The beloved but ungrateful girl is reborn: This time she has truly changed.

"It's nothing." Qi Weiwei shook her head, her voice a little hoarse. "Where's the baby? Where's Xiao Qi?"

"Sister Chen is watching over her next door. She's fed the baby and fallen asleep," Ling Heping said. "Go wash your face and rest for a bit. Wait for Xiao Zhao and the others to come back."

Sister Chen is here too!

Qi Weiwei shook her head: "I'll wait here."

She leaned against the wall by the door, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

My heart was still pounding, and my hands were trembling—not from fear, but from excitement, from hatred, and also from…hope.

almost.

Soon.

About an hour later, the sound of a jeep engine came from the yard.

Qi Weiwei suddenly opened her eyes and quickly walked out.

Xiao Zhao jumped off the car, carrying a small, old-fashioned tin box—about the size of a shoebox, dark green, with peeling paint and rusted edges.

The box was wrapped in tarpaulin, which was filthy and covered in mud.

"Found it!" Xiao Zhao handed the box to Ling Heping. "It's right under the stone trough she mentioned, buried quite deep."

Ling Heping took the box and nodded to Qi Weiwei: "Come inside."

The three returned to the interrogation room.

The old woman was still handcuffed to the chair, her face swollen like a pig's head. When she saw the box, her eyes dimmed, and she completely slumped into the chair.

Ling Heping placed the box on the table, untied the oilcloth, and opened the box.

There were some odds and ends inside: a few silver hairpins, a pair of jade earrings, a few Yuan Shikai silver dollars, and a stack of money tied with rubber bands—all small bills, one or two dollars.

At the very bottom, there was a small red leather notebook.

The notebook is very old; the cover is made of cardboard, the red color has faded to a dark red, and the edges are worn.

Qi Weiwei's heart leaped into her throat.

She reached out and picked up the notebook with trembling hands.

Turn it over.

The first page is from 1961.

The handwriting is crooked and messy; some characters are not written, so pinyin or drawings are used instead. But the meaning is still understandable.

First line —

"On the tenth day of the first lunar month, a little girl was sold to Grandpa Dazhuang for 3.4 yuan."

The note below reads: "Grandpa Dazhuang wants a granddaughter, but his son can't have one. Doing a good deed every day."

The second line reads: "On the second day of the second lunar month, a baby boy was sold to Widow Wang for 2.8 yuan."

Note: "Widow Wang's husband has died, and she wants a son to support her in her old age. She does one good deed a day."

Page after page, densely packed with text.

They're all children.

Boy and girl.

Some are a few months old, some are one or two years old, and some are even newborns.

The prices are very low—2 yuan, 3 yuan, 5 yuan, and there are even "three jin of sweet potatoes", "two jin of cornmeal", and "one foot of cloth".

Each entry is followed by notes: who it was sold to, why it was bought, and what happened to the child afterward—"died of illness at age three," "ran away," "sold again"...

shocking.

Qi Weiwei's hands were shaking so badly that she could barely hold the notebook.

Her eyes were fixed on the words, each one piercing her heart like a needle.

She eagerly flipped backward.

1962, 1963, 1964...

Fewer and fewer children are being born, and prices are getting higher and higher.

After 1965, there were only one or two a year.

Finally, we turned to 1969.

This was the time she gave birth to her first daughter.

That year, the old lady's "business" seemed to improve again, and she made two entries about it.

First transaction: "March 23rd, boy, sold to a one-eyed blind man, two hundred."

Note: "The one-eyed blind man is an old bachelor who wants a son to carry on his family line. He offered a high price."

The second entry: "December 8th, a girl, sold to the old tailor for one hundred."

Note: "The old tailor only wanted pretty little girls. This little girl was beautiful, so he paid a high price for her."

December 8th.

Qi Weiwei remembers clearly that her eldest daughter was born on the Laba Festival.

When he was born, Tang Aijun fiddled with him for a long time before finally showing him to her; it was a boy.

It must have already been replaced.

If the baby born in spring is a boy, then the baby born on the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month is her daughter.

Her daughter... was sold for one hundred dollars.

In those days, one hundred dollars was a huge sum of money.

A girl can be sold for this price because she is "beautiful".

Qi Weiwei's eyes instantly filled with tears.

She bit her lip hard to keep herself from crying out loud.

She continued flipping through the pages.

There are no records for 1970.

1971 years.

This was the time she gave birth to her second daughter.

That year, the old lady sold three children.

They were all girls.

Two in spring, one in winter.

She gave birth to her first daughter on the Laba Festival, and her second daughter was born two years later on the 22nd day of the twelfth lunar month.

Then it can only be the one in winter.

Her fingers trembled as she found that line—

"December 29th, a girl, sold to the old tailor for one hundred."

Note: "It's that old tailor again. This girl is pretty too, a bit like the one from two years ago. The old tailor took a liking to her at first sight, and readily gave her another hundred."

!!!

Qi Weiwei burst into tears instantly.

Tears flowed like a burst dam.

She covered her mouth tightly to keep herself from making a sound, but her shoulders trembled violently, and she could barely stand.

Her two daughters...

They were all sold to the same person!

Same "old tailor"!

Moreover, the old woman actually noticed that the two children "looked a bit alike"!

Yes, they are sisters!

My own sisters!

Qi Weiwei suddenly raised her head, her eyes bloodshot, staring intently at the old woman handcuffed to the chair.

She was like an enraged mother beast, almost ready to pounce and tear the other person to pieces.

Ling Heping sensed something was wrong and quickly helped her up: "Weiwei? What's wrong?"

Qi Weiwei couldn't speak, but she turned the notebook to that page, pointed to those two lines of text, and her fingers trembled violently.

Ling Heping glanced at it, and his face darkened.

He got it.

Qi Weiwei broke free from Ling Heping's hand and rushed to the old lady.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and her voice was hoarse like a broken gong.

"Who is the old tailor?!"

The old lady was terrified and huddled in her chair, too scared to look at her.

"Speak!" Qi Weiwei roared, her voice shrill and trembling with tears, "Who is the old tailor?! Where is he?!"

The old woman shuddered, and blood began to flow from the corner of her mouth again—the wound from the tooth that had just been knocked out hadn't stopped bleeding.

Seeing Qi Weiwei's frantic state, she finally broke down completely.

"Those two, were they your children too? How can you be so prolific? I'll tell you... I'll tell you..."

She cried as she spoke, her voice slurred.

"The old tailor... she was the tailor from the commune. Her surname was Xie, and her name was Xie Chunqiao... She worked at the commune's tailor shop..."

Qi Weiwei stared intently at her: "Where does she live?!"

"It's...it lives right behind the tailor shop...a ​​detached house..."

The old woman cried as she spoke, "She was a lonely ghost... she never married... she was old... but she was picky... she only wanted pretty girls... she wouldn't accept ugly ones..."

"Why?!" Qi Weiwei's heart sank into an abyss. She screamed, "Why did she buy pretty dolls?! What would she do with them?!"