After The Coquettish Fake Master Was Driven Away - Chapter 41

The courtyard, a moment ago full of excitement, was suddenly struck silent as if doused with a bucket of cold water.

The villagers, caught mid-cheer, froze and exchanged uneasy glances.

A murder? That was no small matter. If true, it was a beheading crime.

Old Second Tian tried to bolt, but was immediately wrestled to the ground by the quick-reacting villagers.

“She’s talking nonsense!”

He spat and swore his innocence:
“She’s just a little brat! When that b1tch Fang Rou ran off, this one was only three years old—barely old enough to remember anything! What the hell could she know? Don’t listen to her lies!”

He then launched into a foul tirade—cursing Fang Rou who had “run off,” cursing the two sisters as ungrateful wretches. The filth spilling from his mouth made people wince.

The veins on Old Second Tian’s neck bulged, his eyes glared like he was ready to spit fire. But on closer look, his pupils trembled unnaturally, his jaw was clenched tight, his nostrils flared—a clear sign of guilt.

Yan Yi had only come to Hetian Village last winter. He knew little of the villagers’ family affairs and had no interest in digging into them, so he dared not draw conclusions lightly.

When he first learned of the sisters’ situation, he had once intercepted Old Second Tian outside the village, giving him such a beating that the man swore never to do it again.

But Yan Yi could not guard the sisters at every moment. Seeing no fresh wounds after a while, and the girls themselves denying any trouble, he relaxed.

He hadn’t realized Old Second Tian had deliberately kept the bruises hidden on their bodies—places they could never show a man for help.

Back then, Yan Yi had nearly broken the man’s limbs. Yet Old Second Tian still hadn’t learned. He had only bided his time, striking again when Yan Yi was distracted.

And now, judging by his reaction, even if his wife hadn’t been beaten to death, her disappearance must be tied to him.

Damnable.

Yan Yi flicked his fingers. A pebble shot straight into Old Second Tian’s mouth mid-curse.

“Watch your tongue,” he said darkly.

The man’s tongue went numb. Pain came slower than bl00d; it spurted first. He swallowed several mouthfuls of bloody spittle before falling silent. A few breaths later, unwilling to concede, he mumbled thickly:

“It was… that peddler who used to come through, surnamed Zhang. You all remember him, don’t you?”

Some villagers nodded.

“Yes, yes, there was such a man—Zhang… Zhang Sen.”

“Right! He hasn’t come for two years now. I bought needles from him once.”

“Maybe she ran off with him. Hah, I said it before—Old Second Tian might be cruel, but would he really dare commit murder?”

Li Dongsheng fixed his eyes on Old Second Tian.

He hadn’t known Tian’s wife well, only that she was shy, quiet, not one for mingling.

If she had truly run, it would have freed her from misery—though at the cost of her daughters. But if things were as Little Zhi claimed…

That would shake Hetian Village to its core—and the case would have to be taken to the magistrate.

Li Dongsheng turned, asking solemnly:
“Little Zhi, did you just say your father killed your mother?”

With so many adults staring at her, the girl trembled and instinctively looked to her sister for support.

But Tian Xiaohua’s eyes were still vacant, her soul seemingly scattered by that brutal blow.

Alone, Little Zhi wrung her hands, panic flooding her face.
“I… I…”

“Speak, child.”

“I don’t think she knows. She’s just a child—probably heard someone else talk nonsense.”

“Aiya, I’m getting anxious here…”

Xie Jinning froze. He suddenly remembered—Xiaohua had once said as much. But in the chaos at the time, he had forgotten.

If she had spoken of it, there had to be something behind it.

Little Zhi sobbed, on the verge of collapse. Xie Jinning quickly crouched down, brushed the dust from her cheeks, and smoothed her tangled hair.

“Zhi, I believe you. Don’t be scared. Just tell us everything you know, alright?”

Comforted by him, her shaking gradually eased. She nodded, then shook her head, biting her lip.
“I… I only heard what sister said just now. I don’t know anything else…”

Sighs of disappointment rippled through the courtyard.

In official courts, verdicts demanded ironclad evidence. Words and suspicions meant nothing. The truth was locked inside Xiaohua—and she lay unresponsive.

Li Dongsheng looked at her limp form in the villager woman’s arms and shook his head slowly.

Hearing this, Old Second Tian exhaled in relief and laughed harshly:
“See? I told you the brat was lying! How could I kill anyone? Where’s the proof? Where’s the body? Without those, what the hell are you accusing me of? Let me go—I’ll walk out myself!”

Startled by his raised voice, Little Zhi shrank into Xie Jinning’s arms like a rain-soaked cub, whimpering for the warmth of her mother.

Her memories of her mother were faint, blurred—just the warmth of her embrace, warmer even than Brother Xie’s arms.

After she grew older, she often asked her sister to tell her about their mother. But each time, Xiaohua’s face would turn cold: “That woman abandoned us to live a better life.”

Not wanting to anger her sister, she stopped asking. She even joined her in cursing their mother.

Later, though… her sister had begun to mention her again. Saying their mother’s name was Fang Rou, saying she loved embroidery, saying she used to sneak them sweets when she returned from town…

When had it changed?

Little Zhi could no longer recall. She cried harder, confused and aching.

Meanwhile, the crowd thinned. Villagers began dragging Old Second Tian toward the gate.

As he passed, he caught sight of Xie Jinning. With a sick grin, he flicked his tongue at the pale skin peeking from Jinning’s half-open collar.

When Yan Yi strode forward, Old Second Tian quickly retracted, his mouth twitching with a mocking leer.

So protective—like she was his own wife. Hah! But wasn’t that Jinning too delicate, too effeminate? Could it be… a sodomite?

The thought twisted his mind. If Yan Yi ever left the village, he would sneak back in. He’d press that fair body down, watch him cry and struggle, and enjoy him to the last drop.

