I’m Sun Daniu, a 38-year-old bachelor from Zhao Family Village.
Everyone in the village looks down on me. Even passing dogs bare their teeth at me.
The shabby tiled house I live in leaks every time it rains.
There’s a broken stone trough in the courtyard for feeding the pigs, covered in moss.
Then one day, a Maybach pulled up outside my house.
A wealthy businessman in a suit threw himself in front of the pig trough, trembling all over.
“A carved white marble trough from the Tang Dynasty! I’ll pay eight million!”
Stacks of crisp hundred-yuan bills landed in my hands.
The whole village went wild. Auntie Wang next door had eyes as red as a rabbit’s.
That night, more than a dozen sets of unfamiliar footprints appeared outside my shabby house.
The village chief said they needed to rebuild the ancestral hall and tried to force me to donate a million in the ancestors’ name.
My uncle said he’d once given me half a steamed bun, then asked to borrow five hundred thousand.
My cousin was even more brazen: in the middle of the night, he showed up with a crowbar and tried to pry open my door lock.
They thought I was still the fool who couldn’t get a word out of me even after being beaten with a stick.
But I knew exactly what they were up to.
You want to suck me dry? Not a chance!
