Aunt Zhou’s gaze instantly darkened as she stared at Zhou Xiaowei, remaining silent for a long while.
Zhou Xiaowei’s heart fluttered under her glare, but he still stuck out his neck and muttered softly, “Grandma, I’m telling the truth. I’ve been set up with so many girls, and none of them hold a candle to Sister-in-law Chuntao…”
“Shut up!” Aunt Zhou barked in a low voice, slamming the dishrag heavily onto the stove. “From now on, call her Aunt—she’s your elder. You’re just a brat, daring to have such thoughts? If your father finds out, he’ll beat you half to death!”
She craned her neck to peek outside the kitchen door, then lowered her voice to scold, “If you ever mention this again, I’ll sew your mouth shut with a needle!”
Zhou Xiaowei pursed his lips, digging his toes into the soles of his shoes, full of dissatisfaction. “I’m just talking—what’s wrong with mentioning it?”
“I said don’t ask, so don’t ask!” Aunt Zhou’s tone left no room for negotiation, her brows knitted into a tight knot. “She has her own path—you don’t need to worry about her. Just settle your own marriage and don’t hold up your sister finding a husband!”
The more Aunt Zhou tried to cover things up, the more Zhou Xiaowei’s suspicions grew.
This was far too abnormal. Something must have happened to Chuntao.
On his way here just now, he had run into Liu Cuilan. She had looked sneaky, definitely up to no good.
Leaving Aunt Zhou’s house, Zhou Xiaowei raised his eyes toward the main road to the north. That day, his Second Uncle had taken that road when he brought Grandma back.
He made up his mind—no matter what, he had to find out where Chuntao was hiding and what was really going on.
As he stood in a daze behind the house, he saw Wang Xiaoming approaching from the west.
“Brother Xiaowei, what are you standing here for?” Wang Xiaoming greeted him as he drew near.
“Xiaoming, come here!” Zhou Xiaowei waved him over.
Wang Xiaoming frowned as he walked closer. “What’s up?”
“The whole village is gossiping about Sister-in-law Chuntao. What do you think?”
Wang Xiaoming already knew about the situation between Chuntao and Zhou Zhijun. He figured Chuntao must have been hidden away because she was pregnant.
But he wouldn’t breathe a word of it, to avoid giving ammunition to those with ill intentions and causing trouble for Zhou Zhijun and Chuntao.
“Those people have nothing better to do but stir up trouble. Their tongues are their own—let them talk if they want!”
Zhou Xiaowei pressed further, “Do you know where Sister-in-law Chuntao is?”
“I don’t. Didn’t Granny Zhou say she’s fine? Nothing’s wrong!”
As far as Wang Xiaoming was concerned, Chuntao was in good hands with Zhou Zhijun, so there was no need to worry.
That night, Zhou Xiaowei lay in bed, his head full of Chuntao’s image.
Back when he saw her every day, he had been content just to look, never daring to think too deeply.
But after Chuntao got divorced, his hopes had stirred. Yet now she had been hidden away by her grandmother and his Second Uncle.
It had been four or five months without a glimpse of her, and he felt an emptiness in his heart, like a piece of flesh had been torn away.
Where on earth was Chuntao hidden? He racked his brain but couldn’t figure it out.
In the later afternoon, Zhou Zhiguo and his wife had cleaned the house spotless, waiting for the matchmaker to bring the girl over.
But Zhou Xiaowei’s mind was entirely on Chuntao, and he had no interest in the arranged meeting at all.
The next day, the matchmaker arrived with the girl, and they were left alone to talk. But he was distracted, too lazy to say even a proper word, and the meeting ended in failure.
The Zhiguo family was just ordinary farmers, not well-off. The only reason matchmakers kept coming was because Zhou Xiaowei was good-looking.
But he was always picky, and though Zhiguo and his wife were furious, there was nothing they could do.
Feeling miserable, Zhou Xiaowei went to the threshing ground by the village road and sat on a stone roller, staring blankly.
“Baldy Zhang! Where have you been?”
After Baldy Zhang had been released, he spent every day hanging around the commune. That couldn’t mean anything good.
Seeing him coming along the path, Zhou Xiaowei called out.
