I was born bad, with a vicious streak running through my bones.
My adoptive mother played favorites. She gave the only steamed egg custard in the house to my little brother, saying that studying took a lot out of him.
I nodded, then turned around, snapped the neck of the old hen that laid the eggs, and threw it into the manure pit.
My adoptive parents were furious. They wanted to marry me off to a lame bachelor in the neighboring village in exchange for a bride price.
I set fire to every stick of firewood and bundle of fodder his family had stored for winter, leaving them all to freeze.
After that, no one dared marry me. My adoptive parents locked me in the woodshed, hoping to starve me to death.
Fine, then let's all be done with it!
In the middle of the night, I set fire to the village threshing ground, where the wheat harvest had just been brought in. The flames turned half the sky red.
So when my biological father, now a factory director, came to fetch me in his car, the brigade leader led the whole village to the entrance and kowtowed to me three times.
My adoptive mother clung to my mother's leg, crying so hard that snot and tears ran down her face. "This girl has a black heart. Your family is well-off, so you'd better keep a close eye on her!"
My mother thought it was just the bitter talk of poor people.
That was, until we got back to the city. Her beloved adopted daughter, dressed in a brand-new polyester dress, smugly pressed the button on the tape recorder.
"Big Sister, I know you've just come in from the countryside and haven't seen much. Dad had someone bring this brick of a machine back from abroad. You won't break it, will you?"
