Back to the ‘70s: My Life as the Trouble-Maker's Bride

Annette was screaming internally like a startled marmot—oh my God, this man's smile could kill. She felt like handing over her soul on the spot. But she kept her expression cool, grabbing cotton and iodine. "Good thing it's not deep," she said calmly.

She leaned in close, dabbing gently at Stuart's wound. Deliberately or not, she was so near that she could see herself reflected in his eyes. His ears turned red again.

Great-Aunt watched them with a broad smile. A fine match, she thought. This girl had fire and knew how to take care of people.

After treating the wound, Annette happily went to wash her hands at the well.

Little Pillar shyly followed, crouching beside her, watching intently.

When she glanced his way, he dropped his head, bashful.

Stuart, watching from the yard, remembered what Annette had said about taking Little Pillar to the hospital. He turned to Great-Uncle. "We're not leaving for a few days. I want to take Little Pillar to the county hospital to get his throat checked."

Great-Aunt hesitated. "Maybe he's just a late talker. Some kids are like that."

"I'd rather be sure," Stuart said. "If we wait and it turns out to be something serious, we'll regret it. Don't worry about the cost."

Great-Uncle shook his head. "You're married now, Hopewell. You need to save for your future."

"Health comes first."

Annette returned, overhearing the tail end of their conversation. She was a little puzzled. If Stuart had cut ties with his family, why stay in the village?

And why was Sean coming?

Great-Uncle's home only had one bed platform. Normally, he and his wife slept there with Little Pillar. Now with Stuart and Annette staying, he offered the bed to the women and the boy, opting to sleep with Stuart in the field shed.

The house was humble but tidy. The bedclothes were patched, the sheets long faded. The only decent item was a red camphorwood cabinet beside the bed.

Great-Aunt smoothed the bedding. "Sorry, the place isn't nicer."

Annette shook her head. "It's clean. That matters more."

The older woman smiled, her wrinkled face softening. "We're getting too old for hard work. As long as we have enough to eat, it's good enough. I just hope we live long enough to see Little Pillar grow up."

Annette stayed quiet. She didn't know how to respond. She wasn't in any position to take on a child. Even if she could, she wouldn't decide lightly. Raising a kid wasn't like keeping a pet.

She helped finish making the bed and stepped outside. Stuart and Great-Uncle were in the yard under the dim glow of a kerosene lamp, weaving something.

Little Pillar sat silently on a stool, watching.

Great-Uncle looked up and grinned. "We're making a net. Gonna try to catch some fish tonight now the river's thawed."

Annette crouched beside Stuart, watching his nimble fingers twist the cord. Was there anything this man couldn't do?

The moment was calm and beautiful.

Then the village bell tolled, loud and jarring.

Stuart and Great-Uncle jumped up.

"What's going on?" Great-Uncle asked.

The bell had once been used in wartime, to warn of invaders. Later, it signaled the start and end of work shifts. It rarely rang these days—especially not at night.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed down the street. People were running toward the bell.

Stuart and Great-Uncle followed. Annette trailed closely behind.

The iron bell hung from an old tree, over a waist-high stone platform. Someone was lying flat on top.

Before Annette could get a good look, Stuart turned and covered her eyes.

She heard the murmurs around them.

"Isn't that Carl?"

"God, someone cut him up."

Annette blinked against Stuart's hand. Her lashes brushed his palm like butterfly wings.

By the time he let go, someone had thrown a sheet over Carl. He was still unconscious.

Grace and Clara shoved through the crowd, wailing.

"My baby! How are we supposed to go on?!"

"Who did this to you, Carl?"

Charles arrived, face dark. He shouted for help and lifted Carl onto the tractor to get him to the hospital.

Annette was stunned. Someone had castrated Carl and left him for public display. Who would do such a thing?

The crowd buzzed with gossip.

"Who'd Carl piss off this time?"

"He got into it with Scarface Zhang during ditch-digging."

"And didn't he fight with Two-Dog after New Year?"

Carl was widely disliked. Plenty of suspects.

Stuart stayed put as Charles drove away. Then he turned to Annette. "Pack up. We're going to the county tonight."

She frowned. "Wait… was that you?"

Stuart gave her a long look, then turned away.

She caught up. "Why are we running? Looks a lot like fleeing the scene, you know."

He didn't answer, his brow furrowed.

This wasn't a random fight, he was sure. No way someone would injure a man like that and put him on display—unless it was a warning.

Just like the hospital mix-up.

Someone was targeting him.

Annette, seeing his face, grew serious. She followed him back home without another word.

He didn't explain much to Great-Uncle, just said, "We're heading to town."

The old man was still stunned. "What's going on? Who did Carl cross?"

"Don't know," Stuart replied. "We'll report to the police on our way."

"Good," the old man nodded. "He's still your brother, after all."

They had barely left the village when they ran into Charles, pulled over with a broken tractor.

Grace and Clara were still sobbing, voices hoarse.