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

The steamed buns were hot, instantly dispelling the chill.

Qi Weiwei mechanically grabbed two steamed buns, wolfed them down, and then gulped down a large bowl of tea.

The tea is jasmine tea, with a very faint fragrance, but it's piping hot.

Qi Chun Chun and Qi Maomao also ate very quickly, each grabbing two buns in one hand and stuffing them into their mouths in a few bites.

Ling Heping ate slowly, but he didn't stand on ceremony.

In less than five minutes, the plate of steamed buns was empty.

"Let's go." Qi Weiwei wiped her mouth and put her scarf back on.

Ling Heping first took Qi Chunchun and Qi Maomao to a place not far from the courtyard of the harvest committee.

The car was parked in a quiet alley. From the entrance of the alley, you could see the three-story gray building of the quarry committee, with a dim street lamp shining in front of it.

"You all wait here," Ling Heping instructed. "Don't get too close, and don't let anyone see you. When you see Uncle Qi and Aunt Qi come out, don't rush forward. Make sure they're not following you."

"Understood." Qi Chunchun nodded, carrying a military green satchel containing a water bottle.

Qi Maomao patted his waist: "I brought my weapons."

Ling Heping glanced at him, said nothing, and simply nodded.

The jeep restarted and drove Qi Weiwei towards the railway family quarters.

The car was parked downstairs.

Qi Weiwei looked up and saw that the windows of room 201 were dark, with no lights on.

The two got out of the car and went upstairs.

The door to room 201 was tightly shut.

Qi Weiwei took out the key from the inside pocket of her cotton-padded jacket—it was a spare key her mother had given her, which she always carried with her.

The key was inserted into the lock, turned, and with a "click," the door opened.

A smell mixed with dust and a metallic rust wafted towards us.

Qi Weiwei pulled the light cord, but it didn't turn on.

Ling Heping shone his flashlight on the bulb and discovered it was broken.

Qi Weiwei knocked on the door of the aunt next door who was familiar with her mother and borrowed a light bulb.

When the lights came on, the two realized that the room was a complete mess.

The tables and chairs in the living room were overturned, the chest of drawers was lying on its side, all the drawers were pulled out, and the contents were scattered all over the floor.

The wall calendar fell down, the glass frame shattered, and the photos were scattered everywhere.

The kitchen door was half open, and you could see a white mess on the floor—broken dishes.

Qi Weiwei's hands were trembling.

She walked in, her feet crunching on the broken glass.

Her gaze lingered on the corner of the wall.

There, a pale green glass vase lay on the ground, shattering into several pieces.

The base of the vase is still there, and it is engraved with "Advanced Worker - 1972 - Presented by Beijing Railway Bureau".

That was the thing that Chen Hongxia, the mother, cherished most.

My mother worked as a purchasing agent at the supply and marketing cooperative for twenty years, working diligently and consistently earning recognition as an outstanding employee every year.

This vase was a prize she received in 1972 when she was recognized as an advanced worker at the municipal level and was given a meeting with the government.

Qi Weiwei remembers that her mother placed it in the most conspicuous position in the dresser and wiped it clean every day.

Even during the most difficult times for the family, when someone offered a high price to buy it, my mother couldn't bear to sell it.

But now, it's broken.

It was shattered completely.

"Weiwei..." Ling Heping called her softly.

Qi Weiwei did not respond.

She crouched down to pick up the shards, but her fingers were cut by the sharp edges as soon as they touched them, drawing blood.

But she didn't feel any pain.

She felt something churning in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe.

Ling Heping also squatted down.

He carefully shone his flashlight on the ground, then dipped his index finger into the shards of the vase.

There was something dark red on my fingers.

"It's blood," he said in a deep voice.

Qi Weiwei suddenly looked up, took the flashlight, and shone it on herself.

There was indeed blood on the ground.

It wasn't just one place, it was a whole row—from the center of the living room all the way to the doorway.

The bloodstains had dried and turned a dark brown, which was particularly glaring under the flashlight beam.

She looked out along the trail of blood and found it on the threshold as well, as if someone had been injured and was leaning against the wall or being dragged by someone.

Who is injured?

Dad or Mom?

I hope it's not my mother...

Qi Weiwei prayed in her heart that her mother had an old injury on her wrist, which she twisted when she was carrying goods in her early years, and it would hurt on rainy days.

If I get injured again this time...

"Weiwei, don't panic." Ling Heping pressed down on her shoulder, his voice steady. "This bloodstain looks like superficial bleeding, not a lot. You know the Cutting Committee is very rough when arresting people, it's normal to bump and scrape during the shoving."

He paused, then continued, "Okay, I'll go get some iodine, cotton balls, and gauze. Lock the door, I'll be right back. All the light bulbs in the rooms are broken, I'll get a few more."

Qi Weiwei forced herself to calm down: "Mm."

Now is not the time to panic.

My parents will be back tonight, so I need to tidy up the house so they can see a clean home when they come back.

"Okay." She nodded, her voice a little hoarse. "Be careful."

Ling Heping gave her a deep look, then turned and quickly went downstairs.

Footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, gradually fading into the distance.

Qi Weiwei closed the door and bolted it.

She stood in the middle of the messy living room, her flashlight beam sweeping across every corner.

The chest of drawers had tipped over, spilling its contents—a grain ration book, a box of clam oil, half a roll of pink toilet paper, a few buttons, an old comb…

The kitchen was even worse.

The cupboard door was smashed, and all the bowls, plates, and dishes inside were thrown to the ground, leaving white porcelain shards scattered everywhere.

The wok used for frying was overturned next to the stove, and a large hole was smashed in the bottom of the wok—it was pierced directly by an iron rod or some other hard object.

The door to my parents' bedroom was ajar.

Qi Weiwei walked over and pushed it away.

Two single beds were pushed together; this was my parents' bed.

The bed sheet was ripped off and thrown on the floor, covered with footprints—large rubber soles of liberation shoes, at least men's feet.

The pillow was torn, and the buckwheat hulls inside were scattered all over the bed.

The wardrobe door was open, and the clothes inside were in disarray. Several winter coats were thrown on the floor, covered with footprints.

Her large bedroom was not spared either.

The desk drawer had been pried open, and notebooks and pens were scattered everywhere. Her wardrobe was also half-fallen on the floor, with her childhood clothes strewn about.

The bedding on the bed was also pulled off and trampled into a dirty mess.

Qi Weiwei watched all this, her teeth grinding together.

She went to the kitchen, picked up a broom, and began sweeping.

The broom swept across the ground, and the broken pieces of porcelain made a screeching sound.

She swept with great force, stroke after stroke, as if she wanted to vent all her anger on the broom.

Broken glass, shards of porcelain, torn paper, crushed buckwheat hulls... all were swept together and piled in the corner.

Then she started moving the furniture.

The chest of drawers was very heavy, made of solid wood, and she couldn't move it by herself. She could only move it little by little, straighten it, and push it back against the wall.