Chapter 244: The Female Ghost Seeks Vengeance
Song Laoyao's house was built with red bricks and cement, and the workmanship was extremely rough. In many places, cement even overflowed, and after this overflowed cement dried, it was not only exceptionally sturdy, but in some places, it was even very sharp.
The little boy's head hit the wall behind him, striking precisely on a sharp piece of cement. A small cut immediately appeared on the back of his head, and blood welled from the wound, drenching his messy, filthy hair and trickling down his neck.
His neck felt itchy. With one hand, the little boy wiped away his tears, and with the other, he reached for his neck. He looked at his small hand, stained red with blood, and sobbed as he wiped the blood onto his tattered clothes.
Though his face still bore an expression of terror, it didn't intensify because of the bleeding from his head. He seemed long accustomed to such scenes of blood, and wiping the blood from his hand onto his clothes was merely a habitual gesture.
The terror on his face wasn't due to the blood, but rather to the lunatic-like man standing before him: his father, Song Laoyao.
"You wiped the blood on your clothes again! Look at these rags—torn, tattered, filthy! I'm ashamed just looking at them!"
Song Laoyao paid no mind to his son's bleeding head. Instead, what bothered him was that his son had wiped the blood onto his clothes.
This set of clothes had been given to the little boy by compassionate neighbors. Of course, they weren't bought specifically for him; rather, their own children had outgrown them, so they kindly passed them along.
After Song Laoyao learned of this, not only did he show no gratitude, but he also felt the neighbors were insulting and looking down on him. Consequently, he unleashed a torrent of abuse upon them.
The little boy, however, cherished this set of clothes, for he had never seen such fine garments before. It was a pity he had no other clothes to change into, so he wore them for a whole year. Not only did they become tattered, but they also grew increasingly ill-fitting.
Song Laoyao hadn't made the little boy take off those clothes, not because the boy liked them, but because there simply were no other clothes in the house, neither fitting nor ill-fitting.
So, the boy had worn that same set of clothes until now. As for why Song Laoyao was unleashing such a tirade at this moment, it wasn't out of concern for the tattered garments; even if his own son had no clothes, he wouldn't care. He was simply cursing to vent the fury in his heart.
With a face full of fear, the little boy bit his lip, his scrawny body trembling as he pressed tightly against the wall. He didn't dare to wipe away the blood trickling down his neck, letting it soak his shirt.
Seeing his son in such a state, Song Laoyao's anger flared. Already in a foul mood, everything about his son seemed to displease him.
Some people are just like that: when they have suppressed rage and wish to unleash it, everything becomes an eyesore. Any flimsy excuse, even one that isn't really an excuse, can become a reason for them to vent their fury.
At that moment, Song Laoyao was in precisely such a state.
"Look at how pathetic you are! All you can do is cry! I swear, I could slap you to death!"
Song Laoyao's face was contorted with rage as he raised his hand, ready to slap the little boy again. However, just then, a gust of Yin wind suddenly swept through the room.
"Mama. . . Mama. . . Have you come to take me away?"
The little boy, looking past Song Laoyao, suddenly spoke in a trembling voice, filled with surprise and, even more so, profound grievance. Every shivering word held an unspeakable sense of injustice.
"Mama? " Song Laoyao froze for a moment. Recalling his string of bad luck today, and the strangeness he'd encountered on his way home, he instantly erupted into a furious rage.
"Your mother's been dead seven days! Where would a 'mama' come from? ! You're just a brat, not learning anything good, only how to lie and try to scare your old man! I'll beat you to death right now, you little bastard!"
Before he could finish his tirade, Song Laoyao's voice abruptly cut off, because the electric light in the house suddenly began to flicker erratically, brightening and dimming.
After the light flickered several more times, he suddenly noticed a person had appeared in front of the little boy.
"Ah!"
The appearance of this person first made Song Laoyao pause in shock. Then, as he registered what he was seeing, he immediately let out a horrifying scream, his face contorted with unprecedented terror.
