My vicious neighbor poisoned my dog's food. When she was caught, she accused my dog of biting her grandson.
Later, her precious grandson fell ill.
To cure him, she sneaked into my house, beat my dog to death, and made it into dog-meat soup.
I went to confront her, but she turned the accusation back on me:
“It's just an animal. So what if it died? What if it had bitten my precious grandson?”
The brat wolfing down the dog-meat soup made faces at me. I gave a cold smile,
because what she had killed was no ordinary dog. It was the vessel in which I raised my Gu.
And I was descended from the Gu tribe.
The next day, dog fur began growing all over her grandson's body.
