“What happened here?” Comrade Jiang Manyue quickly searched around.

She soon found the suitcase she had carefully kept locked away in the closet. Now it lay open on the floor, its contents scattered everywhere.

These were all her parents’ belongings. The cloth doll her mother made for her, the spinning top her father gave her, their commendation certificates for bravery, and photos — all torn and scribbled over with crayons.

The messy drawings on the photos showed grotesque figures, as if mocking and taunting her.

Fury burned inside her. Since her parents’ passing, she had safeguarded these mementos. Yet now they have been ruined. The doll’s face had been cut open, stuffing spilling out.

“Who did this?” She trembled as she gathered her precious memories, her voice shaking.

Then her heart skipped and she began searching frantically.

Everything else was there, except for one thing. The most important item was missing.

Just then, a whistling sound came from the living room. She stood up and hurried out to find Ma Xiaojun sitting on the sofa, holding a golden bullet casing to his lips, blowing into it to make the sound.

“Ma Xiaojun! What are you doing?” she snapped, rushing over.

Startled, the boy scowled. “Bad woman, why are you yelling?”

“Where did you get that bullet casing? Give it back to me.”

That bullet casing was her father’s keepsake, a treasure she had guarded closely.

Twenty years ago, when her father was a rookie soldier, he had recklessly rushed into battle and fallen into an ambush. His superior, a battalion commander, shielded him and saved his life, though he was wounded in the process. Later, that officer had faced a tragic fate during the political upheavals.

Her father had kept the casing as a token of gratitude. After his death, she had taken over the duty of preserving it.

Now, Ma Xiaojun was treating it like a toy.

“It’s just a stupid whistle. What’s the big deal?” he said smugly. “My mom said that everything in the Ma family will be mine, so your room and your things are mine too.”

He hid the casing behind his back, grinning. “If you want it back, give me the room.”

She didn’t need to guess who had coached him to say that.

“I’ll say it one more time. Give me back the casing.” She stepped forward and grabbed his hand.

“No! I’m not giving it back!” Ma Xiaojun yelled and threw the casing to the floor, then raised his foot to stomp on it.

“I’ll make sure you never get it back!”

Comrade Jiang Manyue shoved him aside, picked up the casing, and checked it. It had been crushed, dented, and scratched — her father’s relic, something she had protected so carefully, defiled just like that.

She clenched her fists in rage and yanked Ma Xiaojun back, slapping him twice across the face.

Smack! Smack!

The boy was stunned. He clutched his cheeks, then burst into tears. “Waaah, help! She’s going to kill me! A bad woman’s going to kill me!”

Bai Wanrou, hearing her son cry, rushed out of the bedroom. She gasped when she saw the finger marks on his swollen face.

She cradled her son and shouted angrily, “Manyue, why did you hit Xiaojun again?”

Comrade Jiang Manyue’s gaze was icy. “I told you before not to enter my room. He ruined my father’s belongings — he deserved to be hit.”

Two slaps weren’t enough to vent her anger.

Bai Wanrou’s gentle facade vanished. Her face twisted with malice. “It’s just a stupid bullet casing. Is it worth hitting him over?”

Ma Xiangyang came out of the kitchen with reheated food. “What’s going on?” Hearing the commotion, he wheeled himself over.

As he approached, Bai Wanrou suddenly changed her tone. She grabbed Comrade Jiang Manyue’s hand and said softly, “Manyue, it was my fault for not teaching Xiaojun properly. Don’t be angry.”

Then she sneered and pulled Comrade Jiang Manyue’s hand, slapping herself with it.

Slap — the sound rang out. She stumbled back, collapsing onto the floor right in front of Ma Xiangyang.

Startled, he pushed Comrade Jiang Manyue aside and rushed to Bai Wanrou’s side. “Wanrou, are you alright?”

Tears streamed down Bai Wanrou’s face as she sobbed weakly, trembling as if she would shatter at any moment.

She bit her lip and whimpered, “Xiangyang, it’s my fault. Xiaojun accidentally damaged Manyue’s things. I failed to teach him properly. It’s only right that she slapped me.”

“I don’t blame her.”

She looked every bit the wronged and pitiful figure. Ma Xiaojun, emboldened, shouted, “Second Uncle, the bad woman hit me and Mom! Hit her back!”

Comrade Jiang Manyue sneered coldly. This scene was all too familiar. In her previous life, when Ma Xiaojun had sneaked into her room, she had caught him and asked him to apologize. 

But Bai Wanrou had stood up for her son and used the same trick, dragging her hand to slap herself just as Ma Xiangyang returned.

Without asking questions, Ma Xiangyang had slapped her hard across the face, believing Bai Wanrou’s lies. 

Eventually, he had thrown her out of the house in the dead of winter. She had nearly frozen to death outside, begging to be let back in.

Now Bai Wanrou was playing the same game, but Comrade Jiang Manyue’s heart was as cold as steel. She would not be fooled again.

Just as expected, Ma Xiangyang glared at her. “Comrade Jiang Manyue, you’ve gone too far. Just because something got broken, you dare hit Wanrou and Xiaojun?”

Once, she might have rushed to defend herself, swearing and explaining. But he would never believe her.

She laughed coldly. “Which of your eyes saw me hit her?”

“I saw it with my own eyes! Don’t even try to deny it — look, Wanrou’s face is all red.”

He helped Bai Wanrou up, his heart aching. “I wanted to get along with you, but clearly you don’t deserve it. What did they ever do to you that you had to resort to violence?”

Then his gaze landed on the dented bullet casing in her hand. He faltered, remembering that it was her father’s keepsake, something she had always cherished.

Suddenly he recalled seeing Ma Xiaojun near her room that afternoon. So it was Xiaojun who ruined it. No wonder she was furious.

For a moment, guilt flashed through his mind — but it was fleeting. His expression hardened.

“It’s just a bullet casing. The dead don’t matter more than the living.”

If she had heard that in her past life, it would’ve shattered her heart. But now, Ma Xiangyang was just dirt under her shoe.

He grabbed Bai Wanrou’s hand and snapped, “Comrade Jiang Manyue, apologize to Wanrou right now!”

Bai Wanrou, still crying, shot her a triumphant and mocking look through her tears.