Chapter 1: Death in the Sheep Pen

On New Year’s Eve, the dark sheep pen flickered with a faint glow.

A skeletal figure, barely more than skin and bones, dragged itself across the ground. With trembling hands, Du Xiaoying dialed a phone number. Her heart thudded in her chest as the dial tone rang: beep… beep… beep…

The moment the call connected, a glimmer of light flashed in her clouded eyes. Her dry, raspy voice trembled with emotion.
“Si Ya…”

“I told you we have nothing to do with each other anymore. Please stop calling and disturbing my life.”

Beep… beep… beep…

The busy tone echoed through the empty sheep pen cold, hollow, desolate.

Du Xiaoying licked her cracked lips. In the darkness, it felt as if an invisible hand was tightening around her throat. Burning suffocation spread through her chest.

A middle-aged man’s voice rang out, indifferent and scornful: “Even if you hid a phone, so what? Give it up. No one is coming to save you, you old hag.”

He looked down on her like she was no more than a corpse.

Du Xiaoying pointed a shaking finger at him, her voice hoarse and broken like a worn-out bellows: “You… you’re not afraid of heaven’s wrath? Thunder striking you down?!”

“Thunder? Let it strike me if it dares!” Song Zishan threw his head back in laughter and opened his arms arrogantly, then kicked her over and over again.

…

Just a short distance away, a grand countryside villa stood brightly lit, glowing warmly in the night.

Inside, laughter and joy filled the house. The warmth of the heater made the guests shed their heavy coats.

“Cheers to the new year may everything go well!” “Yes, may wealth and fortune pour in!” “Cheers!”

…

When she opened her eyes again, the sheep pen was still shrouded in darkness.

The howling northern wind carried faint echoes of laughter from the distance. Du Xiaoying’s mind drifted.

She had raised her four nephews like they were her own flesh and blood, showering them with love and sacrifices.

All because her in-laws had said: “Your branch of the family has no sons. You’ll have to rely on the nephews in the future.”

So she gave them everything. Even her daughters had to give way whenever it came to the nephews.

But those were her daughters! Born from her own womb, her bloodline!

Du Xiaoying closed her sore eyes, her heart bleeding in agony, suffocating with pain. A bitter smile twisted her lips.

As the air thinned in her chest, tears welled in her eyes. She sobbed and gasped, her regret consuming her.

She had been blind. Stupid.

Because of a pack of ungrateful wolves, she had sacrificed all five of her daughters. Her only surviving child, Si Ya, had severed ties and fled far from home.

Her husband had died young, leaving her to raise six motherless daughters alone.

She lived with shame, believing that not having a son made her a failure. Brainwashed by her in-laws, she convinced herself that her daughters were burdens, and that only her nephews would stand up for her and care for her in old age.

“You only gave birth to useless girls. Your nephews are the ones who’ll care for you and honor our family.” “You ruined our family line. You’re the reason our second son died without a legacy.” “If the nephews succeed, they’ll support you and your daughters.”

She heard things like that every single day and she believed them. She poured all her efforts into raising those boys.

And in doing so, she neglected her daughters. The girls were drained dry by the Song family, used up and discarded.

She demanded her daughters be obedient and sacrifice for the family. As long as it benefited the nephews, they all had to give in.

Whenever they gave money or helped out, they got a few empty words of praise from her in-laws and sweet smiles from the nephews: “Second Aunt is the best. We’ll take care of you when you’re old.”

Her husband’s pension and benefits all of it went to the nephews.

After her husband died, she labored in the fields like a beast of burden, afraid her nephews would go hungry.

The cruel irony? Her four nephews grew up plump and well-dressed, while her five daughters were sickly and malnourished.

Later, from years of hard labor, she fell ill at sixty. Thinking it was finally her time to enjoy life, she went to her now-wealthy eldest nephew for help. He turned her away, refused to even see her, claiming to be on a business trip.

Her eldest daughter was sold to an old widower in exchange for that nephew’s wedding dowry. She was abused, miscarried several times, and eventually took her own life she was only thirty.

Her second daughter, fiery by nature, fled home after her sister’s fate and went to the city for work. Trying to avenge her sister, she was pushed off a cliff and vanished without a trace.

Her third nephew wrinkled his nose in disgust and shoved her out the door, saying his house had no room. Yet even his dog had a room of its own.

Her third daughter, heavily pregnant and still working the fields, died from hemorrhaging after hearing the news of her sisters.

With no options left, she turned to her fourth nephew, now a local tycoon. He kicked her to the ground, dragged her by the hair, and threw her into the sheep pen to rot.

Her fifth daughter was beaten to death after being sold, all because Du Xiaoying hadn’t helped care for her nephew’s wife during postpartum.

Only Si Ya survived but she had cut ties and vanished into the distance.

Du Xiaoying gasped for air. In her haze, she saw the shadow of her long-dead husband. Tears streamed down her face.

“Dear… I failed our daughters…”

Snowflakes began to fall in the silent, black night. Soon they turned into thick, heavy snow. In moments, the ground was blanketed in white.

“Fourth, keep an eye on her. Don’t let her run off and talk nonsense.” “Surprised she’s still alive after all this time. Tough old woman,” Song Zishan muttered with disgust.

He sneered coldly, “Forget her don’t ruin the mood. It’s New Year’s. Come say your greetings to Mom and Dad.” “Happy New Year, Mom and Dad! Wishing you health and long life!” “Happy New Year, Grandpa and Grandma! Hand over the red envelopes!”

Du Xiaoying could vaguely hear the joyous chatter from the Song family. Her chest ached. Her eyelids felt heavy.

Boom, bang, boom. Fireworks exploded in the night sky, casting a brief, dazzling light.

The world was festive.

Her chest rose and fell more and more slowly. A single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. Her withered body grew still.

Just on the other side of the wall, every household was lit with joy, celebration, and warmth.

Only Du Xiaoying, skin and bones, died in silence in a cold sheep pen on New Year’s Eve eyes wide open, filled with bitterness and regret…