The next morning, a fine spring rain fell from the sky, soaking the fields of Sanglun Village, lush with green wheat shoots. Cooking smoke rose from the chimneys of the nearby village, while the distant mountains lay shrouded in hazy mist. Only the Silverthread River continued to rush merrily onward, shattering the morning's tranquility.
Inside an old wood-and-stone cottage at the eastern end of the village, Aunt Martha, already over fifty, woke early and found the adjoining room completely empty. She could not help pounding heavily on the door. This was her son Jill's room. Him being absent so early in the morning certainly did not mean he had gotten up early—it meant the brat had gone out fooling around again and had not come home all night.
"You little bastard!" she cursed, preparing to head out for farm work. But at that moment, she saw her son, with his flat nose and rather ugly looks, walk in through the door with a somewhat stiff expression. She immediately snapped, "Where were you fooling around this time? You bastard! You still knew to come back?"
On an ordinary day, Jill would have craned his neck and ignored her. Even if she kicked him, he would not react. After eating, he would head out again and continue doing whatever he pleased. Martha had seen that incorrigible behavior countless times.
But strangely, things changed today.
She saw Jill look at her and say in a polite tone he had never used before, "I am very sorry, Mother. I apologize for my past improper behavior. My actions lacked due consideration and responsibility. From now on, I will prioritize following your expectations. Please rest assured."
After saying that, he even bowed.
Martha froze. Was this still her illiterate village-thug son?
That tone, that grammar, that