When he was six years old, Zhang Nanfeng followed his mother back to his grandmother's house.
That summer, he squatted on the threshold and watched the popsicle in his hand melt away little by little. My aunt threw popsicles to him like feeding a dog. Cousin Junliang pushed him and called him a beggar. The mother squatted on the ground to pick up the broken pieces of the bowl. Blood beads dripped on the porcelain pieces, but no one said a word.
He remembered that look - the look he was looking at a dog or an ant.
Later, my mother served my grandfather for two years and was exhausted. What she got in exchange was a forged will. Later, his father's repair shop was set on fire, and his hair turned gray overnight. Standing behind him was the man he called "brother."
More than twenty years later, he returned.
I'm not here to recognize my relatives, but to settle accounts.
The humiliation he suffered over the years, the loss of his mother's life, and the losses his father suffered - he wanted to make it clear to them one by one.
Do you think that if you kneel down and cry twice, the matter will be over?
Zhang Nanfeng smiled and shook his head.
It's late.
