The next day, I woke up early and was surprised to find that Anuo had gotten up even earlier and was busy in the kitchen.
Looking at the steaming pot of eight-treasure porridge, I asked skeptically, "Did you make this?"
"Yeah, didn't expect it, did you?"
Well, it wasn't entirely unexpected. Given her living situation, the little girl was much more independent than most people.
"You don't even have to go to school. Why get up so early? And making breakfast while on crutches—who are you trying to impress?"
"Of course, I'm trying to impress your mom," Anuo said with a smile. "I'm trying to win her over. Can't you tell?"
"Yeah, I can tell." I glanced into the pot again. Her cooking skills were far better than mine. At most, I could only make simple porridges like millet or glutinous rice porridge. Something as complicated as eight-treasure porridge was beyond me.
Anuo suddenly burst into laughter. Puzzled, I asked, "What are you laughing at?"
Trying to hold back her laughter, Anuo said, "Don't I look like a newlywed daughter-in-law trying hard to please her mother-in-law?"
I rolled my eyes and said with a bitter smile, "You don't look like a daughter-in-law at all. You're practically my stepmom."
Mom still wasn't feeling well and didn't come out to eat, but Dad praised Anuo's cooking skills profusely. Later, I teased her privately: "Well, your flattery didn't work. You got up early for nothing."
Anuo shrugged it off. "I'll get up early again tomorrow. As long as I keep at it, I'll eventually win her over."
A few days ago, we had a small English test, and the results came out. I did pretty well. After school, I wanted to show Mom my grades, but when I got home, I searched everywhere and couldn't find her.
Anuo was in her room playing on her phone. When I asked her, she said she didn't know.
Just as I was wondering whether to call Mom, she came back. Her face looked terrible—cold as ice, with an aura of chill around her.
Seeing this, I thought it best not to provoke her and turned to go back to my room. But Mom slammed her bag onto the coffee table and growled, "Come here."
Trembling, I walked over. Before she could say anything, I tried to preemptively share my good news: "Mom, I did really well on the English test this time, all thanks to your teaching..."
Before I could finish, Mom raised her hand and slapped me hard across the left cheek. The sound was sharp, and my face burned with pain.
I stared at her in stunned silence, too scared to speak or run away, completely bewildered by her inexplicable rage.
Mom's face was pale with anger, her chest heaving violently as she breathed heavily through her nose. The veins on her snow-white neck stood out, clearly clenching her teeth in extreme fury. She raised her hand and slapped me again.
"Mom..." I covered my face, looking at her with pitiful confusion, unsure of what to do.
Still unsatisfied, Mom went into the bedroom, found one of Dad's belts, and began whipping me mercilessly.
This thing is far more formidable than a mere slap. When it strikes the body, it produces a thunderous crack, and even through clothing, the pain is searing hot. Every blow feels as if a layer of skin has been stripped away.
I don't know why Mom was so furious, but I know her temper well. At times like this, you absolutely can't resist or hide—you have to beg for mercy. The more pitiful you sound, the better. As long as Mom softens up, everything will be fine.
This was the wisdom I'd gathered over my eighteen years as her son. But today, it seemed to have failed me. No matter how much I pleaded, Mom remained unmoved, only hitting me harder and harder.
Dad wasn't home either, so there was no one to stop her. I could only crouch down, cover my head with my hands, and brace myself.
Mom kept whipping me for a good five or six minutes before finally stopping. She threw the belt at me with force, then turned and went back to her room.
I felt like I was covered in wounds, bruised and bleeding all over. I sat on the ground, groaning in pain. It took me nearly ten minutes to recover enough to stand up. Limping, I made my way to my parents' bedroom. By chance, I noticed that Beibei's bedroom door was slightly ajar, and Annuo was peeking out.
I said irritably, "I got beaten up like this, and you didn't even come out to stop her."
Annuo smiled and replied, "I'm not that foolish—I don't want to bring trouble on myself." With that, she closed the door.
I sighed, torn between laughter and tears, and pushed the door open to enter.
Mom was sitting in front of the vanity, her hand pressed against her forehead, eyes tightly shut. Anger still lingered on her face, mixed with a hint of worry. I approached her and asked softly, "Mom, have you calmed down?"
"Get out," she replied coldly.
"Mom, you've already hit me. Whatever I did wrong, I'll change, okay?" I frowned, speaking pitifully.
"I said get out!"
Normally, I would have run off by now, but today was clearly different. I had a vague feeling it had something to do with what happened that night.
Slowly, I knelt down beside Mom's legs and whispered, "Mom, I really don't know what I did to upset you. Tell me, and I'll change—I promise I will!" As I spoke, I reached for her hand resting on her leg, but the moment I touched it, she jerked it back as if shocked.