Baldy Zhang wore a smug grin. “A big show is about to start!”
Zhou Xiaowei’s heart clenched. He stood up, stepped two paces to Baldy Zhang’s side, and grabbed his arm. “What show? I want to see it too!”
“Just wait and see!” Baldy Zhang shook off his grip and started to walk away.
This Baldy Zhang was no good to begin with. He ran close with Liu Cuilan and Zhou Zhaodi, always spreading rumors and slandering his Second Uncle and Chuntao.
Zhou Xiaowei’s heart skipped a beat—could this “big show” involve his Second Uncle and Chuntao?
His Second Uncle had been one of the most handsome men around in his youth, with plenty of girls interested, but he never took a liking to any of them.
In the four years he helped Liu Cuilan’s family, he never once touched her.
If he had wanted a wife, he could have married long ago—why wait until now?
Besides, his Second Uncle was so much older than Chuntao.
Those villagers who spread gossip about them all day must have had their heads kicked by a donkey!
The more Zhou Xiaowei thought, the more frightened he became. Baldy Zhang’s crew must be cooking up some scheme aimed at his Second Uncle and Chuntao.
That day, Zhou Xiaowei did nothing but circle around Baldy Zhang’s house, but he found nothing suspicious.
In the evening, he rushed frantically to Aunt Zhou’s house and told her everything Baldy Zhang had said, word for word.
Aunt Zhou’s heart lurched. Those filthy scoundrels—were they going to stir up trouble again?
Liujia Gully was over a hundred li away—how far could they reach?
But better safe than sorry. If those people did find them, Chuntao’s unborn child might not survive!
With no other choice, Aunt Zhou gritted her teeth and said, “Don’t spread this around or keep snooping—you’ll tip them off!”
“Your Second Uncle is at your Great-Aunt’s place. Ride over now and tell him to move Chuntao somewhere else immediately—as remote as possible. Keep her safe!”
She quickly glanced out the door, lowering her voice even more. “Don’t stop on the road. If you run into Baldy Zhang or his crew, turn around and take another route. Don’t talk to them!”
“Grandma, why be afraid of them? Sister-in-law Chuntao’s already divorced, and Second Uncle hasn’t done anything wrong!” Zhou Xiaowei asked, confused.
“Don’t ask—just go!” Aunt Zhou urged. “Don’t tell anyone. If your parents ask, tell them to come and ask me!”
Zhou Xiaowei couldn’t understand why his grandmother was so tense, but since she told him not to ask, he held his tongue.
As soon as he thought of seeing Chuntao soon, his heart raced with excitement.
Every New Year, he went with Zhou Zhijun to visit relatives in Dongshan—he knew that road well.
He pedaled his bicycle recklessly fast. He had just left the Qingshan Commune boundary when the sky turned pitch black.
He turned on his flashlight, holding it in one hand to light the way while steering with the other, charging ahead without stopping.
Once inside Dongshan territory, the road grew rougher, full of potholes, and his cycling speed slowed.
He had left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even had a sip of soup, and now his stomach was growling furiously, singing the tune of hunger.
He stopped, pulled a steamed bun from the cloth bag hanging on the handlebars, and stuffed it into his mouth. He choked, his neck straining and eyes rolling back.
He quickly unscrewed his water jug, took a gulp, and forced the bun down.
After eating one bun and drinking half a jug of water, he felt like an engine fully refueled, brimming with energy again, and he climbed back on the bike to press on.
“Ouch!”
Suddenly, a black shadow darted out from ahead. Zhou Xiaowei had no time to react or dodge, and he crashed straight into it.
With a startled cry, he shone the flashlight on it—it turned out to be a young woman.
Her face was splattered with blood, and she was gasping heavily for air.
Zhou Xiaowei panicked instantly. He had hit someone with his bike—what was he supposed to do now?
But then he thought it over. In the dead of night, on a desolate slope in the middle of nowhere, how could there be a woman?
Suddenly, he remembered the ghost stories his grandma used to tell him when he was a child. Every hair on his body stood on end, and a chill ran down the back of his neck.
He was about to turn his bike around and flee when the woman, her voice hoarse and faint as a thread, managed to utter a few words, “…”
