The light was shut out by a wooden door of dark red colour.
The smell of wine wafts through the house.
The dim little lamp flickered on and off.
Green empty wine bottles were all over the ground, some lying down and others standing up.
"How dare you save money behind my back!" A pot-bellied, degenerate man smashed a bottle and picked up coins one by one from the shattered glass fragments.
After picking up all of them, he directly sat on the ground with a thud and started counting.
There were actually over eighty
His indignation surged even more, he turned his head and picked up an empty wine bottle, charging towards the youth who was half-reclining in the corner.
The white school uniform jacket of the young man was stained with bright red, and his forehead, which was covered by his messy hair, had a wound that was not big or small. The bright red blood flowed from the roots of his hair to his eyebrows, making his cold and piercing eyes appear even more sinister.
He looked at the person rushing towards him with a wine bottle and slowly raised his wrist.
The inside of his arm had already been cut by sharp shards of broken glass on the ground, with fresh blood gushing out, flesh torn open, and blood flowing down from his wrist to his fingertips, then dripping onto the ground.
He tightly grasped the wine bottle that was about to hit his skull and calmly said "It's late."
That man glared with his eyes wide open, his eyebrows raised, and his hair standing on end. He let out an ear-piercing shout: "You also know it's very late, why didn't you make dinner for me earlier before going to your part-time job? Now you're even saving money behind my back!"
The young man pulled at the corner of his mouth and revealed a rare gentle smile. "I was wrong, let's eat first."
The big-bellied man let out a cold snort and tossed the bottle aside, not even bothering to help the battered youth get up. Instead, he sat on the sofa, carefully counting the over 80 coins, thinking about how many bottles of wine he could buy tomorrow.
In the kitchen.
The young man's eyebrows and eyes were clear and cold, with a subtle curve at the corner of his mouth, accompanied by a sense of liberation and joy.
He silently rinsed the blood-soaked wound with cold water, as if he didn't feel any pain at all.
The water in the pot reached a temperature of 100 degrees Celsius and started making a hissing sound.
In this empty and quiet little kitchen, it sounds even more jarring.
The second day.
Early morning.
Sirens blaring, crowds gathering.
This old residential area has never been so lively before.
Everyone was gathered at the entrance of Building 29, pointing and talking.
"Chen Mo is really pitiful."
"Who says it's not? When I was 5 or 6 years old, my mother ran away with the neighbor, and the father left behind was a malaria-ridden drunkard. Because he was afraid of spending money at that time, he didn't go to see a doctor in time, which led to this disease becoming stubborn in his body later on. Every year, the cost of taking anti-malaria medication is quite high."
"I'm the one who lives in this building, and that father is so cruel, every time he beats his child to death"
"It is said that taking too much antimalarial medication resulted in bradycardia and arrhythmia, inducing acute cardiac cerebral ischemic syndrome leading to death."
"Last night he beat the child again and drove Chen Mo to sleep in the corridor, with blood all over the child's body."
"If he had been a bit softer and hadn't driven the child away, Chen Mo might have discovered it in time to send him to the hospital, and wouldn't have ended up like this"
"Poor kid, from now on he'll be all alone."
The old house door blocks out the outside noise.
A youth covered in scars, wearing a blood-stained school uniform, slowly crouched down to pick up the scattered coins one by one, disinfected them with disinfectant water, and carefully wiped them clean.
Then put it in a brand new bottle.
Bookshelf and computer version synchronization.
