The sense of fulfillment in the cave was like a small, weak fire in winter—quickly extinguished by the cold reality.
Liú Xiǎomǎn looked at the long-missing hope, streaked with tears, on her mother’s and brother’s faces. She felt no relaxation at all; instead, she urged, “Mother, Cōngming, we must get back before the villagers wake up.”
The darkness before dawn was deepest, and the damp, cold mist hung in the forest like a thin veil, clinging to the skin with a bone-chilling chill.
The three of them dragged their exhausted bodies along the routes they had rehearsed countless times, silently sneaking back into the village.
Compared to their initial panic, their steps were now lighter, and their coordination increasingly seamless, like three wildcats moving through the night.
Reaching the dilapidated hut, the moment the door closed felt like a barrier between two worlds.
They quickly lay back on the cold bedboards, adjusting their breathing, feigning a full night’s sleep.
Lǐ Xiùxiù and Liú Cōngming soon fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, but Liú Xiǎomǎn could not rest.
She lay awake, rapidly replaying the night’s events in her mind, analyzing every possible loophole and thinking about how to make the daytime performance more convincing.
At first light, in the courtyard of the Liú estate, Wáng Jīnhuā’s sharp voice cut through the morning calm.
As she scattered chicken feed on the ground, she scolded obliquely: “Some thankless creatures can’t be raised! Recently, Anshēng is quieter than a ghost. Who knows what sudden fortune they’re hiding? Not a soul in sight!”
Old Lady Tián sat in the main hall’s armchair, holding a steaming bowl of egg custard, her murky eyes glinting with calculation.
She too sensed something wrong. The three from the second household, who usually fretted over every penny daily, were now unnaturally quiet, as if dead.
“Dàbǎo,” she said hoarsely, slow and deliberate, “go check near your aunt’s door, see what those short-lived rascals are up to. Don’t let them starve in there, bad luck.”
Her words were no concern at all—they carried malice and curse.
Liú Dàbǎo chewed on a coarse grain bun, unwilling.
He despised that impoverished family deep in his heart, thinking, They can barely dress themselves. How could they possibly have secrets?
“Go check. When you’re done, mother will boil you two eggs,” Wáng Jīnhuā immediately dangled the bait.
The lure of an egg instantly revived Dàbǎo’s laziness.
He tossed the bun aside, dusted his hands, and shuffled toward the hut at the village edge.
He peered through the door crack like a thief, but the interior was pitch black, nothing discernible.
Impatient, he curled his lips, then stamped on the door with “bang bang bang,” shouting foully: “Aunt! Open the door! The sun’s up, still sleeping! Granny’s calling you!”
The fragile door panels vibrated, threatening to collapse.
Inside, Lǐ Xiùxiù shivered in terror, like a frightened rabbit, instinctively trying to spring from the bed.
“Don’t move!” Liú Xiǎomǎn pressed her down, her cold fingers exuding undeniable authority.
She shook her mother’s head and silently mouthed two words: “Feign illness.”
Next, Liú Xiǎomǎn herself emitted a racking, heart-wrenching cough, dry and hoarse, as if she were coughing up her organs.
She deliberately lit a small tuft of damp hay, filling the room with a moldy, musty odor.
Then, in a voice so hoarse it was nearly inaudible, she weakly called out: “Who is it… cough cough… Dàbǎo brother? My mother… my mother is sick, burning up, can’t get out of bed…”
Liú Dàbǎo, pounding on the door, froze when he heard the cough and smelled the sour mildew. He recoiled two steps, fearing contamination.
He had no patience for sickly ghosts. Spitting disgustedly, he muttered, “Bah! A short-lived family, so unlucky!”
After cursing, he turned and left.
Only when his footsteps vanished in the distance did Lǐ Xiùxiù dare to breathe deeply, her heart still pounding.
Liú Cōngming clung to his sister’s clothes, his wide eyes filled with terror and reliance.
“It’s okay now,” Liú Xiǎomǎn reassured him, patting his hand, her gaze instantly turning cold as frost.
Today’s probe was just the beginning.
The hungry wolves of the estate had already sensed something wrong.
To maintain the illusion, that afternoon Liú Xiǎomǎn deliberately carried the empty basket, pretending to go to the back mountain to dig wild vegetables.
She purposely left dirt on her face, hair messy, walking with feeble steps, looking pale, thin, and pitiful as if long malnourished and weak.
She did not go toward the waterfall route but wandered aimlessly at the foot of the mountain near the village, choosing rarely-trodden hollows.
In a secluded hollow encircled by large stones, Liú Xiǎomǎn bent over to dig up a bitter herb when suddenly the system’s cold alarm rang in her mind.
【Ding! Warning! Thirty meters southeast, humanoid detected engaging in surveillance behavior.】
Her alarm bells rang. Fingers gripping the sickle tightened.
Without looking up, she pretended to struggle digging the herb while her peripheral vision, aided by system scanning, precisely located the target.
Liú Dàbǎo!
He was lurking behind a half-person-height stone, only half his head visible, his sly eyes staring unblinking at her.
A chill ran from her spine to the top of her head.
He wasn’t coincidentally in town—he was conducting fixed-point surveillance around the village!
This meant the Liú estate’s suspicion had escalated completely.
Her family was being watched!
The realization was ice-cold.
She could no longer safely carry anything back to the hut; even going to the back mountain had become extremely dangerous.
As long as Dàbǎo remained the watcher, their “ant-moving” plan was effectively strangled.
Liú Xiǎomǎn feigned ignorance, even stumbling slightly from fatigue, leaning on a stone to catch her breath.
She continued weakly digging up a few of the most common, least valuable bitter herbs, filling half the basket, and dragged it slowly toward the hut.
She needed a plan—a way to permanently deal with this surveillance threat.
Otherwise, all their efforts would be in vain, and the new home they had painstakingly begun to realize would remain a dream forever.
Back at the hut, as the fragile door closed again, Liú Xiǎomǎn’s feigned weakness and fatigue vanished instantly.
Her back straightened, her gaze showing no trace of fear, replaced by a sharp, calculating chill.
She moved to the corner and retrieved a small package carefully wrapped in oiled paper.
Inside was the secret medicinal powder once gifted by Shopkeeper Qián, said to repel wild beasts.
She pinched a bit of the powder to her nose; the smell of sulfur mixed with a pungent herb wafted up. In her mind, the system’s analysis appeared clearly:
【Warning: This mixture has a strong repellent effect on wild animals, causes mild skin irritation in humans, and if inhaled or ingested in large amounts, may cause nervous paralysis and organ failure.】
A cold curve slowly appeared at the corner of Liú Xiǎomǎn’s lips.
She never intended to kill Liú Dàbǎo, but giving him a lesson he would never forget—ensuring he never dared approach the back mountain again—was absolutely necessary.