Deng Minhong, stroking his beard, hid his disgust. He looked up at the sky, and suddenly muttered with a cryptic smile:

“They’re here.”

Just then, a gale roared through the courtyard. The apricot tree whipped violently, dust and gravel spun into the air.

Those who hadn’t left shielded their faces. A chill gust slipped under sleeves and collars, raising gooseflesh.

The wind howled like weeping ghosts, unnerving all.

“Eh? Xiaohua—you’re awake?”

Xiaohua slowly rose from the villager woman’s arms and stepped into the courtyard.

Her hair hung loose, her thin body swayed in the storm like a reed about to snap, yet she stood steady.

On her pale face, swollen from slaps, no expression stirred. Her dark eyes brimmed with eerie depth. She raised her bruised arm and spoke in a voice hollow, ethereal:

“I know where.”

Old Second Tian’s eyes stung from sand. Bound, he could only blink away tears. A chill surged up his spine. Xiaohua’s words stabbed straight into his ears.

“There.”

His eyelids twitched violently. He turned, stiff as wood.

She was pointing at the apricot tree. When she met his gaze, her lips curved in a smile identical to Fang Rou’s.

His bl00d froze. Sweat poured down. He shrieked, trembling:
“Ghost—ghost!”

Li Dongsheng’s eyes sharpened. “Under that tree. Dig!”

“No—no! She’s lying! I didn’t!”

In a burst of panic, Old Second Tian tore free and bolted for the gate.

“Stop him!”

But survival gave him monstrous strength. He snapped the ropes, sprinting like mad. Just as freedom was within reach—

Crack!

A shard of pottery struck his knee.

He fell hard across the threshold, spitting bl00d and two broken front teeth.

Pinned once more, he was bound tighter this time, trussed like a rice dumpling.

Seeing no escape, he bared his fangs at the sisters:
“I should’ve strangled you little bastards long ago, sent you both to that whore!”

Then, suddenly, he wailed:
“I treated her so well! Just a few slaps—why’d she run? If she hadn’t been whoring around, planning to leave me, I wouldn’t have hit her to death!”

His face twisted with grief, tears and snot streaming.
“Xiaohua, Zhi—it was Father’s fault! I swear, I’ll never hit you again! I’ll treat you well! If I don’t, may Heaven strike me—”

Boom!

Thunder split the sky. Clouds boiled black. Lightning cracked, roaring like dragons.

His words stuck in his throat. The stench of urine spread as he wet himself in terror.

Xie Jinning turned away in disgust, shielding the sisters’ eyes.

No one was fooled. The man’s repentance was only a coward’s desperate play.

Jinning’s chest heaved. His voice rasped but carried like iron:
“Too late for regret. Before the magistrate—or before the King of Hell—you can beg Fang Aunt for forgiveness.”

“Ah—!”

A shout from the tree.

“We’ve found something!”

Jinning’s expression hardened.
“But no matter what you plead, wife-killer and child-abuser—you’ll rot in hell’s deepest pits, on blades, in flames, in boiling oil, forever paying for your sins.”

His words rang out, his body taut with fury. Only Yan Yi, gripping his arm, felt the faint tremor beneath.

As if his heart had been squeezed, then released. Along with pity, Yan Yi felt admiration.

So—behind that delicate facade was a heart unyielding and kind.

How could one not fall for him?

The villagers dug up a complete skeleton beneath the apricot tree.

The moment the bones saw daylight, the haze in Xiaohua’s eyes lifted. She woke fully.

When the sisters saw the rotted red string tied to the bones’ arm—a birthday gift they had once made for their mother—they fell to their knees, weeping bitterly.

Old Second Tian was gagged and thrown into a locked woodshed, to await arrest by the county yamen the next day. His path was sealed: death awaited.

Xiaohua had once believed her mother had run.

That dawn—she had woken from dreams, thought her long-absent mother had returned. She had rubbed her eyes, called out—only to see Fang Rou in her best clothes, carrying a bundle, slip out the door without a backward glance.

She had run after her, tripping, scraping herself bloody. But her mother never turned back.

At first, Xiaohua had felt relief. If Mother was gone, she wouldn’t be beaten anymore. She wouldn’t have to drag her battered body from her father’s bed, soothing her sisters to sleep, crying silently into her own pillow.

Until her father’s fists fell on her and Zhi.

She began to hate. Hate her mother for leaving them, for taking the money, for seeking her own happiness. Hate her supposed shameful conduct, which gave their father excuse to call them bastards and beat them harder.

She even wished she had never been born.

And when Zhi too cursed their mother, Xiaohua felt a twisted joy.

You loved us so much once. Did you ever imagine that one day, your children would speak of you only with hatred?

For a year she hated Fang Rou, until her mother’s face blurred in memory.

Then one night, hungry, she woke for water—and overheard her drunken father muttering after breaking his vow of sobriety:
“Dare… dare talk to others, dare run, whore—I’ll beat you to death…”

From then on, she pieced the truth together at his bedside whenever he came home drunk.

That dawn vision had not been her mother. It had been a prostitute Old Second Tian brought home. Disgusted by his violence and his refusal to pay, the woman had snatched Fang Rou’s old clothes and the family’s meager savings before fleeing.

Their mother had already died—beaten and buried in the courtyard.

When she died, she had still been clutching an apricot, brought by Zhang Sen, a fellow townsman. He’d wanted the sisters to taste fruit from her homeland.

She never let go, not even in death.

The pit sprouted into a sapling, which the sisters had watered and tended with joy—never knowing it grew from their mother’s final gift.

Two years later, it blossomed and bore fruit.

Born of her flesh and bl00d.

Feeding them with her flesh and bl00d.

It had always been Fang Rou.