"Qiao'er, tell me yourself. Do you want to stay with your mother or your father?"
Su Qiao had only just regained consciousness when she heard those words beside her.
The voice was somewhat hoarse and weary, yet seemed to contain barely suppressed anger.
She raised her head and quickly looked around, discovering that she was in a shabby main room.
A faded red calendar, torn halfway off, hung on the grayish earthen-brick wall.
Beside it was a colorful calendar featuring Chairman Mao. It was very new and bright, and was probably wiped clean often.
At the very front of the main room stood a small table bearing ancestral tablets. Several little wooden stools, their original color almost impossible to make out, were scattered beside it.
The not-so-spacious main room currently held five people.
Two women stood to her right.
The older one, who had spoken just now, was around sixty. Her short hair, cut to her ears, was almost completely white.
The younger one was about forty and looked terribly haggard. Her eyes were swollen like walnuts, so she must have been crying bitterly earlier.
Judging by their "formation," these two were probably her relatives.
Across from them, an old woman of around sixty was glaring viciously at her, while the middle-aged man beside her looked timid and shrinking.
Aside from them, a crowd of villagers—clearly there to watch the spectacle—was gathered around the doorway. There were both old and young among them.
It seemed she had once again been reborn into a family with less-than-ideal circumstances.
And as soon as she arrived, her family had already gotten into a fight with someone.
She lowered her head and glanced at the faded yellow-brown canvas jacket she was wearing, as well as the little bamboo stool creaking beneath her.
Su Qiao