After a long pause, Mom slowly opened her eyes, staring at me blankly, and sighed. "Change... can you really change?"
I nodded vigorously. "I can, I can. I definitely can change."
Mom closed her eyes again, sighing deeply for a long time before saying, "Why did I even give birth to you?"
"You gave birth to me... to make you happy. And also to use as a punching bag. Didn't you say that whenever you argued with Dad, hitting me would make you feel better? Go ahead, hit me. If you're unhappy, hit me as much as you want." I grabbed her hand and forced it to slap my face.
Mom struggled free with force, letting out another long sigh. "It's too late for any of that now. Forget it. Go back to your room and study."
"How can I possibly focus on studying when you're like this? I'll just kneel here. If you're still angry, you can hit me. If you're still upset, you can scold me."
Mom sighed once more and turned her head away.
The room fell into silence. I pondered the reason for Mom's anger, thinking I'd been behaving well lately and hadn't caused any trouble. Her sudden outburst seemed inexplicable. In all my years growing up, she had never hit me this hard before.
After a moment of silence, I asked softly, "Mom, is your stomach feeling any better?"
Mom didn't respond.
"Mom, should I make you some porridge?"
Still no response.
"Mom, say something, I'll do anything you ask." As I spoke, I reached out again to take my mother's hand, but she forcefully brushed it away, accidentally hitting the bruised spot on my face.
"Ouch~!"
It was the mark left by my mother's belt earlier, and even the slightest touch felt like a burning fire. I couldn't help but let out a groan.
My mother instinctively glanced back at me. Perhaps my appearance was too pitiful and helpless, but she actually reached out and gently stroked my face, asking coldly, "Does it hurt?"
This was the time to play up the pain. Even if it didn't hurt, I had to say it did. Frowning, I replied, "It hurts like hell. You really went all out."
My mother withdrew her hand and said weakly, "Alright, hurry back to your room and study."
"I can't do that. If you're still angry, I won't be able to focus. Oh, right, when I was little, whenever you were upset, I'd do a handstand to cheer you up, and you'd laugh so hard." With that, I got up from the floor, flipped forward, and planted my hands on the ground, standing on my hands.
"Mom, look. Look at this." I proudly moved around the bedroom in my handstand.
My mother frowned, opening her mouth several times but unable to speak. She seemed utterly annoyed, her expression indescribable.
Seeing that just doing a handstand wasn't enough, I thought for a moment and said, "Then I'll sing you a song while doing a handstand. 'Only a mother's love is true, a child with a mother is like a treasure, nestled in a mother's embrace...' Ouch~!"
As I sang and moved around in my handstand, I accidentally bumped my face against the bedpost, letting out a sharp cry of pain before tumbling over.
My mother couldn't help but chuckle at my clumsy display. Tears welled up in my eyes from the pain, but I covered my face with my hands and forced a smile, saying, "Mom, are you happy now? Haha... Ouch, that really hurts."
My mother's expression turned stern again as she sighed, "Can you just leave and let me have some peace?"
Since my mother had already laughed, it meant the hard shell around her had cracked a little. Pushing further might only backfire.
I got up from the floor, lowered my head, and said, "Mom, you rest well. I'll go back to my room and study." Before leaving, I couldn't resist turning back to add, "Mom, I really did well on my English test this time."
My mother turned her face away, ignoring me, and it was impossible to tell if she was still angry.
When my dad came home and saw me covered in bruises, he asked what happened. Upon learning that my mother had beaten me, he was shocked and questioned her about it. But my mother refused to say a word, leaving me, the victim, to comfort my dad instead.
As for why my mother was angry, she wouldn't say, and we had no way of knowing.
Early the next morning, Annuo got up early again to cook, this time trying something different from the day before. My mother seemed to have something to attend to outside, so she ate a few bites hurriedly and was out the door before 6:30.
As my mother took her coat from the rack in the entryway and was about to put it on, a white plastic stick fell out of her pocket. She quickly picked it up, glanced back at us, and hurriedly left the house.
I didn't think much of it, but Annuo asked, "What did your mom just drop?"
"How should I know," I shot her a glance. "Why do you care so much about everything?"
Anuo shrugged and said nothing.
After Mom left, she didn't return for several days. According to Dad, she had to go on a sudden business trip for work.
By Friday afternoon, when I came home from school, I opened the door to find Beibei sitting on the sofa. I was taken aback for a moment before remembering that school was out today.
Seeing her with her arms crossed, looking all puffed up with anger, I could roughly guess why she was upset, but I couldn't help smiling as I asked, "What's wrong? Your cheeks are puffed up like balloons."
Beibei straightened up, pointed toward her room, and asked angrily, "Who is she? Why is she in my room?"
