As soon as these words were spoken, Meng Shaode, who had been crying, suddenly sneezed and flicked his snot far away. He instantly remembered his overbearing wife and changed his expression to a fawning one.
"I am shameless, where do I get the face? If you want to talk about this, you have to discuss it with my wife. I don't call the shots."
He secretly gnashed his teeth, wondering how he had ended up in the body of such a heinous villain. Selling his daughter? Was that something a father would do?
At these words, the others exchanged glances. "Didn't you kill your wife yesterday?"
"Ah?" Meng Shaode still had snot on his face. His only hope was dashed like ice shards. His lips turned pale, and he mumbled distractedly—killed her?
Immediately, he rolled his eyes and fainted in anguish.
A Jiu, sensing a change, strained to look out from the crack in the door. To her dismay, the plump butler Hong was walking over with his men.
It's over. A Jiu turned, trying to find a hiding place. Where could she possibly hide amidst this pile of broken firewood?
The remaining hint of childish innocence on her face, which was as thin as a palm, was completely consumed by the fear in her eyes. She no longer looked like a fifteen-year-old girl.
The firewood shed door was suddenly flung open from the outside. The men who entered dragged her out without a word.
"Let go of me, I'm not going, I'm not going." A Jiu was weak and, after a few feeble struggles, slumped to the ground.
Butler Hong bent down to check her breath. He had to admit the girl was delicate and tender. Being thin wasn't a problem. As he straightened up, he let out a sigh of relief.
"She's not dead yet. Take her away."
Hearing this, despair washed over A Jiu. Despite the scorching heat of summer, she shivered, her teeth chattering. Her grape-like eyes fixed on Meng Shaode with hatred.
In that instant, Meng Shaode, who had just fainted at the doorstep, sat up as if he had seen a ghost.
As father and daughter locked eyes, Meng Shaode's heart skipped a beat. A Jiu was only fifteen, yet her eyes held a man-eating hatred.
Just now, a memory that did not belong to him had flooded his mind.
He was a heinous brute, a murderer. Yesterday, after he had drunk too much, his wife had urged him to pack up and flee the famine. Because she disturbed his drinking, he had slapped her with his palm as big as a cattail fan, killing her.
He himself was a filial fool. If his mother told him to sell his daughter, he would sell her?
With a sharp slap, Meng Shaode smacked himself to clear his conscience.
Heavens, in his previous life, Meng Shaode was a scholar. He educated young minds. Why was heaven punishing him so severely?
"Father, I hate you, I hate every one of you." A Jiu's voice was faint. Her eyes were red, and she bit her lip tightly, staring intently at Meng Shaode.
Her dark, thin shoulders trembled, appearing so fragile as if they could be crushed by a slight touch.
Meng Shaode's rough face was full of coarse flesh, and the scar made him even more ferocious and terrifying. At this moment, he was startled by A Jiu's words, his body trembling uncontrollably, and he said with a guilty conscience:
"Let go of her. I won't sell my daughter. That's a life, my life, Meng Shaode's life."
Although he had no feelings for this daughter, in his previous life, after numerous failed attempts at in-vitro fertilization well into his forties, having such a vibrant daughter before him was something he simply could not do, either in principle or in practice.
A Jiu was stunned. The redness in her eyes receded, replaced by surprise. She had forgotten the soreness in her suppressed arms.
She sized up this father, who had become so strange and unexpected. Growing up, she had never heard a single word of protection from him.
"Get out of the way. Can you decide this? The money has already been accepted. I must take this person."
The thugs saw that the once swaggering Master De was now a coward. They immediately kicked him in the shoulder.
Meng Shaode was sent flying backward, rolling half a circle. His burly body, coupled with the ferocious scar, was a far cry from his former domineering self, the one who thought he was the greatest.
No matter what, A Jiu could not remain as weak as before, or her fate would still be death.
She reversed her hand and pulled a ox-horn knife from the waist of the thug who was restraining her.