My father is a good man and my stepmother is a performer. They joined forces to make me a rebellious and unfilial white-eyed wolf in the eyes of the whole village.
My stepmother was "very caring" to me in front of others, but she didn't even give me a hot meal. My dad always has only one sentence: "She is your mother, you have to be sensible."
I'm sensible.
She asked me to wash the dishes, but I "accidentally" broke them and cut my hand. My hand was bleeding and I ran to the neighbor's house to borrow a band-aid.
She gave me old clothes and I wore them to school. I was shivering from the cold and told the teacher, "My stepmother said boys should exercise more."
My dad beat me, but I didn't hide. The next day, I went from house to house with the slap on my face and asked, "Uncle and aunt, did my dad drink too much yesterday?"
I became the most miserable child in the village.
And they became the most vicious parents in the village.
When the knives of public opinion cut into their most cherished "face", they finally collapsed.
Later, I opened a factory with the support of my fellow villagers and became a well-known young entrepreneur.
On the opening day, my father and stepmother wanted to come to cut the ribbon and honor the business, but the whole village blocked the door.
I stood on the stage, watching them being drowned in the spit of the villagers, and smiled.
Some trials do not require a courtroom.