I hesitated for a moment before countering, "Didn't Mom and Dad tell you?"
"I tried calling Mom, but her phone is off. I messaged Dad, but he hasn't replied." Beibei glared at me and asked again, "Who exactly is she?"
"She's... how should I put it?"
"Who is she? Why is she sleeping in my room?" Beibei grumbled, stomping her feet in frustration.
I glanced toward her room—the door was shut tight, and I wasn't sure if Anuo was inside. After a moment of thought, I asked instead, "What did she tell you?"
"She said she's my sister, and I'm her sister. I thought she was a relative, but she said we're blood-related!" Beibei frowned, looking utterly bewildered.
"She..." I chuckled awkwardly. "Actually, what she said isn't wrong."
"What do you mean?" Beibei stared at me.
"This is something Dad should explain to you."
With that, I turned to head back to my room, but Beibei rushed forward, grabbed my arm, and glared at me. "No, I want to hear it from you."
"You already know—she's your sister, your biological sister, and you're her sister, her biological sister."
"But how did this happen? You're going to drive me crazy!"
I put my arm around her shoulder and led her aside, lowering my voice. "A few months ago, I told you I saw Dad out shopping with a young girl. Do you remember that?"
"Yes, I remember," Beibei nodded.
"Later, I told you I was framed by a young girl. Do you remember that?"
"Yes, I remember."
"It was her."
"It was her?" Beibei's eyes widened.
"She's Dad's illegitimate daughter, named Anuo. Wait, no—she should be called Ling Nuo. Or maybe... Ling Xiaonuo?"
"Who cares what her name is! How did she become Dad's illegitimate daughter?"
"Explaining that would take a long time. You should ask Dad for the details. But she had a tough childhood, so as her older sister, try to be understanding and patient with her." After a moment's thought, I added, "But she's also quite cunning, so you should be careful around her."
As I walked toward my bedroom, Beibei followed closely behind, asking, "What exactly do you mean? Explain it to me clearly!"
Just then, the door to Beibei's room opened, and Anuo came out on crutches. Seeing me, she smiled and said, "Brother, you're back."
Before I could say anything, Beibei suddenly stepped in front of me, glaring at Anuo angrily. "Who are you calling 'brother'? What right do you have to call him that?"
Anuo chuckled and said, "He's older than me, so of course I call him brother. Should I call him 'little brother' instead? Right, sister?"
"I am not your sister." Beibei's voice trembled slightly, even carrying a hint of tears.
I thought she might be struggling to accept reality for the moment, but honestly, anyone in her shoes would be overwhelmed.
I quickly patted her shoulder and tried to console her, "Calm down first and sort out your thoughts. Mom has already come to terms with it."
"Mom knows too?"
"Of course she does."
Beibei put her hands on her hips and glared at me, saying, "So you all knew and kept it from me alone."
"It wasn't intentional. You weren't home."
"So Mom accepted her too?"
"I wouldn't say she accepted her, but she hurt her leg and had no one to take care of her, so we brought her home for now. But you know Mom's temper—sharp tongue, soft heart. Well... how should I put it? After all, she is Dad's biological daughter."
"Why is she staying in my room?"
"She can't stay in mine, can she?" I chuckled. "You weren't here, and the room was just sitting empty."
Beibei puffed up her cheeks angrily and said, "Now that I'm back, make her move out."
I sighed helplessly, "And where should she move to? We can't have her sleeping in the living room, can we?"
"I don't care!" Beibei huffed, crossing her arms and tilting her head up.
After a moment's thought, I put my arm around her shoulder and tried to lead her aside. She stubbornly refused to budge but eventually let me drag her away. I rolled up my sleeve to show her the bruises left from the beating Mom gave me the other day.
Beibei asked, "What happened? Did you get beaten again?"
"Exactly."
Beibei touched the bruise and exclaimed, "That looks pretty bad. What did you do to deserve such a beating?"
I lowered my voice and said mysteriously, "At first, I was just like you—absolutely refused to accept her. Mom said I was being unreasonable, and I talked back. That made her furious, and she whipped me with her belt."
"Huh? Really?" Beibei looked at me with a mix of doubt and curiosity.
"What do you mean, 'really'? The bruises are right here. And it's not just this one—look here, here, and even on my face. See these belt marks?" I lifted my clothes to show her more.
"That can't be. How could she be so harsh?"
I continued to spin my tale, "So I'm telling you, it's better to face reality sooner rather than later and avoid unnecessary pain."
Beibei fell silent. I gave her shoulder a gentle pat, urging her to think it over, and then headed toward the bedroom.
As I passed by Annuo, she gave me a sweet smile. I paused, wanting to say something to her, but hesitated and decided against it.
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