He no longer cared about tormenting the little boy. After one more piercing shriek, he turned to flee the room. Yet, the instant he spun around, the person who had clearly been standing in front of the little boy now eerily appeared directly before him, blocking his escape.
It was a pale-faced woman. To be precise, it wasn't a person at all, but a ghost—a female ghost with a face ashen as paper, devoid of any expression.
The female ghost was dressed in rags, and numerous bruises were visible on her body and face. Although she lacked a physical form at this moment, even as a spirit body, the severe bruising and old scars on those areas were clearly discernible.
The female ghost's attire, and the injuries on her body—all preserved her appearance from before death. The reason she chose to reveal herself in this manner was, of course, entirely deliberate.
This female ghost was none other than Song Laoyao's deceased wife.
The scene before him utterly terrified Song Laoyao, rendering him speechless. When he finally reacted, another scream tore from his throat, and he instinctively stumbled backward, colliding with the little boy behind him.
The moment his body touched the little boy, Song Laoyao clutched at him as if grasping a lifeline. He yanked the child forward, using him as a human shield, and with a face full of panic, he roared at the female ghost.
"I don't care if you're human or ghost! If you come any closer, I'll kill him!"
Facing Song Laoyao's furious roar, the female ghost's expression remained utterly blank. The little boy, however, held as a hostage, shed even more tears. Unlike Song Laoyao, his face wasn't filled with terror; instead, it showed deep attachment and longing.
Though he was only four years old, ever since he could remember, this woman before him was the only one who had protected and loved him. Yet, this woman had left him seven days ago.
He knew his mother was dead, for he had witnessed her being buried beneath the earth. However, his understanding of death wasn't profound. Now, seeing his mother reappear before him, he instinctively believed that his mother, who had left, had simply returned.
Seeing his mother again, his longing and dependence on her burst forth. Only when he was by his mother's side could he feel a sliver of peace.
And the longing in his eyes was the hope that his mother would take him away, away from this hell, as far as possible, ideally never to see the man before him again.
Before the female ghost's passing, she had borne the vast majority of Song Laoyao's abuse and violence. After her death, Song Laoyao, completely unchanged, naturally inflicted his brutality upon his son. This intensified the little boy's yearning and dependence on his mother, causing his tears to well up like a broken dam when he saw her again.
Seeing no reaction from the female ghost, Song Laoyao felt both fear and urgency. He grabbed his son by the neck and roared at the female ghost once more.
"Get out! Get as far away as you can! If you don't leave right now, I'll choke him to death! Try me if you don't believe it!"
To prove his resolve, Song Laoyao squeezed the little boy's neck with brutal force. A pained expression twisted the boy's face, and tears, large as beans, fell onto Song Laoyao's hand. But these crystalline tears did not awaken Song Laoyao's conscience; instead, they made him even more violent and savage.
Seeing that the female ghost still had no intention of leaving, Song Laoyao let out a furious roar. With a savage grimace, he increased his grip, intent on personally strangling the little boy—his own biological son—right in front of the female ghost.
However, at that very moment, the world before Song Laoyao's eyes shifted. The little boy vanished from his embrace, and he found himself in an unfamiliar world.
In reality, Song Laoyao released the child from his arms. His face initially showed confusion, then, as if he had suddenly witnessed something utterly horrifying, he dashed to a corner of the room, his face contorted with terror. There, he huddled, cursing and flailing his fists and feet at the empty air.
The female ghost withdrew her gaze from Song Laoyao and looked at the child, who was covered in blood and injuries. Her expressionless face finally shifted, revealing pain and guilt.
Two lines of tears slid down the female ghost's face. Before they could fall to the ground, they transformed into black Yin Qi and dissipated into nothingness.
"Xiao Kang!"
No sooner had the female ghost spoken than a cold shout echoed from outside the house.
"I was wondering why the Yin Qi in the slums was so heavy tonight. Turns out, it's you, you ghostly thing, causing trouble!"
It was a man's voice. However, that voice did not belong to Yang Haoran.
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