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墨書 Inktalez
Grandma seemed convinced that something was wrong with the daughter-in-law in the woodshed, and her methods of torment escalated. She forbade my mother from sitting at the table to eat, forcing her to wear a gag every day. The strap dug into my mother's mouth, causing blood to seep from the corners, yet it could not suppress the stubbornness in her eyes that did not belong to her.
"Jian Gu Tou, how dare you!" Grandma jabbed thin bamboo sticks into the gaps of my mother's fingernails, cursing as she did so. "Aren't you capable? Come on, bite me!"
Dad sat nearby, expressionless, watching it all unfold.
"Mother," he suddenly spoke up, his voice strange and high-pitched, "You should stab her in the lower back; that’s where it hurts the most."
I watched this scene unfold, my stomach churning violently. Although this torment seemed minor compared to the beatings from before, seeing my mother in such a miserable state still made my heart ache.
At that moment, my mother mustered an unexpected strength and suddenly broke free from Grandma's grip, stumbling to the corner of the wall. With trembling fingers, she struggled to write a few crooked characters on the ground: "Save me... it's..."
"Hah, still hoping for rescue?" Grandma sneered and abruptly turned to walk into the kitchen.
When she emerged again, she held something in her hand—a red-hot Iron Clamp. "Don’t want to work, huh? Then let’s ruin those hands of yours completely!"
I clamped my mouth shut to stifle a scream. As the Iron Clamp pressed against my mother's palm, a burnt smell filled the air instantly. My mother convulsed in pain but could not make a sound; all she could manage was a muffled whimper from her throat.
Dad's gaze flickered for a moment as if he wanted to say something but ultimately lowered his head again.
That night, while Grandma was asleep, I quietly slipped into the woodshed where my mother was confined. I brought a bun I had stolen from the kitchen and cautiously approached my mother, who was curled up in the corner.
“Dad...”
I tentatively spoke in a low voice, “Is that you?”
Mom suddenly lifted her head, a fierce glint flashing in her eyes.
She pounded against the door frantically, letting out a growl that sounded like a desperate cry, as if she had a thousand words to say but they were all blocked by the food in her mouth.
I was so frightened that I stumbled backward, and the bun in my hand fell to the ground with a thud.
“Xiao Yan.”
Suddenly, Dad's voice came from behind me, startling me. “Why aren’t you asleep at this hour?”
I turned around and saw Dad standing in the moonlight, looking at me with a complex expression.
But his gentleness vanished in an instant; his gaze turned cold, as if he were weighing something: “You shouldn’t be wandering around at a time like this.”
I returned to my room, heart racing, tossing and turning all night.
The next few days passed without incident; Dad continued to livestream every night, making fun of Mom as usual.
However, Grandma's gaze grew increasingly strange.
She would always stare at Dad, especially when he was eating.
Whenever Dad picked up his bowl, she would squint her eyes as if waiting for something.
“Son,”
one morning, Grandma suddenly said, “Do you remember when you stole my medicinal wine as a child and ended up rolling on the ground drunk and wetting your pants?”
Dad froze for a moment, a look of confusion crossing his face before he forced a smile and replied, “Ah... I remember.”
Grandma's eyes instantly turned cold.
In the afternoon, she did something even stranger.
She walked straight to the firewood room and pulled out a wine jug from her pocket, smashing it on the ground with a loud crash.
That was Dad's most treasured wine jug, said to be the only relic left by Grandpa.
He never allowed us to touch it, not even Grandma.
"Oh dear,"
Grandma said feigning innocence, "I accidentally broke the wine flask your father left you."
Dad paused for a moment, then finally reacted: "Ah... it's fine, it was old anyway."
Meanwhile, Mom in the woodshed exploded with rage like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, letting out a series of incoherent roars as she struggled to break free.
My heart sank.
It was over; Grandma had found out.
That night, while rummaging for firewood behind the kitchen, I unexpectedly discovered a small cloth bag hidden in the wall crevice.
Upon opening it, I found a small clump of burnt hair, several oddly colored herbs, and a piece of yellow paper covered in symbols.
The ink on the talisman was still fresh and emitted a strange odor.
My heart raced as I recalled that rainy night a few days ago.
On that day, Dad had beaten Mom to the brink of unconsciousness when a hunchbacked old woman suddenly appeared at the door, claiming she could heal Mom's wounds.
She had been holding those peculiar herbs.
The next day, both Mom and Dad started acting strangely.
I tightly clutched the cloth bag and waited for Grandma to leave before rushing to find Dad.
“Dad… no, Mom,”
I trembled as I pulled out the bag, “Is this what you were hiding?”
Dad's face changed drastically as he snatched the bag from me, tears instantly welling up in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Xiao Yan,"
he sobbed in his father's voice, "Mom just couldn't… couldn't take it anymore..."
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