish, bitter, and vicious.

She roared back,
“Open your filthy eyes! This house carries the Lin name. It was built brick by brick by my grandfather Lin Jiahan and my late grandmother! And you, Wang Aixian, and your two thankless mongrel children—you’re nothing but greedy vultures feeding off someone else’s life’s work! You even had the nerve to drive out your family’s true bloodline and pretend this is your rightful home!”

What kind of world is this?

Lin Xiaqing’s heart was cold. Good people died with no one to mourn them, while the villains feasted on stolen meat.

She didn’t want to drag this out. It was getting dark. No streetlights in this era—if they stayed too long, the road home would be dangerous.

Her voice turned icy.
“You’re all perfectly able-bodied adults. Want a good life? Work for it. Stop always picking on the easy targets. I’m warning you now—if any of you so much as dare to lay a finger on my mother or me again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

She had plenty of ways to deal with this bunch. From now on, they’d walk separate paths. She’d see to it.

Wang Aixian’s eyes bulged in disbelief. This meek little girl—daring to talk back like this?! She felt like the chick had jumped on the roof and was ready to tear the house apart.

Just as she was about to retort, Lin Xiaqing’s cold, fierce eyes froze her in place.

Such a terrifying gaze!

Wang Aixian had no words for it. It wasn’t just scary—it had the authority of someone powerful. Just a glance made people feel instinctively guilty, like they’d looked directly into the sun.

She suddenly got chills. This wasn’t just a teenage girl she was dealing with—it felt like something far older and wiser was inside her.

Lin Shumei was also taken aback. This wasn’t the usual weak little girl who cried over every scolding. She looked like she’d undergone a complete transformation—if someone told her this girl had secretly cultivated into a spirit in the old house, she’d believe it. Like mother, like daughter—fox spirits, the both of them.

“Qingmei, we’ll handle these two shrews,” said Zhu Chenggang. “You go get back what’s yours. If they say one word, I’ll break their hands and feet.”

Zhu Chengtie gripped his thick cudgel and glared at Lin Shumei. “Trying to run, stinking woman?!”

Lin Shumei shrieked curses so loudly it felt like the roof would cave in. But Lin Xiaqing ignored her. She was mentally listing the items her mother told her to retrieve: the Eight Immortals table, benches, a thermos, a cotton quilt from last winter, an old camphorwood trunk with wedding dresses…

Most of the clothes had already been divided up by the family. As she searched the rooms, she finally saw her own reflection clearly for the first time in a dressing mirror.

Even knowing she’d inherited her mother’s stunning looks, Lin Xiaqing was still startled by how beautiful she was—delicate, refined, with a rare kind of clarity.

She thought: in a few more years, when the baby fat fades, this face will be lethal. And dangerous. Beauty is a double-edged sword.

She swept every piece of clothing from Wang Aixian and Wang Yumei’s closets, loaded them into the cart Zhu Er brought, and headed for the kitchen.

To her surprise, the Zhu brothers had already packed up the pot of braised pork into an aluminum container. Zhu Chenggang carried it proudly, while Zhu Chengtie clutched the nearly empty jar of lard.

In this era, pork fat was as precious as gold. But Wang Aixian, using stolen goods, had splurged it all on a single stew.

Zhu Chengtie was fuming. He pointed at a bag of freshly milled flour. “That lard’s missing a huge scoop. They owe us. We’ll take the flour as payment!”

Lin Xiaqing nodded. “Agreed. That bag will do.”

Wang Aixian and Lin Shumei had already learned not to resist. The Zhu brothers had nearly dislocated their arms earlier—now they could only watch helplessly as the flour was taken.

Just as Lin Xiaqing was about to leave, a sudden image flashed through her mind. Her brows furrowed, and she instinctively grabbed a ladle.

She scooped up a big helping of stove ash and dumped it into the pot that still had greasy meat juice.

On New Year’s Eve, this body had been whipped until it couldn’t walk for ten days—all because she drank leftover meat broth. Now, the people who hurt her shouldn’t get a drop of that broth. Not even their dogs deserved it.

She finally felt a sliver of comfort.

People who are too kind often end up hurt. They believe not harming others means others won’t harm them. They think kindness will inspire gratitude and change. But in this cruel, survival-of-the-fittest world, that’s a naive fantasy.

Maybe she wasn’t “kind.” But if kindness only leads to pain, then she’d rather burn it and offer it as incense for the original owner’s foolishness.

To this young body, Lin Xiaqing said: “You getting used to me yet? From today on, forget your illusions. Put on your armor. Fear no one. Fight when needed.”